You don't have to be quiet here. You can be free.
I'm louder here, than in the beginning. At Jezebel's. It's the only place I can really shout as loud as I want. It makes him come harder. Saying my name. Offred. Though he ought to be careful with that. Never know if he's still sleeping with her or not. My name slips out at the wrong time and I'm the one she'll end up slapping, not him.
I want to tell you that I enjoyed the sex. I really wish I could tell you that. But how do you freely respond to someone who owns you? You don't. My every response is calculated. I know Nick knows and he can judge me if he wants. He warns me to be careful. No heroics, he says.
There is nothing about me that's heroic. Even shouting isn't freedom. Nor reading in his study. Nor scratching words into the wall, though I felt free when I wrote it.
Serena Joy knows. Last two Ceremonies I could tell. Bruises on my wrists from how tightly she held me. He was practically salivating over how kinky he found it. Nothing on the baby front, either.
Free . . . Free is the first time I took a man into my bed willingly. Free is handgliding, the world tiny manicured lawns beneath you, your feet dangling as the instructor guides. Wind blowing in your ears. Christmas morning with your two little ones' eyes bright with wonder. That is free.
Not this. Sneaking back in Serena's coat with Fred whispering your false name as he kisses you good-night. Fuck you, Fred.
Free is shredding the sheets. Pushing the chair over to the light fixture. My legs can still dangle. No wind but I can almost hear my babies' voices. There are bastards out there. They do grind. But there are ways out.
I swing the torn sheet up around the light fixture and tie it into a knot. Step on the chair. Nick asked me if I was all right tonight. I'm right as rain, Nick Blaine. I'm going to see my babies soon. I'm smiling as I place my head into the makeshift noose, hoping it will hold a while, that I won't become a vegetable instead. It's tight. Smell of laundry soap. It's late and the door that doesn't close properly will only betray a sliver of light.
Fuck you, Serena, Fred, and all of Gilead. I know it's time to step off the edge when I hear the first bars of "Silent Night".
They are waiting for me.
