Chapter Text
Looking back on it, I was a reckless, stupid teenager pumped full of hormones with absolutely no idea what I’d gotten myself into. Because I didn’t. Not until it was too late.
I thought it would feel temporary somehow. Like a bad summer camp. Like I could leave whenever I got bored and go back to some cozy apartment and rot in bed for a week.
But there was no way out of Gilead. Not for me.
I was sixteen, terrified out of my mind, and on my period.
Periods already suck. Your first one sucks even more in a place like Gilead, where your entire worth is measured by how many children you can force out of your body.
I tried to hide it. That lasted about two days.
One of the Pearl Girls found the stained linen tucked beneath my mattress. Never trust a Pearl Girl. Which was ironic, considering I was one of them too. Just not for much longer.
Aunt Lydia and Vidala had plans for me.
Marriage.
Some wrinkled old man practically salivating over the idea of a young wife untouched by anyone else.
And Garth, my so-called protector, my only connection to Mayday, had just been promoted to Commander.
Meaning he was getting a wife.
Becka.
Becka, who was in love with Agnes. Agnes, who was hopelessly in love with Garth.
And me?
I just wanted to get the hell out of Gilead while the rest of them tangled themselves into some miserable little love story. Horny teenagers. I could relate. At least, they would have had a field day in Canada with their twisted love triangle.
Meanwhile, I was rotting away at school, learning embroidery stitches and how to become the perfect obedient wife for some future husband who would probably smell like dust and old leather.
Then Becka announced she was becoming an Aunt.
I never figured out why. Shame. Heartbreak. Desperation. Maybe all three. Maybe her love for Agnes was too big, too powerful in a place like Gilead to let her be selfish, just that one time.
But when Aunt Lydia started searching for a husband willing to take in a girl like me, I saw the first real glimpse of hope I’d had in months.
Garth.
Maybe I was the selfish one. Choosing the easy way out of the mess, just like Becka had chosen. But I wasn’t backing down.
Garth looked as unimpressed with the arrangement as I was with my realization that getting out of Gilead was not a stroll in the park. Bye-bye normal life. Hello, teen marriage. I was one bad day away from throwing myself into the toxic waste colonies.
The engagement announcement happened in one of Aunt Lydia’s sitting rooms, where everything smelled like stale perfume and old paper. She stood between us with her hands clasped together like she was presenting some holy miracle instead of two teenagers being shoved toward marriage for political convenience.
“Commander Garth has shown tremendous generosity,” she said. “A man willing to guide a fallen girl back toward God is rare.”
Fallen girl.
Right. Because I’d kissed someone once and occasionally had thoughts.
Garth stood beside me in his black uniform, stiff as a corpse. The promotion aged him somehow. Or maybe the exhaustion did. There were darker circles beneath his eyes than I remembered. His jaw tightened every time Aunt Lydia spoke.
“You should thank him,” Vidala snapped from the corner when I stayed silent too long.
I looked at Garth.
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Thank you,” I said.
Aunt Lydia smiled as she’d personally solved world hunger.
The ring they gave me was too big. Gold, heavy, ugly. It slid around my finger while Lydia explained wedding preparations and household expectations and fertility blessings in that soft, poisonous voice of hers.
I barely listened.
Because Garth finally looked at me.
Just once.
And beneath all the guilt and exhaustion, there was something else there too.
Fear.
Not fear of me.
Fear for me.
That was worse.
That wasn’t Mayday pulling strings from the shadows. Not their plan to marry me off, because maybe they hadn’t expected me to last that long in the hell hole. Or be fertile. I didn’t expect it myself either.
When the meeting finally ended, Lydia dismissed us with a pleased little nod. Vidala lingered behind her like a vulture.
Garth waited until we were halfway down the hallway before speaking.
“You shouldn’t have agreed.”
I laughed once.
“Oh, sorry. Next time I’ll politely decline the state-sanctioned child marriage.”
His mouth tightened.
“I’m serious, Daisy.”
“So am I.”
The hallway fell quiet except for the sound of our footsteps against the polished floor.
Then, lower, careful now, he said:
“I can protect you better this way, though.”
I stopped walking.
“There it is,” I said. “That saviour complex of yours.”
His expression flickered. Angry for half a second.
“You think I wanted this?”
“I think you always get to choose,” I shot back. “That’s the difference between us. You have the upper hand here. The men always do and I am treated like cattle and should be grateful that at least it’s you and not some shrivelling old man.”
“Lower your voice, Daisy…”
“Agnes loves you,” I said quietly. “And now I get to become her newest reason to suffer. Lucky me.”
His face changed immediately. He turned on his heels, away from me, and then stopped right in front of me.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Whatever you are trying to do.”
I stared at him.
“That’s rich coming from the man marrying a sixteen-year-old to save her from being married off to someone worse.”
His jaw flexed.
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“And Agnes?
The question landed between us like broken glass.
For a second, he looked away.
That was answer enough.
I hated him a little for that. Hated Agnes too, which was unfair because she’d probably been crying herself sick over Becka marrying her first crush, and then changing her mind, while I was busy trying not to get hanged when the charade was over. I could see my limp body hanging from one of those poles while the spoilt, rich Plums stared at me with their smug little smiles. Blessed be their innocence.
Everyone was miserable. Gilead was efficient like that.
“You know what the worst part is?” I asked.
Garth stayed silent.
“I can’t even afford to care.”
That finally made him look at me again.
“I don’t have the luxury of heartbreak,” I continued. “Agnes gets heartbreak. Becka gets heartbreak. You get tortured longing and meaningful stares or whatever this is.” I gestured vaguely between us. “I get survival because I chose to come here and now I am trapped like a rat in a cage and-and you won’t get me out. Because I have to prove I am worth your trouble. Am I, future husband?”
The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“No, I’m practical.”
“You’re terrified.”
That shut me up.
Because he was right.
I crossed my arms tighter around myself, suddenly cold despite the heat trapped in the hallway.
“I don’t want to die here,” I admitted.
Something in his expression softened then, but not much.
“You won’t,” he said.
I let out a weak laugh.
“You sound very confident for someone whose grand plan is marrying me.”
“It’s temporary.”
I looked at him sharply.
Temporary.
Just long enough to survive.
The first breath of hope in months slipped painfully into my lungs. I was temporary to him and I thought about my boyfriend back home. About all the excitement I had felt when we got together, about his touch and kisses. About all the possibilities. It was all gone. My future, no matter how temporary it was, stood right in front of me.
So I was marrying Garth. The plums, or whatever remained of them, and Shunammite, of course, were jealous. I got to marry a young, handsome commander who wasn’t twice my age and pre diabetic. “A pearl girl… getting married before me,” Shunammite said the next day.
Lucky me.
We had an engagement party and a small wedding. His house wasn’t big or luxurious like Agnes’. I liked it better anyway. And that very night, a week after the announcement, we got settled into our new house. Equally small. Just one Martha.
I was going to die of boredom.
“So…” I said and sat on the bed. “Is this medieval style where someone watches as you… copulate and then check that the bride was still a virgin? Whether or not I bleed on the sheets.”
Garth looked up from where he’d been awkwardly taking off his gloves.
“What?”
“You know.” I gestured vaguely toward the door. “Hidden council of elderly women waiting outside to confirm I’m pure and untouched and all that.”
To my surprise, he actually snorted. I’d never seen him smile before or not act like I was a burden, some punishment that landed upon him for wearing his shirt a little wrinkled.
“No, Daisy. No one’s listening through the walls.”
“Good. Because that would make this somehow even worse.”
The bedroom fell quiet after that.
Small room. Small house. One narrow bed shoved against the wall beneath a tiny window. Compared to the commanders’ mansions I’d seen before, it almost looked ordinary.
Garth loosened the collar of his uniform, suddenly looking less like a Commander and more like the tired twenty-year-old underneath all the black fabric and authority. My husband.
“You don’t have to look that horrified,” he said.
“I’m trying not to think about the fact that technically we’re married now.”
“You brought up the copulation witnesses.”
“Because I panic when uncomfortable.”
“I noticed.”
I kicked my shoes off and pulled my legs onto the bed, watching him carefully.
It still felt strange seeing him here. In a home. His home. No Pearl Girls watching us. No Aunts hovering nearby. No rehearsed conversations.
Just us.
Suddenly, being near a man was allowed. A man who was supposed by all Gilead laws, to impregnate me.
“So what now?” I asked.
Garth went still for half a second.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I waved a hand around the room. “Are we pretending to be an actual married couple? Are you sleeping on the floor? Am I supposed to suddenly become domestic and start knitting you socks?”
“You don’t know how to knit.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
He sighed quietly and sat down in the chair near the window instead of beside me.
“That’s your bed tonight.”
The tension in my shoulders eased before I could stop it.
“And you?”
“I’ll manage.”
Something about that answer irritated me immediately.
“Oh, don’t do the martyr thing,” I muttered. “I survived sleeping beside girls who cried themselves sick every night. I can survive sharing a bed with you.”
His eyes flickered toward me then away again.
“It’s not about that.”
The room went quiet.
Garth wasn’t some disgusting old commander forcing himself onto a child bride. He looked almost painfully aware of exactly how young I was.
Which, embarrassingly, made me trust him more.
“You know,” I said after a moment, softer now, “you’re very bad at acting like my husband.”
“That’s because I’m trying not to feel like one. We don’t have to do anything.”
That landed harder than I expected.
Outside, somewhere beyond the house, a bell rang faintly through the night.
Gilead kept moving.
But for the first time in months, I was somewhere with a locked door and no Aunt waiting outside it.
“So we play pretend.”
“Exactly.”
“Ok. Fine. That’s perfect actually.”
“Go to sleep.”
“And you?”
“Give me a pillow.”
“Blanket?”
“There’s a spare one around here.”
I was married. On paper. In the eyes of a cruel God. And so I covered myself with a blanket and closed my eyes, listening to him shift around on the floor, listening to his breath. I cried myself to sleep that night. Blessed be my fucking marriage.