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Pulling out my phone, I storm into the living room and press call. He answers on the second ring. “I’m in a meet—”
“Birth control?”
He chuckles lightly. “I’m gathering you’ve met Zara.”
“What the fuck, Milton? You couldn’t even say goodbye to me this morning but send me a gynecologist?”
“And?”
“You’re crazy! I’m nothing more than your glorified prisoner. What’s the point of putting me on birth—”
“Is that what you think you are?”
“Aren’t I?”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Milton says to whoever he’s in a meeting with. I wait for a few seconds until I hear the door open and close. Then, “I want you.”
“You…wait, what?”
“I want you. Get on birth control so I can have you without the risk of becoming a parent, which neither of us is right in the head for. It’s that simple.”
“You’re an absolute mindfuck!” I hang up. Going back into the kitchen, I plonk myself on the stool next to Zara, causing her eyebrow to rise in question. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Fighting a smirk, she pulls out a leaflet, and we go through all the different types of contraceptives there are, including all the risks and side effects. She’s straight to the point, and I appreciate it, knowing I’m sick of the cryptic talk. Even if Milton has just been the most straightforward that he’s ever been.
What is going on inside his mind? Will I ever know? While I don’t want to get pregnant again, it would be nice to know what he wants.
We go with the implant in my arm. Zara inserts it under local anesthesia, wrapping it with a bandage. After asking me a few uncomfortable sex questions, she takes a sample of my blood and then asks me to pee in a cup.
“To check for any STDs,” she explains when I ask her why. “Not that you have any, but it’s standard procedure for anyone to become a member in Club X.”
That has me recoiling in shock again, blindsided by these plans that Milton has yet to utter a word about. Pulling out my phone when I get to the downstairs bathroom, I type a message to the man who seriously lacks communication skills.
ME:I’m to become a member of your sex cult now too?
His reply comes a second later.
MILTON:Not a cult. And yes. Soon.
His vague reply only angers me, and I decide to stop talking to him altogether, or I might throw the phone out of the window.
After checking the stitches in my other arm and changing the bandage under Milton’s extra instruction, Zara finally leaves.
Beyond exhausted, I drag myself upstairs. Meeting everyone and then being poked and prodded has left me weary. Not to mention that Milton left a lasting impression on my body after he fucked me. I’m miserably confused as I kick off my sneakers and climb back into Milton’s bed that’s been changed and made up.
I don’t even remember closing my eyes.
