You can read previous episodes of The Amberly Chronicles HERE.
Previously in The Amberly Chronicles…
I stare at the screen with such intensity that my eyes sting. The word ‘processing’ stops flashing and my heart hammers so hard I can barely breathe.
Oliver takes my hand.
I let out a shriek, dizzy with relief, and Oliver whoops.
“Wait,” Oliver says, and I freeze, my eyes flicking to the screen.
Amberly may stay if…
There is an if? IF WHAT?
If she mates with Oliver.
The Request Part Two:
I gape at the screen as I read the words over and over again. What the hell do they mean I can stay if I mate with Oliver?
A hand brushes mine and I’m slow to pull my eyes away from the screen. I look down; Oliver has my hand in his. He says something, but all I can hear is my heart.
He gives my hand a quick pump and I drag my eyes up to meet his. He swallows, licks his lips.
“Amberly.” My name comes out strained. “You don’t have to. I mean, I’m willing, you know I’m willing, but…”
It wouldn’t be that hard to do. I find him extremely attractive, and we did almost do it once. I mean, they could have asked me to do something a lot worse in order to stay, but the word mate keeps swirling around in my head. What do they mean by mate? Like, just sex, or are they talking babies here? I’m 17. I don’t want a baby and I def don’t want to bring a baby into this prison or whatever we are in.
Lyssa saunters over. “Hey, Amberly.”
I try to exit the request box before she sees. The box disappears, but when I spin around to Lyssa I know she saw it because her eyes are wide.
“What did I just read?” she asks, her voice barely audible.
I don’t want to tell her, it’s too private.
She asks again, louder, her voice shrieking, and the eyes of the few people on the other computers flick to us. When I look at them, they drop their heads.
I turn back to Lyssa, biting my lip. “I asked if I can stay.”
She gulps. “And they said…?”
I nod and her eyes land on Oliver. They narrow into daggers and Oliver squirms under her killer gaze.
She swings back to me. “You have to do it.” Her face is contorted in pain and tears prick at her eyes.
“I hate that it’s him, but I can’t stand the thought of you going.”
Oliver and I glance at each other. This is too much to decide in a minute. “I need time.” My chair scrapes loudly as I push it back and stand.
Lyssa takes my hand; it is so much bigger than mine. “You’re the best thing that has happened to this place. Please.”
I pull my hand free. “I just…”
I back away, darting around Lyssa and running to the elevator. I huddle inside, back pressed against the wall, hugging myself. I’m glad they don’t follow me.
I go to the bathroom when I reach my room and splash water on my face. I grip the basin, staring at the drain. I just want this all to be a terrible nightmare and to wake up already.
Who asks someone to do that? Why would they want me to mate with Oliver? What are they planning?
I glare at the ceiling. “Are you watching?” I shout. “Are you listening? Are you some kind of sick perv wanting to get some kicks? Show yourself! Answer me!”
I storm out of the bathroom and over to my bed. My stomach is rolling and I feel dizzy. I pick up my pillow and slam it into my bed, over and over again. Then I sink onto it, hugging the pillow to me.
Tears stream down my face and snot dribbles over my lip. I wipe it away. “Why won’t you just talk to me, face to face?” I don’t have enough rage left in me to shout this time.
There’s a knock at the door and I know it’s Oliver. If he sees me like this he’ll think it’s the thought of having to do him that’s making me cry. But it’s not, it’s that word: mate. A picture of me with a protruded stomach floods my mind. I shove it away and sit up, wiping my tears with my sleeve.
The door slides open. Oliver walks over to me, crouching down in front of the bed.
“Lyssa threatened to strangle me if I didn’t come and have sex with you right now.”
I manage to smile, closing my eyes and shaking my head.
“That’s not why I’m here by the way.” He places his hand on the bed, like he wants to touch me but isn’t sure if he should. “How are you?”
“Why?” I ask him. “OF all things? Why that?”
He shrugs. “I’m as clueless as you.”
“It they’re watching us, that’s sick.”
He nods. “Very.”
“Oliver, I think it’s more than just sex. I think they want us to have a baby. That’s why they used the word mate.”
His eyebrows furrow. “I…you really think?”
“But… we’re teenagers.”
“Nothing here makes sense, this is no different.”
His knees hit the ground and he extends, bringing his face close to mine. “If there was no baby involved, if the only condition was that you had to sleep with me, would you do it?”
Having him so close has my stomach fluttering. He is so gorgeous. “Yes. I mean, not if they’re watching.”
“I’m sure they don’t have cameras in here.”
I look at him doubtfully. “How else will they know if we do it or not?”
He leans even closer, his cheek brushing against mine, whispering into my ear. “Maybe they do, but a blanket will take care of that. But if you do want to, we can fool them.”
I don’t know what he means.
“I’ll pull out before, you know. No sperm, no baby.”
I swallow. “Can you do that?” I whisper. “I mean, will you have enough control?”
He is so sure. I don’t want to know why he is so sure. But I only have about two days or so left and I don’t know if this crazy insane plan will work, but it will buy me time. I need time.
I feel like I’m going to vomit.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Can you just hold me for a bit?”
He stands, kicking off his shoes, and I move over so he can squeeze in next to me. He pulls me into his arms and I snuggle into his chest.
“Whoa, Amberly, you’re really hot.”
I shiver against him, suddenly cold. I sit up so I can get to the blanket beneath us.
I pause, my hand going to my stomach. Crap, I think I’m going to… vomit fills my mouth and I struggle over the top of Oliver. He keeps saying my name as I fall to my knees on the floor. I shuffle forward, barely making it past the bed before I can’t hold it anymore. My hands touch the cold, smooth surface and the fish I had earlier comes up, burning my throat. My stomach cramps over and over and it feels like this torture is never going to end.
Oliver kneels beside me, placing a hand on my back.
I’m mortified that he – that anyone – is seeing this.
“Help is on its way,” he tells me.
Before I can ask what he means, an ear splitting alarm fills the room.
©Rochelle Sharpe 2015