William Rose - The Seven Habits

She walked toward the sound of digging slowly, as if partially afraid that it wasn’t a new toilet being constructed at all, as if it were actually a grave that she would be lowered into after judgment had been passed and her sentence pronounced. That was silly… they wouldn’t kill her for what she’d seen. Would they? They might banish her back to the surface, back to that foodless world of rotters and ruin. But kill her?

I’d rather die. I’d rather they kill me, I really would.

And, if she were brutally honest with herself it was what she deserved. Shouldn’t there have been some sort of punishment for what she’d done to her mother? Shouldn’t she have been made to suffer for her sins? But, no—she’d been rewarded. She’d been clothed and fed, introduced to a world where the fear of violent death was as far removed as the stabs of hunger. And she’d met him , the only person in the world who she’d never want to have think an ill thought of her. To have all of that dangled before her and then yanked away would be far crueler than any execution.

Well, maybe that’s what you get, because of Mama. Maybe that’s exactly what you get.

Ocean stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Gauge plunged the shovel into the floor. His muscles rippled with each thrust and he grunted softly while Corduroy replaced the full bucket of dirt with an empty one. He was so handsome, her Gauge, so perfect in every way. She’d miss him the most, even more than the food and clean clothes. Even more than—

“Hey, beautiful,” Gauge panted as he looked up, “I didn’t hear you.”

Despite the fear and uncertainty, Ocean still felt a gush of giddiness wash over her. He thinks I’m beautiful.

Corduroy looked at her with a steady gaze. His good eye gleamed with a coldness in the candlelight, shadows flickered over the gnarled remnants of his face.

She swallowed hard and braced herself for what was to follow. No matter what they decided, she wouldn’t cry, not this time. She was so tired of wasting water, of feeling her insides ripped to shreds with the force of sobs. She would be brave. Strong.

Gauge wiped the sweat from his forehead with a swipe of his arm and grinned at her.

“The problem with digging a hole,” he said, “is you always end up with more dirt than what you took out.”

Just do it. Get it over with, please, just do it.

“I mean, this latrine? It’s not even as deep as the old one yet. But we’ve already got that sucker filled up. And we still got all this dirt to deal with.”

Was he trying to make some kind of point with his little speech? Was he comparing her to the dirt in a hole, maybe?

“Of course, the hardest part is over. About broke my back busting through the concrete.”

He shot a look at Corduroy and narrowed his eyes.

“Really could have used some help with that part, too.”

Why was he being so mean? Why didn’t he just come right out and tell her that he knew she’d disobeyed him, that he was aware she knew what was hidden behind that rusted, metal door.

“So here’s where you come in, sweetie. You need to take these here buckets down the south tunnel. Just after you pass the third drain, there’s going to be a passage off to the left. Take that one, turn right twice, and you’ll come to this big crack in the ground. Be careful because it looks like it could lead right down to the very center of the earth. Anyhow, you dump the dirt down there and by the time you get back, we’ll already have more for you, okay?”

It began to dawn on Ocean that, for whatever reason beyond her understanding, Corduroy hadn’t told Gauge yet. Maybe he was waiting for just the right time, or maybe he planned on holding it over her, wielding the power of this secret in an attempt to make her do dirty things to him. Her mother always said some men would do that, that she should never get into any situation where someone would have that kind of leverage over her. Was that it, then? Was he wanting to—

“Hey, darlin’, are you okay? You don’t look right. Do you need some water or something?”

She mumbled a reply, something about a headache due to Baby’s crying, and concern had immediately pulled Gauge’s feature’s into a long frown.

“Maybe you should go lay down. Cord can haul the buckets. It’ll take longer without the two of us both working but—”

“No, I’m fine, I can do it. Really. Third drain, turn left, take two rights… right?”

She soon found herself with a wooden bar pressing down on her shoulders, two white buckets of dirt dangling by their handles from either end. The added weight made her take tiny, shuffling steps forward, making the south tunnel seem much longer than it ever had before. By the time she was halfway to the forbidden door, her back felt as if the muscles were stretched taut, and her knees ached with each step. Only the constant repetition of do it for Gauge, do it for Gauge kept her moving forward and from collapsing onto the ground.

As the door loomed closer, she found it harder and harder to keep the little mantra going. Her eyes were pulled again and again to the rectangle of metal set into the wall, her thoughts returning to what she’d seen the night before.

Leave it alone. Just leave it be and go dump your dirt.

She imagined she’d barely avoided Gauge’s wrath for her first indiscretion. It would just be plain stupid to push her luck further. What was behind that door wasn’t any of her business, it didn’t concern her. T here’s probably a good reason, after all, and in time, Gauge will trust me enough to share it… as long as Corduroy keeps his damn mouth shut.

The thought of that man touching her, of his rough and scarred flesh pressed against her own, was enough to make a shudder course through her body. But she would do it; if it meant she could stay here, could stay with Gauge, she would do anything that beast wanted.

But first, she would prove she was worthy of remaining in Gauge’s good graces. She had to ignore the door, to simply walk by it, to pretend she’d never opened it to begin with.

It’s none of your business. Keep walking.

It felt like the door was tugging at her again, like it was silently calling to her in a voice that pulled invisible strings on her soul.

This time she was able to avoid its influence. She gave it wide berth and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, focusing on the weight of the buckets bearing down upon her, the throbbing ache in her thighs. She counted three drains and slipped into a particularly narrow tunnel that required her to walk sideways to keep the buckets from banging against the walls.

Two right turns later, and there was the crack—a dark fissure in the ground that was like looking into an open wound on the body of the earth. The contents of the buckets tumbled off the crags and outcroppings, disappearing into the chasm below. She took a moment to rub her shoulders, rotate her neck in slow circles, and flex her knees.

But then she was heading back the way she came, retracing her steps without the burden of the buckets bearing down upon her. When she came to the metal door again, she paused, looking at it warily. She chewed her bottom lip, and told herself to just keep moving on. For some reason, it was harder this time. Maybe it was because she didn’t have the weight of the buckets to contend with anymore. Perhaps it was because there was some small part of her that insisted it had all been some sort of a dream, that she hadn’t actually seen what she thought she had.

Never again. If you look, it’ll be just this once and then it will be over with and done, okay?

After all, she wouldn’t be in any more trouble for opening the door twice than she would’ve for doing it once, and she wanted so desperately to believe that she had been mistaken.