The Last Mate on Earth

Part 1 - Chapter 5

* * * Hope’s POV * * *

“Hope, wake up”, Miss Rita’s voice sounded through the speaker in my room.

I sleepily rubbed my eyes, dislodging the build up of sleep. I’d had a restless night, tossing and turning and unable to switch my brain off. As I heard my window shutter rising, I sat up to watch the morning sunrise. Beautiful shades of yellow, gold, orange and pink lined the sky, as the sun made its lazy ascent into the sky. Prepared to light up the day. The sunrise signalled the start of a new day and also the day of change. Nothing will be the same again after today.

It’s finally time for me to fulfil my purpose and my duties. The whole reason for my existence. I look around my room, my entire childhood and adolescence is right here. Nothing has changed in my 16 years here. I have never had pretty pink wallpaper or paint, it has always been sterile white. I look at my large bay window, giving me a magnificent and perfect view of the ocean, each and every day. And every single day, I fall in love with the view all over again. It is the first thing that I do when I wake up. I look out the window and long to feel the sea against my skin.

Today, that feeling is not there. Today I have woken up feeling different, everything that I know is about to change. I am leaving my adolescence and becoming an adult and I am not quite sure how to feel about it.

I know that I must become an adult and fulfil my responsibilities that test heavily on my shoulders. But I find that I do not want it, not that I would ever admit that here.

The familiar beep and sound of knuckles tapping on my door got my attention. “Come in”, I called to my visitor.

Miss Hannah, one of the younger parents, walked into my room. “Hope, it is time to get ready. Follow me”, she instructed. She never greeted me, just told me what to do. Her neatly pressed grey tunic, she had a pale blue strip on hers. She was not in charge, despite how she spoke to me. She has long auburn hair that she wears in a French plaît. Her face was showing some signs of wrinkles, her brown eyes cold and lifeless. She has a thin nose and a small mouth. That’s the thing about it here, because everything is repetitive. I have taken to studying people and their features.

“Good morning parent Hannah”, I greeted her, forcing a smile upon my face. My stomach is spinning and I am feeling nauseous. Why am I so opposed to this?

I was shocked when she gave me a warm smile, “It is OK to be nervous, you are standing on the edge of a new dawn with so many expectations of you. Just remember that it is you who has the power here”, she tells me kindly.

She must be nervous too, this is what she gave her life up for. She will be judged based on how I perform today and over the weekend.

I watch her crisp uniform stretch and crease as she walks across my room and places my breakfast tray on my table. “Eat up. I will be back in five minutes”, she tells me.

I sit at my table, as always, a meal for one. I lift the hollow tin that sits over my meal, keeping it warm. I would have thought, given how momentous this occasion is, that they would have given me a celebratory breakfast. Perhaps a full English or some chocolate chip pancakes, but no. I sit and look at my small bowl of porridge, a small pot of fruit, half a cup of fresh orange, a cup of water and, of course, a pot of my daily medication.

That is another thing about being me. I must take medication twice a day. Extra vitamins to keep me fit and well. Because we can never be too cautious, apparently.

This whole weekend is about me being the woman I was born to be. No longer a child of hope. I am the woman who will repopulate the planet. I have to be perfect, the pressure is real. These next few weekends are monumental for our race, they will go down in our history. I find that I am emotional from the pressure of it all, and I shed a tear as I tuck into my porridge. No fatty treats for me, they would not want me bloated and having a pot belly when these meetings are aired to the whole world.

I can just see it now, people say with popcorn, their eyes glued to their televisions, watching the events unravel and unfold. Or perhaps I am living in a fairytale and nobody truly cares. They may have given up on the hope of a future. After all, they have spent the last 16 years with no say in my life, unable to meet me. I briefly try to imagine being in their shoes and putting all my faith in one person to save our race. I quickly abandon that thought as my heart rate accelerates and my stomach flips, threatening to bring up the few mouthfuls I have eaten.

I pushed the tray aside as I heard the door unlock and open, revealing Miss Hannah. I cannot possibly eat and keep anything down, my breathing begins to accelerate.

I see Miss Hannah’s right hand slide my water to me as she rubs circles on my back with her left hand. “Just breathe it out”, she says gently. Demonstrating breaths I should take.

I copied her breathing rhythm and felt my heart rate and anxiety decrease. “Thank you”, I said to her, in barely a whisper.

“Take your vitamins Hope”, she says kindly. As she puts the wax-paper medication pot in front of me.

There are four tablets within the pot, each a different size and colour. I pop them in my mouth and wash them down with my water.

“How about you try and eat something? It may settle your stomach”, she says kindly, although her eyes hold worry at my practically untouched breakfast. After all, it is her duty to keep me well fed, clothed, happy, educated, healthy and prepared for the future. By not eating my breakfast, she had failed in her duties.

“I’m not feeling hungry Miss Hannah”, I told her.

“But you must eat. You need to keep your strength up”, she said, her eyes still holding their worry.

I wondered if there were punishments for the parents if I were ever to become unwell. Is that why she is worried? With that in mind, I pick up my spoon and take another mouthful of the porridge.

“Thank you”, Miss Hannah says as she sighs a breath of relief, and her face relaxes slightly.

I’m sure that she acts this way sometimes to get her own way. But I dutifully finished my porridge. “Well done, Hope”, she spoke in an encouraging tone.

She turns on her heels and walks to the door, turning to look over her shoulder. “Ready when you are Miss Hope”, she said.

“Well, I’d hate to keep anybody waiting. Let’s go”, I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, but fail miserably. I dutifully followed after her.

I am apprehensive about today. I had thought I looked after myself pretty well. I was always clean and presentable, but the way they said about grooming me so that my appearance was as perfect as could be had me doubting my abilities. What more could there honestly be other than washing, drying and moisturising?

I just want to get through this as painlessly as possible, ideally without losing any of my privileges. It’s not that I’m dismissive of their efforts, I know that they have sacrificed their lives to help me. And my whole life has been leading up to these moments. I think I would feel better if I knew what I was walking into. This would occur every Friday before the weekend meetings with the prospects. Today will be the worst of the grooming sessions, I’m sure of it.

“In here please, Hope”, Miss Hannah said to me, gesturing towards a door I had never seen before. I had never been to this part of the castle before, now that I think about it.

She opens the door for me, “Remember to be on your best behaviour, Miss Rita will be watching”, she tells me as she nudges me through the door.

As I walked in, I take in this new room. It doesn’t appear scary or intimidating. There are two large baths at the back of the room sitting in the corner and set within a stone base, a shower cubicle, there are comfy-looking beds and chairs and cupboards with glass doors that are full of things that I am assuming are grooming products.

“Welcome to the beauty room. My name is Sarah and I will be leading today. If you could follow me please. We will begin over here. If you can remove your clothes, wrap this towel around you and lay on the bed please”, she told me.

I walked over to the bed. I have gotten over being self-conscious these days, given every room in my area has cameras. I undressed and put my clothes in a basket that was labelled ‘laundry’. Despite being confused and wanting to ask questions, I did as I was instructed, knowing that I was being watched. I wrapped the fluffy white towel around my body and laid myself on the bed.

I watched as she began stirring something in a pot with a wooden stick-like/thing. I laid my head back, suddenly nervous again. “OK, Hope I know this will be your first wax, and I know you’ve just recently showered and dried, so your skin is clean. So what happens is, I spread this wax over your skin, and place a piece of special cloth over it, and then I will pull the cloth off. This will remove your body hair. Once we have finished all the areas, we will go across to the baths for a cool milk bath which will soothe and hydrate your skin”, she explained.

She did not give me any time to respond, as she removed the stick-thing from the pot and it was covered in something gloopy, that something was wax. It felt nice as she spread it over my leg, it was warm and gave off a floral aroma. She placed the special cloth over the wax, running her hand down it to ensure it was on. She placed one hand on the strip and with her other she pulled.

“ARRHHH, WHAT THE f**k?”, I screamed. It felt like she was ripping my flesh off my bones.

“HOPE! Watch your language and behave or you will lose your privileges”, Miss Rita’s voice came from a hidden speaker in the room.

Of course she was watching.

When was I ever not watched?

The next hour felt like torture and I could have sworn that the clock was moving in slow motion. Why would women choose to do this to themselves? Sarah was patient with me for the most part. However, I could tell that she was fed up with my wincing and flinching after 45 minutes. If I had thought that having my legs waxed was painful, that was nothing compared to having my underarms and private area waxed. Why would women choose to do this? I had silently prayed to the moon goddess to beg for forgiveness for whatever I had done to deserve this torture.

I had sighed in relief when she had wiped my skin with a cooling cleanser, or was it a moisturiser? Either way, it had felt like heaven against my fiery skin.

I had quite enjoyed the milk bath, it was cool and soothing against my tortured skin, and I may have even fallen to sleep when the beauty shop workers had massaged the milk into my skin. I had been exfoliated, moisturised, had my eyebrows tweezed, something called derma-something where they remove the little fuzzy hairs from my face. My hair had been deep conditioned and blow dried, I had received manicures and pedicures and even had my teeth whitened.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, I did not recognise myself. Looking back at me was a shiny new version of me, and I did not like it one bit.

Next was my hair style trials. I watched as Sarah worked her magic with her perfectly manicured hands and styled ruby red nails. The way she twists and plaits my hair is a work of art, with gentle wisps of hair framing my face, while my hair hung loosely down my back in waves. I liked this hair style and I think Miss Hannah did too. “This will do nicely, thank you Sarah”, she said, approving of my look.

A lady called Cara applied my make-up, she kept it natural and gave me a glow, as she called it, although I think the glow was down to all the beauty treatments. She worked with various pots and brushes, and flourished as though she was an artist.

I’d had enough and wanted out of here, but I bit my tongue and tried on the outfits they had brought in. I paid no attention, knowing this time I would not be able to choose my clothes. I can’t even remember what they chose.

“All done, shall we go for your lunch? We are a little late. I did not realise so much grooming would be needed”, Miss Hannah tells me.

“Please, I am hungry”, I answered her. Partly insulted that she deemed me as needing so much grooming. But I was really hungry.

I followed Miss Hannah out of the beauty room and down the corridor towards my home. I see Hayden walking towards us, he has to take multiple looks before he realises it is me. His eyes went wide in shock as his brain registered that he was looking at little old me. He gave a half smile, before pretending that he had not seen us or noticed me. He did that sometimes, but his smile made my insides flutter. After seeing him, I once again realised that I was not looking forward to meeting the prospects.