The Smell of Coffee (#MyHandMaidsTale)

The Smell of Coffee

Last night's dream was delicious. Even after waking up and reminding myself of my place and my loneliness, as heavy as the crimson cloak over me, I could still smell it. Of all things taken from us, I missed a nice cup of black coffee the most.

When the door opened, and the morning breeze enveloped the senses, the memory was also swept away. Nothing good could last long when you are a handmaid. Every second, step or interaction of your whole day carefully designed with the sole purpose of purging both hope and memory. Maybe that's why my mind chose a madness of its own making to shield me from the real insanity.

Every night, before going to bed, I'd whisper a list of what I missed the most. In the beginning, I hoped to dream about it. However, controlling it proved impossible. That didn't stop my mind from drifting towards items outside the target list. So, I guess it worked, conceptually, at least. One thing still eluded me. After seven months trying, I never dreamt about being properly and warmly hugged.

I can't be sure if that's what made me lose control on the way back to the Redmayne's residence. My post. My prison. My eternal torment. We were almost home, Ofgladen and I. I recall her yelling my name a couple of times as I lost it and the world dissolved into a bright haze. I traveled back in time. Or to another planet, if you ask me.

Feeling happy - truly happy - seemed impossible, especially after every Ceremony and even after getting pregnant. Just another reminder of my condition. A motherhood instantly denied alongside every other right conquered over a century and lost overnight. When I flipped, I felt it again. No, I didn't feel it, I was happy.

I'd also be cracking up If I could see Ofgladen and the soldier's faces when they saw me hugging a tree. Yep, a tree. In my mind, I was hugging my father. He kissed my forehead and promised to never let me go. I don't care, for me, it was real. As real as being inside this lifeless infirmary.

They would not kill me. Compliments of the baby, of course.

The door opened, someone got in, then it closed with a thud. A man. The Eyes had done a number on him. His bruised face wouldn't lie.

"Who are you?", I asked.

"Ted".

We knew he shouldn't be here.

"Why haven't they hung you yet?"

He looked down, considering his fate.

"They told me to do something... before...", he trailed off.

"Will they spare you?"

"No."

I was looking at a dead man, another victim of a hopeless reality.

"What, then?", I asked.

He leaned forward and hugged me, tight.

Someone decided I needed it. I did.

But Ted needed it more. He'd have that hug for all eternity.

We saved each other.