Sam holds up both hands, palms facing me. “There’s a bonding ceremony when the boys are fifteen. That’s when they bind themselves to The Order. They cut a line in their right palm. You’ve probably seen the scar on Carrson’s hand.”
My eyes widen. “I have. I thought it was from an accident or something. When he was a kid.”
Sam shakes her head slowly. “It’s deliberate. They all have it. The right hand marks their loyalty to The Order.”
She leans in, her voice dipping low, like she’s sharing secrets. “The left hand? That’s reserved for us. For their women.”
My stomach tightens.
“When a man decides to bond a woman, there’s another ceremony. The bonded, both the man and the woman, cut open their hands and put them together. They take a blood oath. That’s how you can tell how many a man’s claimed. By the number of scars on his left palm.”
Abbie leans over and interjects, “The right hand is for God, and the left hand is for sin. That’s why they do it like that.”
Sam doesn’t acknowledge her. She’s watching me, giving me time to catch up. She continues, “You haven’t had the ceremony yet because Carrson’s dad is supposed to be there, to oversee it, but he’s away. Somewhere in the Middle East, dealing with God knows what.”
She looks at her own unmarked palm and shakes her head. “My mother says every man she knows has three scars on the left.”
I rub a hand over my face, secretly appalled by how these women talk about this so casually, like this is how the world works. Like it’s not clearly a system designed to keep women under the men’s boots.
“This is all soHandmaids Tale,” I mutter to myself.
“What’s that?” Sam asks, frowning.
“It’s a book,” I say. “A dystopian one. Women are used only for their bodies and their ability to have children. They made it into a TV show, too,” I say, knowing the sisters won’t have seen it.
There are no TVs here, no movies, no video games, hardly any books. Even though they have phones and computers, they don’t use them for entertainment, onlyfor school.
When I asked Carrson about it, he recited, “Those things rot the mind. The mind and body are temples, never to be polluted.”
I almost laughed when he said it. I thought he was kidding, but then I realized he believes that, or at least he acted like he did, which made me wonder what else he believed in.
I glance at Sam, an idea sparking. “I’ll get you a copy of the book. You might like it.”
It hits me then, an obvious connection I somehow never put together before. I smack my forehead. “The names. Oh my god, that’s why all the guys have names that end inson.It reallyislike inThe Handmaid’s Tale.Ofglen. Offred. They’re namedofsomeone. So Carrson meansson of Carr,right?”
The women all look at me like I just asked if water is wet.
“Of course,” says Sam flatly, like it’s common knowledge. “When they are sons, they’re named after their father, but once they have a child of their own, they lose the son ending. So Carrson’s father is just called Carr. Once Carrson has his own baby, he’ll become Carr.”
“What about grandfathers?” I ask, “Wouldn’t that make two men walking around named Carr?”
Abbie shakes her head and explains, “If they become a grandfather, the word Senior is added. So it would be Carr Senior. Carrson’s granddad is dead, though.” She leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Some people say Carrson’s dad killed him. Apparently, his grandfather was even worse than Carr. The things he did to Carrson’s dad are legendary and not in a good way.”
Something cold unfurls in my stomach.
This isn’t just a naming system. It’s a lineage. A legacy. A cycle of abuse.
A boy is born, raised in isolation by his father, shaped by violence and control. He bonds women—not out of love, but out of tradition and strategy. He chooses one to be the Mother of future daughters, while he goes on to have his own son. Once that son is born, he sheds his name like a snake sheds its skin and becomes the next patriarch in a long, blood-soaked line. Over and over again. Generation after generation.
And the women?
They don’t get names full of legacy. Not really. They get roles. Purposes. To be used.
I thought Carrson was the top of the food chain. Turns out, he’s just another link in the chain itself, and I’m bonded to him, the heir to this twisted dynasty. The realization makes me ill. Part of me wants to believe he’s different. Wants to believe that the boy who listens when I talk and teaches me to stand on my own feet isn’t just biding his time until he becomes the next Carr, the next leader.
This is all so confusing. I don’t know what to think, and I’m starting to wonder if Carrson doesn’t know either.
“So Carrson’s grandfather was…” I choose my words carefully, not wanting to misstep and lose what little ground I’ve gained with these women. I need the answers they hold. “…harsh with Carrson’s dad.” I swallow, then continue, worried I’m walking into a landmine. “Carrson has scars on his back…”
