Lorelei was the one who brought Inara home with her one day on a whim, and I was the one who ended up taking care of her.Inarawas a character from the showFirefly—it nearly inspired Lorelei to change her handle from @siren_baby to @intergalactic_wh0re, but Hudson and I talked her out of it. Naming the calico kitten of mysterious origins after her idol was the logical next best thing.
Inara was a reminder of all the times I’d picked up after Lorelei thanklessly. The Circle was just another one of her messes to clean. No one else was going to do it.
“You’re perfect, and I am happy to scoop all of your piss and shit,” I whispered to Inara, just in case she was telepathic and thought I saw her as a burden.
“Have you checked the burner?” Delilah asked.
My heart sped up. The thought of checking it alone was anxiety-inducing. But with Delilah and Hudson here, I decided to rip off the Band-Aid.
“No new posts,” I said. “But there’s a story.”
Hudson and Delilah slid off the barstools and gathered on either side of me. I clicked her profile image.
The first image was a shot of a familiar stained-glass window and a text box that read,Everything belongs to Him. Heart, soul, womb…The song playing was Flower Face’sBiblical Love.
Red hot rage coursed through my veins.
“Ew,” Hudson said at the same time Delilah said, “Oh, shit.”
“She doesn’t want children,” I hissed. “She once told me that was the only thing she has ever been sure of in her entire life. She said she would never change her mind, not for anything or anyone. She made me promise to smother her with a pillow before she ever reproduced.”
The story timed out, and a new slide appeared. This time, it was a selfie. Her eyes were hauntingly empty, slightly glossy. The text read,I’m trying every day to let go of fear. I’m not ready yet. But I am transcending through His leadership and divine patience. We must let go of everything that no longer serves us. We must be brave.
“Who in the fuck are these stories evenfor?” Hudson asked, breaking through my rising panic.
I barely heard him over my own spinning thoughts. “Hudson—the pregnant women, Jayne’s weird speech from last night… Maybe Lorelei’s being metaphorical and woo-woo. I fucking hope so. But what if she’s being groomed to do somethingshe doesn’t want to do? Something as life-altering ashaving a baby.”
“You think she’s being Ballerina Farmed,” Delilah said, referencing a famous tradwife influencer who was allegedly coerced to give up all her dreams to be a wife and mother of a soccer team of children.
“That was literally the life we escaped,” I said through a clenched jaw. “How can she not see that?”
The story ended, and I slammed my phone down so I could pace our tiny living room.
Hudson finally spoke. “Sometimes, it’s not enough to physically leave. You have to mentally leave too—and I’m not sure Lorelei ever did. The jumping from toxic man to toxic man… that’s where she feels most comfortable. Because it’s familiar, not because it’s safe.” He pinned me with a serious look. “It’s not your job to rescue her, and you can’t fix her. She has to figure it out herself.”
“What if by the time she does figure it out, she’s trapped with an abusive oil oligarch and five children she never wanted? And I did nothing to stop it?”
“You want to know what I think?” Hudson said, frustration ripe in his chestnut eyes. “I think you’re having fun.”
I stopped pacing, struck with equal parts confusion and irritation.
“I think you’re having fun with Mr. Hottie and you’re having fun watching rich people do weird rich people shit, and I think you need the excuse of rescuing Lorelei so you don’t have to admit you’re doing what you’re doing because youwant to.”
“That is?—”
He cut me off. “And you’reallowedto want things, Nova. Is it a cult? Probably. But you have a good head on your shoulders, and you’re allowed to have fun while you search for whatever it is you’re searching for. Call it book research for all I care. Ijust wish Lorelei didn’t have to ruin it for you like she ruins everything else.”
“Now look who’s wearing the tinfoil hat,” I said indignantly, ignoring the anxious churn of my guts and the itchy, uncomfortable heat crawling under my skin. “I—I need to write.”
I grabbed my phone from the counter and escaped. I was sick with shame and angry with Hudson for provoking it.
“Love you, Nova!” Delilah called nervously.
“Love you too,” I muttered. “And only you.”
Hudson sighed, and I closed Inara and myself inside my bedroom. Instead of sitting in my emotion, I distracted myself with a horrible decision.
I texted Wes.
