Fair Trade

Prologue: Birth

    "It's not what you think." She reached out a trembling hand to stroke his face, but he swatted it away.
    "Then what could it be?" His eyes stooped downwards, and she retreated, expression stricken with anxiety. She held her stomach, not yet full with life. "I told you to stop."
    "I couldn't stop. And you had as much a part as I did. We're in this together." She reached for his hand, freckled with shadows from a flickering street light, and placed it on her stomach. He flinched as soon as he made contact, his withered hand on her cotton shirt.
    "It's a boy." She whispered, more as a prayer than a fact.
    He stepped back, hand quickly diving into his jacket's pocket. His eyes finally looked to her and he spoke with gravity. "He's going to be great, but you know what they do to boys."
    "I know." Her eyes held his gaze. "I have a different plan." Out came a sword, quick and sharp, and the man hardly had a chance to jump out of the way.
    "Let's do this while I still have the mobility." She said, watching him hit the ground and lose his balance.
    "Arique, no. I can't do this to you."
    "You can't, or you won't?" Her eyes glittered, the glow of a streetlight casting a menacing shadow on the dewy grass. "You were always a coward. Can't stand a little commitment?" She lunged at him again, and he barely sidestepped again. The knife was short, but still dangerous in her hands.
    "Please, we can figure something else out and-" He fell onto the grass while backing away. He quickly scrambled up.
    "Abortion's not an option." She adjusted her grip, holding it so that the blade pointed outward. It glinted in the darkness.
    "What about-" He started to back away again.
    "Neither is adoption." She quickly stepped forward, and he turned, but she nicked his shoulder. He breathed in heavily, other hand shooting up to grab the wound. As he peeled his hand away, he saw only a little blood, not enough for him to worry about. His eyes were heavy with burden.
    "At least give me a weapon, woman." She stood up straight, eyes narrowing. Then, she pulled out another knife and handed the other to him.
    "You know," she said as she returned to her position, "in Ancient Rome, they put unarmed prisoners against fully armed gladiators." She readied her stance.
    "So I'm a prisoner now?" He slowly moved to the right. She mirrored, smiling.
    "They say that marriage is worse than captivity. You have to pretend to love the one you're with." She lunged again.
    "They were awfully sadistic." He ducked, dropped his knife, and tried to tackle her, and they both fell to the floor, him on top of her. But before he could disarm her, she slipped her knife under his throat, pressing it there hard. He grimaced at the cool metal.
    "You've lost." She said before drawing a little blood from his neck. He sighed, allowing her to roll on top of him and remove the knife from his bloody neck.
    "That's the rule, isn't it? Blood from the neck." He pressed both hands into the open wound now that the knife was gone.
    "Exactly." She sat on him to keep him in place, and pulled out her phone. The blue glow of the screen was unnerving.
    "Who are you calling?" He said as she tapped away.
    "Wonderful." She said, crossing her legs. She looked bored at best, and only her hair was a little disgruntled.
    "What?"
    She ignored him. A voice on the line vibrated the phone, and she began to engage in lively conversation in a language that he only barely understood. The call lasted for about a minute, and then she hung up, smiling.
    "They'll be here soon. I think she'll be proud."
    He stared at her, but she looked into the distance. The streetlights illuminated wispy strands of hair so that her features were framed in a sort of halo. The night sky behind her was a dark blue, almost black, but just light enough so that she had a picturesque backdrop. Little bugs flitted in the light of the street lamps, their presence like confetti. He could admire the beauty of the scene if he wasn't bleeding out from his neck.
    "What if I die?" He said suddenly, looking at his hand full of blood.
    "Then you won't be married." She said brusquely, almost curt.
    "Obviously."
    She didn't answer, her mind on other things. They'll have a beautiful baby, live in a neat little home, and play out a fantasy that only existed in imaginations. She could almost smell the privilege her little girl was going to grow up in. There would be nothing like it in the world.