The Shadow in the Dark Chapter Twenty Four

 

Seven Weeks Later:

 

“I feel so violated,’ I said as I sat on the edge of the hospital trolley, wearing nothing more than a white hospital gown, tied together at my back.

 

The local anaesthetic had yet to wear off, so my left breast felt numb and doughy to the touch.

 

The discharge room was smaller than the operating room, but somehow less contained. A single chair sat against the wall. The trolley was narrow, the paper sheet crinkling beneath me with every breath, too loud in the quiet. The walls were bare except for a laminated notice about hand hygiene that I kept rereading without absorbing a word.

 

I was technically ready to leave, and that was supposed to mean I was fine. My body agreed well enough - no dizziness, no pain sharp enough to demand attention - but my mind lagged behind, slow and shaken. The local anaesthetic had worn off in patches, leaving a strange in-between sensation that made it hard to trust where I ended and the room began.

 

I kept my hands folded in my lap because I didn’t know what else to do with them. They felt restless, like they wanted to reach for something solid and familiar, but there was nothing in reach that belonged to me. The plastic bracelet around my wrist caught the light when I moved, a quiet reminder that I was still, in some small way, not entirely my own.

 

From the corridor came ordinary sounds - footsteps, a trolley rolling past, someone laughing softly. Each one landed too hard. My chest tightened reflexively, as if my body expected instructions it hadn’t agreed to yet. I told myself I was safe, that no one was going to touch me again without asking, but the reassurance felt thin, something memorized rather than believed.

 

I thought about how calmly everyone had spoken during the procedure, how efficiently they had tried to reassure me. How awake I had been. Sitting there afterward, I felt embarrassed by how fragile I was, by the way my thoughts kept snagging on moments that were already finished. It had been minor. I had been told that more than once. The word echoed in my head, hollow and unhelpful.

 

“I think that’s a bit of an overreaction, Ash. It was a minor surgical procedure and you were in and out in under thirty minutes.” Michael Emery stood there, his face a mixture of sympathy and a desire to be somewhere else right now.

 

“They shouldn’t be allowed to do this to me. It’s horrible.” Tears welled in my eyes. 

 

“No one was forcing you, Ash. You could have just said no.”

 

“I would have been expelled from college, Michael! The college principals would have expelled me! I’m just a term and a half away from graduating! The last two and a half years would all have been for nothing!”

 

Michel fidgeted. He really wanted to be somewhere else right now, perhaps watching a televised football match with Elijah in a downtown sports bar.

 

“Well, you can see their point of view, can’t you?”

 

“No! No, I can’t! Michael – whose side are you on?”

 

“Yours, obviously, Ash, but when the police officer contacted the college principals…”

 

“Officer Benton. She’s a fucking bitch.”

 

“Language, Ashlee.” Michael warned me. “She’s a police officer of South Hadley. It’s precisely that kind of attitude that got you into trouble in the first place.”

 

“Why does it matter that I was wearing silk panties?! I can wear whatever I like!”

 

“Of course you can, of course you can, Ash. But these days the kind of woman who wears silk underwear, well… it’s reputational damage.”

 

“She had no right to call on the principals. No right!”

 

“You know the college has strict morality conditions for its female students,” said Michael. “They were introduced at the beginning of the Fall term following pressure from some of the female students.”

“I know! And it was outrageous that they could do that! I’m an adult woman!”

 

“Not quite twenty-one, yet, though, Ash. And so subject to college rules if you want to study there.”

 

I cried out in frustration and clenched my hands into futile fists. “Wearing silk panties doesn’t make me a slut!”

 

Michael said nothing.

 

“You know that, right? You do know that?” I wanted him to agree.

 

“Ash, of course you’re not a slut, which is why it’s so important you don’t give the impression that you might be. It’s all about projection to your peer group. Word got round very quickly. You would have been ostracised. This is for the best. Now there can be no denying that you’re a respectable young lady who doesn’t feel unnatural urges.”

 

“They’re going to monitor the way I feel, every fucking day of my life until I graduate!”

 

“Well, you know the saying, Ash, if you have nothing to hide, then…”

 

“Oh, shut up, Michael! I hate that saying! You promised me you could pull strings! You said your family name has influence.”

 

“And it does, Ash It does. But… I told you… father wasn’t happy. He felt… well, he thinks I acted rashly when I used the family name to get the charges dropped. He’s concerned that it makes me look weak.”

 

“Weak?! How is helping me weak?!”

 

“He’s concerned what the Frick family will think. Heaven knows the Fricks think I’m a bit soft. Which I’m not, Ashlee. Far from it. I’m as tough as they come. But the Fricks… well, they’ve always been very tough. Very hard line on certain things. They’re not as progressive and modern as I am. Of course it doesn’t help that they take rather a dim view of Felicity. They think she’s a bad influence on their own Chelsea. And Felicity doesn’t make things easier for herself when she keeps going on about how she’s the oldest child, and if she’d been born a man, and so on.”

 

“You said you could help me!”

 

“And I have, Ash. You’re still at college. You’ll graduate later this year. I couldn’t work miracles, you know. Not with father saying… well, let’s not go there. Honestly, this is the best I could do.”

 

I sobbed again, and as I did so the door opened and a doctor walked in, carrying a clipboard.

 

“Miss Ashlee Ellis?” he said, as if there was some doubt that the only woman in the room – a woman who happened to be wearing a white surgical gown – was the woman he was looking for.

 

“That’s her,” said Michael as he shook the hand of the doctor.

 

“Well, then, we’ll be discharging you in an hour or so, Miss Ellis. Just a few forms to fill out first, and of course we’ll need to upload your biometrics.”

I sobbed again as he said that.

 

“Now, do you understand how the arousal of a woman’s body works?”

 

I stared at him in mild shock. Really? He was asking me that?

 

“Miss Ellis?” he was waiting for an answer.

 

“Of course. I’m not a child!”

 

The doctor frowned as he regarded me. “Really, young Lady? Then explain to me how your Parasympathetic nervous system is activated by outside stimuli?”

 

I couldn’t, of course. 

 

“Well, then, don’t pretend you know what I’m about to explain to you.” He was admonishing me as if I were a foolish girl who had just showed herself up in class. “When you experience outside stimulation your nervous system and vascular responses are primarily threefold. There is the Parasympathetic Activation when nitric oxide is released. This results in the smooth muscle relaxation that we call vasodilation. Then we have Vaso Congestion as blood rushes to your clitoris, labia, and vaginal walls. This leads in turn to Lubrication: plasma exudate moistens your vaginal canal.”

 

It all sounded very mechanical, as if my body was a well organised machine, reacting to levers being tripped.

 

“There are then six changes to your genital and pelvic region, Miss Ellis. Your clitoris swells and erects.”

 

I blushed hearing this.

 

“Your labia majora/minora is swiftly engorged and reddened. Your vagina becomes self-lubricated and elongates in anticipation of penetration by a man. We call this the ‘tenting effect’ on a woman. Your uterus elevates slightly, there is tension to your pelvic floor muscles, and an outward notable sign is that your nipples become erect and your areolae swell. Such signs are encouraging to the human male on a primal level. they signal your readiness for sexual congress. They tell a man that you can be penetrated easily, and you will be responsive to his thrusts.”

 

“Is this really necessary?” I said.

 

“Then there are the Systemic Physiological Changes, most notably a moderate increase in your heart rate and blood pressure; faster and shallower respiration; a flushing of your skin, primarily around your face and chest, and you will inevitably experience heightened sensitivity of your genitals, nipples, and erogenous zones.”

 

I kept my eyes focussed on my hands in my lap as the doctor detailed how my body might respond to arousal.

 

“In a healthy woman, all these signs are minimal and well within certain control parameters. Obviously some women experience them to a heightened degree. There are appropriate names for such women. The chip we buried within your left breast will monitor all these chemical and biological signals, and once a week the data can be uploaded to our central data base where we can verify the readings and contact you accordingly.”

 

I placed my head in my hands again and wept.

 

“Miss Ellis, are you listening to me?” asked the doctor. His bedside manner was awful.

 

“Yes, yes I am.”

 

“Once a week you will upload the data by scanning your breast with the small device you will be given. The readings will transfer to a database. So long as your readings remain acceptable, your college Principals will be happy.”

 

“See, it’s not so bad, is it, Ashlee? The acceptable level is really quite generous. We can kiss softly and you should be fine,” said Michael. 

 

I wept again and clenched my hands once more into futile fists. “This is MY body,” I said.

 

“Of course it is,” said the Doctor. “And now you can take very good care of it. Your left wrist, please.”

 

“What? What now?”

 

“Your left wrist, please.”

 

I sobbed and held out my left wrist. The doctor produced a steel band with a small Nutri Girl logo engraved on the steel. It was hinged and open and I heard a click as the doctor locked it about my left wrist. Then, he took a small hand held device, scanned my left breast and then scanned the steel wrist band. As soon as he did, the steel wrist band beeped and a green light glowed from an inset diode.

 

“What is this?”

 

“This enables you to control yourself, Miss Ellis. The wrist band is now synched to the chip in your left breast. As emotional levels rise, the chip will send a signal to your wrist band if it detects you are becoming, shall we say, heated.”

 

“Heated!”

 

“When that happens the light on the diode will switch from green to amber. You will feel a mild warning shock from the bracelet. You will know then that you should perhaps be cautious. Perhaps you were kissing your boyfriend a little too passionately?” He glanced at Michael. who pretended to look innocent. “Being on Amber is not a problem, Miss Ellis. But it is a warning sign. You should perhaps disengage from whatever activity you were taking part in, otherwise you might then intensify the feelings and risk an escalation that could switch the diode light to red.”

 

I stared in horror at the wrist band. I could clearly see the green diode, and unless I wore an extra-long sleeve that covered it up, so could everyone else. “What does red imply…” I cried. But I already knew the answer.

 

“A state of arousal, Miss Ellis. A sure sign that you have self-lubricated and are anticipating penetration. You want to avoid red. Should you trigger red, the Nutri-Girl bracelet will begin to sound a series of rather more strident beeps. There will be another shock – stronger than the first. This will continue until you calm yourself and the band settles back to an Amber status.”

“What? Take this off! I don’t want to wear this!” 

 

“Miss Ellis, it is a condition of your college. I can remove the band, but the consequences for you would be…”

 

“Expulsion.” I sat on the trolley breathing heavily. I had to wear this thing now until graduation day if I wanted to pass my law degree. 

 

I was given some privacy to get dressed. My underwear now was plain nylon, not the lovely silk I had worn last Winter. I pulled a soft, cream-coloured turtleneck over my head and shoulders, the ribbed fabric feeling warm against my skin. Over it, I stepped into a brown plaid jumper dress, with a flared hemline that fell to just below my knees, settling the wide straps on my shoulders and smoothing the skirt until it hung just right. I drew on sheer black tights, then slipped my feet into black heels that clicked softly against the floor when I stood. A simple necklace rested at my throat, and when I finally lifted my bag onto my shoulder, I caught my reflection in the mirror and nodded to myself. Clothes were my armour. I looked respectable and unthreatening to men. 

 

“You look lovely, Ash,” said Michael as I emerged from the room. He gave me a chaste kiss and then pulled away. “Don’t want you getting too excited, now, do we?” he said. It was meant as a joke, to lighten my mood, but I didn’t take it very well.

 

“I hate this,” I said. “I hate the fact that whatever I felt from that kiss has been recorded and filed, waiting to be uploaded at the weekend. I have no privacy!”

 

“You’re obviously upset, Ash,” said Michael as he touched my nose lightly with his finger. “Luckily I know just the thing to cheer you up. How about some ice cream? My treat?”

 

---------------------------------------------

 

The bell over the door rang when we went in, a thin, hopeful sound that didn’t quite match how I felt. The place smelled like sugar and cold milk, that clean sweetness that settled into your clothes whether you wanted it to or not. Pink vinyl stools lined the counter, their chrome legs dulled from years of shoes knocking against them, and a row of glass jars sat behind the register, filled with candies that looked brighter than anything outside on Main Street.

 

I slid onto one of the stools and folded my hands in my lap, smoothing the skirt of my brown plaid jumper dress the way girls these days did, even though there was no wrinkle to fix. The counter was cold beneath my elbows. Behind it, the soda fountain hissed and clinked, and a man not much older than us worked the levers with the seriousness of a chemist. Somewhere near the back, a radio murmured a song about chaste love that sounded too easy to be true.

 

I love the way you lower your gaze

When feelings start to rise,

It shows you’re strong, it shows you care,

It shows you’re sweet and wise.

Some girls mistake the thrill for truth,

They listen to the spark,

But happiness is learned restraint

That keeps the pathway marked.

 

Michael stood beside me, smiling in that careful way he had been using all week, as the dreaded surgical deadline had approached, as if happiness were something fragile he might frighten off if he moved too fast. He asked me what I wanted, his voice light, almost playful, and I could tell he was trying to make this feel ordinary, like every other date we’d ever had. Like I wasn’t carrying something alien in my left breast that I didn’t know how to name.

 

When the ice cream came, it was piled high in a fluted glass dish, pale pink strawberry and vanilla marbled together, sweating slightly under the lights. He pushed it toward me like an offering. I took the spoon and watched it sink into the scoop, slow and deliberate. The first bite was cold enough to hurt my teeth, sweet enough to make my eyes water, and for a moment it almost worked. For a moment, I was just a girl in a college town, eating ice cream on a Tuesday night.

 

He talked while I ate, telling me something about a professor who had misplaced an exam or a friend who’d done something foolish, or a girl who had ‘made a spectacle of herself’ at a party, and I nodded at the right places. I could feel him watching me between sentences, checking for signs that I was coming back to myself. He wanted me to tell him how grateful I was, how much I loved him for trying, but the words stayed lodged behind my ribs.

 

The parlour buzzed softly around us - laughter, spoons clinking against glass, the bell ringing again and again as people came and went. Everything in that room seemed designed to be cheerful, to promise that things could be sweet and simple if you let them. I sat there in the glow of it, finishing my ice cream, wishing that wanting to be happy were enough to make it so.

 

“Things aren’t so bad with an extra-large portion of ‘The Sundae That Ate Tuesday’ in front of you,” he said. 

 

“Stupid name for an in ice cream dish,” I replied.

 

“They only serve it on Tuesdays, apparently.”

 

I dipped my long handled spoon into the ice cream vase and ate some of the strawberry flavour. “I should fight this,” I said. “The College has no right to make me submit to this tracking.”

 

“And you’re supposed to be a legal student, Ashlee?” Michael seemed surprised by my naivety. “The law has changed, Ashlee. In many respects. New Feminism is growing rapidly, and the President openly supports the movement. He is very sympathetic to the overtures of the New Feminists. No one is forcing you to go to College, but Mount Holyoke now has the right to protect its reputation. Sexual deviancy amongst young women has historically been a problem throughout the United States. Several generations of women since the mid-fifties have suffered because they have felt pressured to compete with men; to think of themselves as men’s equals. Many forward thinking colleges have been persuaded to ensure that their campuses are now safe places where young women can feel protected from the lingering and corrupting influence of what was once ironically labelled ‘Feminism’. You are here for an education, Ashlee, and that education runs far deeper than just your law degree.”

 

“It’s my body,” I said. I touched my left breast through the plaid jumper dress and the soft, cream coloured turtleneck. Feeling had returned as the local anaesthetic had worn off, but I knew that something alien was buried deep inside the flesh of my breast. 

 

“And it’s a lovely body, Ashlee. You can be proud of it. And now thanks to Nutri-Girl technology, you can monitor your body day and night. Look at how green the diode is on your wrist band. That should bring a smile to your face.”

 

I pulled the sleeve of my cream coloured turtleneck so that it covered the band. I didn’t anyone to know I was wearing it.

 

“They already know, Ash,” said Michael. “Your Sorority Sisters told the other students that you would be wearing the Nutri-Girl bracelet until you graduate. There’s no point hiding it.” Michael reached over the table and touched my hand with his. “Be proud of the green light. It will show your peers that you are a respectable woman.”

 

I sobbed again.

 

“Did you know, Ash, that in the states of Wyoming, West Virginia, and Oklahoma, new marriage contracts now automatically have a clause embedded in them where the husband has the right to demand that his wife accepts an implant and wears a Nutri-Girl monitoring bracelet? The times are changing.”

 

“This can’t be my future,” I said, sadly. 

 

“Have some more ice cream, Ashlee. You’ll feel so much better.”

 

Later that night, I lay on my bed in my room, in my dormitory. I was alone. I raised my wrist and saw the supposedly reassuring light of the green diode set clearly in the locked steel band. My black tights lay on the floor, beside my nylon panties. I had to test this. I had to understand how much of a violation I now had to endure.

 

I touched myself, and began to slowly fondle the lips of my sex. I lay back on the bed, eyes half closed as I began to stroke myself. I had lit some scented candles, and there was soft music playing. I imagined romantic scenes, of a smiling boyfriend walking towards me, unbuttoning his shirt, removing it to reveal a fit, muscular chest and abs. ‘I want you’, his eyes seemed to be saying to me. I began to feel very good with myself. My fingers continued to brush the lips of my sex, feeling them grow wet. I didn’t want to rush anything. I knew from past experience how good this would feel if I simply took my time. I imagined the boyfriend leaning over the bed, looking down at me, his hands caressing the flanks on my thighs. I twisted slightly on the bed, my fingers gliding in the slick transudate my body was now producing through its vaginal walls. 

 

I was giving myself pleasure.

 

“Mmmm.” I gripped the sheets with my left hand. Take your time, Ashlee. Little baby steps. Don’t hurry this.

 

I stroked some more, and then suddenly cried out in shock, my body raising itself upright as an electric jolt shot through my body.

 

“The fuck!”

 

I raised my left wrist, all thought of pleasuring myself now momentarily gone. The green diode on the wrist band was now flashing a warning amber colour.