I hold on to each word like a lifeline in the darkness that threatens to consume us. What’s the point of holding back when we could die any minute, when life has become hell? Yet, that hope dies rather quickly when I hear the sound of footsteps, ones I recognise all too well, approach.
Harry.
Chapter Twenty Two
Veronica
I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been here. I can barely stand the smell of us. I’m not even sure how they can continue to come and use us, still finding it in them to climax when we smell so horrible. We live in completely deplorable conditions. And Isaac's deal with Priscilla has gotten us closer to nothing but him being used. They both think I’m asleep when she sneaks into the basement. It didn’t take me long to notice my water is being drugged or something. I pretend to drink it while spitting it back into my hand, using the water to rinse parts of my body.
It still doesn’t help the rage… and this traitorous jealousy that wraps around me. Every time I’m forced to watch him inside her. The sight makes me so angry that I could kill her with my bare hands if ever given the chance. Ifuckingloathe them. It’s become a twisted routine. It’s like we are the dogs in the Pavlov experiment. Only to react when the door creaks open.We fuck. We eat. We fuck. We eat.Then the door closes, and it’s only us. If I thought I loved him before, nothing touches what I feel now. The only part that sucks is that I’m not sure if the woman he loves still lives within me. Could he love me and not the illusion I put on for his sake? Could he love this new me?
Could I love myself enough after all of this?
Harry claimed they will only come on the days that I’m fertile. But that’s a lie. He sneaks in late at night after he drugs Isaac, and I’m sure his wife, or maybe they are both in on it. Using this as a way to pin Iz and me against each other as they take what they want from us. At this point, I’ve grown accustomed to his touch,and it doesn’t surprise me when my body begins to respond. It does, however, fill me with disgust the way my mind has to protect my soul by disguising the violation. I look over to Isaac, who is already awake.
The scent of the blood is nauseating, mingling with everything else in this godforsaken place. Isaac is silent on his side of the room, but I can feel his gaze on me. “Morning,” he whispers, voice barely making it past the sound of the rain hitting the window above us. “Morning.” I repeat the words, a smile appearing on my lips as I add, “I’m bleeding, so not pregnant. It’s a great morning.”
His relief is palpable in his voice when he replies, “Thank God.” It’s a moment before he adds, “Are you okay?”
“Are either of us okay?” I retort bitterly, hating the tone I use on him. But the question is a joke. Neither of us is okay. We’re far from okay. I’m tired of pretending to shield what I feel. I’m not okay, but knowing that I'm not pregnant with Harry’s child fills me with happiness. So much that I can’t stop laughing, until time catches up. My laughter morphs into pained sobs. We’ve been here for two of my cycles now.What happens if I can’t conceive or if Isaac can’t knock her up? Will they simply discard us, move on to their next victims?The thought chills me even more than the dampness seeping through the cracks of this basement. Isaac and I have become animals, our humanity stripped away as we are reduced to breeding stock. “You think this month he will let you take a spin?” I joke. My voice is strained and broken between sobs, but it doesn’t amuse Isaac in the slightest. “If I’m forced to have a baby, I’d rather it be yours.”
He’s silent for a moment, then he says softly, “If we ever get out of here, and you still want a baby…” He pauses. “I’d be honored.” A smile spreads across my face, but it quickly disappears when I hear the sound of footsteps.
Breakfast time.
My stomach instantly churns. My insides are ready to expel nothing onto the ground. I can already smell the sulfur from the eggs and feel the mushiness of the banana as it disintegrates inside my mouth. The panic is cut short by the unmistakable thud of Harry’s boots echoing through the grimy stairs before heappears at the basement door. He unlocks it and steps inside, Priscilla behind him as always. Given the look on her face, she isn’t pregnant either.
I smile.
Silence fills the room as they enter, the only sound being the irregular dripping from the ceiling. Harry has a pregnancy test in his hand, and Priscilla has our breakfast. A boiled egg, a banana, and water. Fuck, I hate bananas now. Like every morning, they walk in, hand us breakfast, and mark the calendar. Today, Priscilla hands me a test with my breakfast. “Not going to need it. Got my period,” I say, placing my hand into my pants. I hold my bloody fingers up, and Harry’s hands clench at his sides. “She did as well,” he sneers.
Good. I hated the idea of her carrying his child.
I take a bite of my banana. “I need a bath and pads.Please.”
I flinch inwardly when my gaze sweeps over Priscilla, landing on her eyes. She looks at me with compassion and something I can’t make out. With a small nod, she replies, “We can arrange that,” before casting a glance at Harry, who nods in agreement. My eyes close, allowing a single tear spill from the corner of my eye. How long has it been since I've showered? Wore clean clothes. A soft moan escapes my lips as I chew on my banana. My eyes only flutter open when I feel an intense pressure within my chest. In a room full of trauma, I find him. Isaac, who’s lost in thought, is looking at his water like it’s the most interesting thing. I know him well enough to know he’s thinking… He’s worried. So lost inside his mind that he couldn’t feel the heat of my stare before shifting my attention to Priscilla. Watching as she re-marked the calendar with a red marker, signaling my period.
“How long would this continue for?”
Harry runs his hand over his face. “Till we get what we need.”
“Almost eight weeks,” Isaac scoffs from behind them, making his own calculations as he takes a drink of water. “And no baby.”
Harry throws a glance at Isaac, his eyes narrowing in visible irritation.
“Well,” he drawls. “From where I stand, you’re not doing any better than me, and now, you ought to be thanking me. Seems I’m doing you a favor. I guess you two could try next.” Harry then turns to me, his eyes beady and cold as they stare into my tainted soul. “To answer your question, no baby next time, and you’re both dead. No point in wasting more time.” Harry’s words echo around the room, and a cold shock of fear washes over me. I gulp down the bile creeping up my throat before glancing over at Isaac, his face white as a sheet. His haunted eyes meet mine, and I can see in them a mirror of my terror.
So many feelings crash into me, causing my lungs to shrivel inside my chest. Depriving me of oxygen, Isaac 's voice echoes in my brain.Stay with me. Stay with me.I repeat them like a mantra, allowing memories to flood my mind. Of our first time. So many years have passed since that day. My heart lurches in my chest, coming back from the dead only to beat for him.Isaac. To feel him inside me now would change everything. I’m not sure if I’m ready. I know I asked him to do it, but saying it is one thing, and acting on it is another.
Yet, the idea of drowning in Isaac doesn’t sound too bad—not after the hell we’ve been through.It’s a fucking gift. It is a sick, twisted game of baby-making Harry has thrust us into, and still, I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t welcome him. My body was made for him. That fact was clear the moment I allowed Max to touch me. A stabbing pain fills my chest, guilt weighing heavily as I realize the lies I’ve told myself to not feel like a villain in Max’s life. When it’s so painfully obvious that I am. Our sexual life was practically non-existent, but not because I was asexual, like I believed, but because I couldn’t own up to my own truth. The silence stretches on after his proclamation, broken only by the sound of Priscilla dropping the markers with an audible clatter.
“Eat up,” she says, her voice flat. She isn’t happy. Harry and Priscilla leave the basement in silence, not bothering to look back at us. For a long moment, we sit in silence.
“I thought of fucking you so many times, but rape… Never,” he finishes. His voice is strained, and I can see the question in his eyes—how could we be pushed tosuch extremities?Rape. Is that what he thinks he would be doing? I would never fault him for this, and the fact that he thinks he’s the one who violates me is absurd.
“I’m giving you permission,” I remind him as I study him. His face has grown gaunt, his golden orbs hollow, and black circles adorn the bottom of them. “You made a promise.”
He scoffs. “One I've failed to keep, he touches you.”
