“Thank you,” I reply quietly, returning her gentle squeeze with one of mine.
“You’re a good man, Isaac.”
If only that were true….
Days later….
I want to say that things have been getting better. I guess in a way they have. Yet, in some ways, they are terribly fucked. I’ve been trying hard to keep myself together for Ronnie’s sake. She’s pregnant, and that alone has been hard on her. Between the nightmares, the constant puking—she also worriesabout the judgment of others. It doesn’t help that we’ve become overnight celebrities, and everyone wants to know our story. Or simply create something entirely different than what actually happened. I shake my head at the thought. The things they conjure up sometimes are quite absurd. I try to keep myself busy. It helps quiet my mind. I fight and train when I’m not around Ronnie. I don’t know where I would be without my outlet. Training helps blur the days into something tolerable.
It’s become a wicked dance.
Punch. Breathe. Punch. Breathe.
My hand moves on autopilot, wrapping my hands so tight to get my knuckles to stop shaking from all the rage I contain inside. I know I could easily talk to someone. Ronnie has offered many times, I just can’t overwhelm her with my issues when she has so many of her own. But the fear of it all collapsing never leaves me.
I fear not getting better… that she will break.
My phone buzzes on the bench, the sound pulling my attention to it. It’s an unknown number, and the sight alone has me nauseous and already sweating. Something tells me that whatever I’m about to walk into changes the trajectory of my life. My stomach drops, just as I answer and press the phone to my ear. Taking a seat on the bench, I try to mentally prepare myself for whatever comes next. “Mr. Vargas, it’s Agent Blake. Do you have time to talk?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m here with Dr. Escobar from the county corrections medical unit. I have the paternity results.” My heart stops, and even breathing becomes a conscious effort. My leg begins to bounce, and I bite down on my lip, dreading the words that are about to come out of her lips. Something inside me tears. I freeze. “Are you there?”
“Tell me,” I manage to reply. Daring her to rip off the bandage… just so I can bleed… There’s a pause before she exhales sympathetically. “The fetus is biologically yours.”
I think I’m gonna be sick. My stomach churns. It twists and turns. I’m sweating. The air leaves my lungs in a single, brutal punch. Whatever words followed next are drowned by the roaring rush of blood. The truth slides down my throat, thick and sour. A baby.
Not ours.
Not something born of tenderness or healing.
But a child born of rape.
Bile works its way up my throat, “I have to go,” I mutter, trying to swallow down the vomit. The sickness crawls its way through me, pain throbs inside my chest, and my vision blurs. My hands shake so bad, I have to use my shoulder to press the phone against my ear.
“We will be in touch,” she says softly.
“Thank you,” is all I can say because it’s the only thing I can force out without falling apart. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to hold it all in until the phone call disconnects and all that’s left is silence. My body lurches forward with a desperate need to purge as I head to the bathroom stall. My knees collapse in front of the toilet, and without hesitation, everything in my stomach empties into it.
Chapter Thirty Five
Veronica
“Ronnie, mija, come eat.” Mom’s voice rips through the silence of my room, and I let out a deep breath that feels like shaking off dead weight as I close the diary. A small smile curls at my lips, remembering the night I got this. Isaac.
“A diary?” I blink, shocked that he thought of me. It wasn’t somethingI expected, especially after our parents officially became a thing and moved in together.My heart squeezes tightly inside my chest at the thought. He thought of me. At least enough to get me something so thoughtful. I nervously bite on my bottom lip, watching as he shakes off the snow, not bothering to look directly at me. “It’s nothing. It’s a notebook with ducks.”
“I like ducks…”
“I know,” he replies flatly before walking away and heading straight to his room, which is far away from everyone. My stomach knots at the sight of his shoulders sagging with each step. Leaving me standing at the edge of the stairs, glancing back at the direction he stalks towards, before looking down at the blue notebook full of rubber ducks. “Blue is also myfavorite color.”
I shake off the memory, feeling a warm tear slide down my cheek as the memory fades away. Using my fingers, I press on it before smearing it down my skin. Letting it fester, letting it soak into me before pushing myself away from the small desk with my diary in hand and swapping it out with my phone before heading down to the kitchen. It smells amazing, bacon and maple. Sweet and savory. Just how I like it. My mouth waters, just as my stomach churns, flipping itself like it always does. Whatever Mom made, I definitely can’t eat, no matterhow much I want it. The thought sends a wave of resentment through me, one that I shrug away as I turn into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” I whisper, striding towards my mom who sits at the table, coffee in hand, with a smile on her face. I place a kiss on her temple. “That’s for me?” I ask softly, noticing the cup of tea sitting on the table.
“I heard you moving around upstairs and figured you could use tea.” She hums, “Ginger, mint, and honey. Maybe it will help ease your stomach so you can eat something besides toast.”
“Thank you.”
