I can’t decide which will be worse.
When enough time has passed, and I’m sure I’m going to be sick again, I reach for the test. I inhale, turn the test around, and look down. Two bright pink lines stare back at me.
Fuck me.
The test falls to the floor with a clatter, and I inch away from it.
Breathing heavily, I reach for another test and rip open the package with my teeth.
Panic and hysteria rise within me as, a few minutes later, I stare down at another set of lines.
Shit, shit, shit. This can’t be happening. How the hell did this happen? You can’t be pregnant. Not on top of everything else.
I bend over the toilet and dry heave.
I remain there for a while, my mind racing. Then, I push myself to my feet, gather the pregnancy tests, and leave them in a wadded up tissue at the bottom of my nightstand.
My feet carry me to the window of their own accord. Slowly, I push the curtains aside and peer out.
The sun is unusually bright, casting the estate grounds in a warm and buttery glow. A small bird flies closer, and I touch a finger to the glass and hold my breath. When it swoops past, I don’t realize tears are running down my cheeks. My lower lip is trembling.
What am I going to do?
Surviving in this world is hard enough without adding a baby to the mix.
How can I raise a baby in a world founded on violence and death?
You’re not seriously considering keeping the baby, are you? Are you insane? You can’t raise a child in this world. You’re barely even making it from one day to the next without someone trying to kill you.
My baby will be in danger from the minute they take their first breath.
Being a Payne—the child of Mason Payne, no less—already puts a target on their back, one I can’t erase or change.
The thought makes me sick all over again.
I cross to the nightstand, yank open the drawer, and take out a box. There’s bile in my throat as I run my fingers along the unopened box containing the phone Mason got me. After a long pause, I pry the box open and stare at the burner. My heart is still hammering uneasily as I clutch the phone tighter.
It rings, and I wait.
I don’t know who to trust, or how deep the betrayal runs, but I know I have to take my own precautions.
The burner phone is familiar and safe, and keeping my distance from my parents, while painful, is necessary.
They’ve been through enough because of me.
When my mom answers, a sob catches in my throat, and I hang up.
I sit on the floor, draw my knees up to my chest, and think. Sometime later, Mason finds me sitting in a chair by the window, with my arm wrapped around my stomach. I drop my hand and walk over to him. Mason crushes me to him, the familiar smell of his spicy cologne washing over me and unfurling some of my anxiety.
Mason draws back to look at me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you what was happening. The drill was my father’s idea.”
“I figured.”
Mason cups my face in his hands and waits for me to meet his gaze. “You know I would come for you if you were in danger, right? I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself.”
I nod.
Mason’s hand moves to the back of my neck, and he presses his forehead to mine. “I’d burn the world down to keep you safe, London. I won’t ever apologize for that.”
