Our eyes lock, and I feel deep in my heart that he won’t let me go. He can’t. He’s fooling himself into believing he can, just as I fool myself into believing I could ever escape him. Not only because of his mad love, or this sick love there’s no cure for, but also because of the baby growing inside me. Our baby.
I palm my belly, caressing it softly, and my eyes well up. I can’t get rid of this baby any more than I can get rid of its daddy.
That doesn’t mean we’ll be a happy nuclear family.Just on paper.He’ll remain part of its life; couples all over the world co-parent. We’ll find a way too, and I hope every time he sees his child, he remembers he killed my father.
Staring straight ahead, I wish for the warm water to soothe my bruised chest and battered heart. I was too wrapped up in him to realize the contraceptive shot didn’t work—wrapped in a bubble of delusion, in the spell he spun around me in endless layers.
I know exactly when it happened. Even after I found out the truth, I still let him inside me, only for him to leave something behind––a permanent souvenir.
I close my eyes, tiredness pulling at my lids. The doctor told me what to expect during pregnancy. Fatigue is just one of the many effects. I need to rest, since I am growing a tiny being inside me.
I feel his hands on my scalp, massaging me as he washes my hair. I mumble a no, but it lacks strength, and like a leech, he feeds on that weakness, ignoring my plea.
I am barely holding myself together, but his hands are magic, and I relax under my captor’s touch—my ruthless tormentor, my greatest enemy. My husband.
He’s the one who should be in bed, recovering. Instead, he washes me with a gentleness that overwhelms me, making me an emotional mess.
Helping me up, he wraps a towel around my body and gathers me in his arms.
“Your stitches.”
“Fuck my stitches.”
“I won’t redo them again,” I bite, but the sound carries no real intent.
He kisses my forehead in response.
“I won’t fall for your charms again.”
A noncommittal sound ripples in his chest. “Want to bet on that?”
I sigh. “I’m wasting my energy on you.”
The asshole chuckles, and I sink into him, needing his warmth to survive the cold that has befallen my being. Nothing there grows but our baby––my winter baby.
He places me in bed and tucks me in, getting under the covers with me. The sun sets, the sky embracing the night just as darkness has swallowed our love and every dream of togetherness.
“Foolish man. Staying alert constantly proves impossible.”
“Be my warrior woman. Don’t deprive me of seeing your beautiful face one last time. If you kill me, at least let me look into your eyes where I see my entire life, my future.”
“You’re a cunning, manipulative asshole.” I shut my eyes, hoping at least in my dreams to get a break from him.
Thirteen more days. I will survive him, and then we’re going home, baby. I’ll tell your daddy about you once you’re born. It’s not like he’s carrying you. I might have made you with his help, but compared to everything else, his involvement is negligible.
Hot. I feel hot, like a furnace is blasting angry flames against my side, and I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat.
Vian has a protective hand over my belly, and he emanates so much heat it feels unnatural. I look over my shoulder and find his brows furrowed, droplets of sweat covering his forehead.
Slowly turning, I touch his forehead and it’s searing, just like the rest of him. Panic hits me, and I tap his face, urging him to wake up.
His eyes flutter open, looking unfocused, but he smiles at me once he sees me. “There you are, mi sol.”
He’s burning like one, and that’s not good. “You have a fever.”
“You make me feverish,” he says through a full-body shiver.
This is not good. “I have to call the doctor. He needs to come and see you.”
