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He spread his palm over her belly and waited. He almost jerked his hand away when he felt the slight movement.
How that kid had survived, he’d never know.
One problem was, he didn’t think Red would want anything to do with it.
Another one was, that baby was most likely fathered by one of those inbred motherfuckers.
He hoped he was fucking wrong. But he also hated hoping that Red was kidnapped when she was already pregnant.
Was one really worse than the other?
Yeah, it was. Having a baby fathered by one of those Shirleys would be a million times worse. To be used for breeding like a brood bitch would be a million times worse.
Fuck.
He needed to find out the truth. All of it.
Maybe she had a husband somewhere. A family. People who were panicked about her disappearance. People, other than that fucked up clan, searching for her.
People who loved and cared about her.
People who were missing her.
He followed the movement of the baby with his palm and when it finally stopped, he removed his hand, brushed the hair off her forehead and studied her for a few more minutes.
She needed to rest. And he needed some air.
Because suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.
Autumn’s eyes opened and, in the dark, the large numbers from digital clock next to the bed glowed bright.
Time. She had lost track of it for longer than she could remember.
Time had become immeasurable within those four walls that had contained her.
After the seed was planted, they began to track it for her, and sometimes they’d mention how long it had been and how long they had to wait.
But her mind hadn’t held onto that information.
She didn’t care.
She didn’t want to know.
She just knew as the seed grew, so did her belly.
And that’s all they wanted. The seed to grow.
However, now that seed was restless and had woken her up.
Plus, she needed to use the bathroom. A real toilet with toilet paper. And a sink with a bar of soap where she could wash her hands. A towel where she could dry them off, too.
She now appreciated those simple things.
You learned quickly to appreciate things you took for granted before but which had become no longer accessible.
Like a real bathroom instead of a bucket.
Or a real bed with sheets and a blanket without moth holes.
Or clothes.
Or awful slop that hadn’t been forced down her throat.
She shifted to the edge of the bed and set her feet on the floor, staring at her now clean toes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a manicure or pedicure.
A lifetime ago.
She’d been tied down every once in a while so they could clip her nails so she wouldn’t hurt them by using them as weapons.
Once, she had slashed Vernon across the face when he was trying to plant that seed.
He’d gotten so angry he’d punched her in the temple, knocking her out. When she came to, she was no longer tied over the breeding bench but was propped in a seated position in the corner of her “room” with semen sliding down the inside of her thighs.
She had wondered if it was only Vernon’s. Because sometimes as punishment...
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Was it really only this morning that she had escaped? She must have slept all day and into the night.
Her belly seemed larger and the seed heavier already.
That was what happened when you watered and fed a planted seed.
It thrived.
She groaned as she pushed to her feet. The T-shirt Stella had given her only fell barely to the top of her hips due to her belly. Everything below was bare.
In the dark, she could see where Stella had placed Sig’s boxer briefs on the nightstand. She snagged them and pulled them up her legs, the waistband just stretching far enough to circle her belly.
It would do, even though it felt weird to wear clothes. She hadn’t worn any in so long.
She quietly moved through the bedroom to the door and opened it slowly. Listening. Waiting.
Nothing.
Silence.
The bathroom was two doors down and she was afraid to turn on the light, to see herself in the mirror. So, she didn’t. Instead, she left the door open and did her thing in the semi-dark.
She had been forced to use a bucket and not only urinate in it but defecate, too. And not once did she have privacy when she’d done it.
Anyone could have walked in and watched her.
Watching was one thing. Touching another. Vernon normally didn’t allow that. Only his wives or daughters were allowed in the shed. To bring her food, to empty her bucket. To hose her off. And in the beginning, when she was allowed one, to replace her ratty blanket.
To force her to eat.
To punish her when she didn’t obey.
When she was done relieving her bladder, she didn’t flush, afraid it would catch someone’s attention. Whoever else was in the apartment. Because she knew she hadn’t been left alone.
