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"But you shouldn't go through my stuff, Pandora. I don't do that to you either," she says firmly.
Because I tell you everything like a naive fool, I think. Because I don't keep filthy little secrets. And you just might be doing that...
"Of course," I reply with a smile. "I'm sorry, it must be the hormones. I'm going crazy."
"Understandable." She smiles coolly.
"So, are you going to get the food?"
"I'll go when you're sleeping," she replies. "Wouldn't want those hormones kicking in again. You need supervision. And I'm here to help. Anything you need."
She pulls me in for a hug. Her nails dig into my back.
"Anything for that baby," she whispers in my ear. Her words send a shiver down my spine.
8
Pandora
"But at the beginning, you said a doctor would come by every two weeks."
"God, P, you're really starting to whine a whole lot." Alli sighs and places a bowl of oatmeal on the table for me. "I told you, the guy is busy with appointments in town."
I stare at the bowl, my appetite waning.
"Maybe we should go into town then." She looks like she's about to speak up, but I hold up a palm to stop her. "Please, I know what you're going to say. But I need a proper medical exam. I need to know the baby's okay, and nothing bad's going to happen. I'm getting paranoid. Think of the baby's safety."
"Fine," she hisses, rolling her eyes. "I'll call the office. I'll get him to come by this week."
I knit my brows together. "Your phone works here?"
"The caretaker’s phone does work, he's a little lower in altitude than us," she replies smoothly after a barely detectable pause. "I told you, there's no service up here."
And I believed her. That is, until I traced the wire for the home phone and found it had been snapped in two.
"Of course," I smile stiffly. "Let me know when he's coming. I have a lot of questions."
"Just ask me, P." She smiles wide, motioning to the pile of baby books she's been studying non stop. You'd think she's the one giving birth, not me.
"But you're not a doctor."
Her smile fades instantly. "And you're not the first mother in the world."
"Well," I shrug. "I am about to be one, though. And you aren't."
She seems pissed off, but she just smirks and heads into the other room.
I groan, palming my growing belly. We've been stuck here for a month now, and I'm getting more and more symptoms from the pregnancy. Whoever said this was a wonderful, magical time, was either lying or severely delusional. For me, it's been nothing but all-day sickness, swollen ankles and awful fatigue.
I guess in some ways I am lucky I have Alli. But then why do I keep feeling like a prisoner in this house? And why does she control everything? She even has me tracking my water intake, and she brought me natal vitamins, for God's sake. All acts that could be perceived as sweet and caring, but she somehow makes them seem the opposite of that.
When I met Alli, I was so desperate for an emotional connection, for a friend, I didn't see any of the red flags.
But the more time I spend in her company, the more I'm noticing all the subtle little things that seem... off with her.
Later that evening, she
triumphantly tells me the doctor is coming the next day. I'm relieved. I tell myself I'm being paranoid. She's not a bad person, she's just doing what she thinks is best for me and the baby.
