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16
ISABELLA
This time, I know I don’t have a choice when the doctor comes to examine me.
The cruel, victorious look on Diego’s face when I’m dragged in front of him, still in the ugly shift dress that Javier left for me to wear, is enough to make me feel sick all over again. I can’t fathom the idea of going back to his compound, pretending to be a good and loving wife for the rest of my days—but the alternative is Niall’s death. An ugly one, if Javier is to be believed—and I do. I believe that man is capable of anything.
I can’t be responsible for that. I’ve already been responsible for so much pain—Niall’s, my father’s, the rest of my family. It’s bad enough that Javier had him dragged downstairs anyway despite my promises—and that’s my fault, too.
Niall wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. I find it hard to understand why he came at all, after what happened between us, after our last confrontation in the garden, and then my proclamation at the gala. The only answer I can think of is that hedidn’twant to come, but my father sent him. Bribed him, maybe, promised him and his bosses things. Niall might have been convinced in order to keep the deal that they’d made.
It can’t have been for me, of his own free will. And now, because of that—because of whatever deal my father made to send him after me, Niall is being tortured.
I thought seeing him in the office like that, held back by Javier’s guards, clearly bruised and beaten, was the worst pain I’d ever felt. The guilt had been overwhelming, the desire to go to him more so, the knowledge that he wouldn’t want me if I did even worse. Now, as I’m marched to a private room for the doctor to examine me, I just feel numb. It feels like a yawning chasm has opened up inside of me, blacking out every emotion, every feeling, every thought except the one that I keep at the forefront of my mind—to obey. I repeat it silently, over and over again, because I know if I don’t, Niall will die. If I give in to the urge to fight, rebel, and try to stop all this from happening, he will die.
I can’t let that happen.
“I’m told you had sexual intercourse with another man some days ago?” the doctor asks when we’re in the room. We’re mostly alone—two of Javier’s guards are posted just outside the door. Before this afternoon, I would have taken it as an opportunity to fight back, to try to slip out of the window even if it meant falling to my death, to try to beg the doctor for help. To tell him what was happening here, in case there was some shred of mercy in him. But now—I don’t dare.
Obey. Obey. Obey.The word repeats on a loop, and I swallow hard, nodding.
“Take off your underwear,” the doctor says coolly, “and get on the bed, legs over the edge like so.” He motions to indicate I should lay horizontally on the bed. “Feet on the edge, spread wide.”
“I’m not—wearing anything under it,” I murmur, my face flushing, and I know as soon as the words come out of my mouth that Javier did this on purpose. Not because he knew a doctor would be coming, but because if therewasan eventuality where removing my panties would have been necessary for him or anyone else, I’d be equally shamed into admitting it.
The doctor—a man old enough to be my grandfather—looks somewhat uncomfortable, but nods. “Up on the bed then, young lady,” he says sternly. “And as for my question—”
“A little over two weeks ago?” I tell him quickly. “It was over the period of the week before that.” My voice is small and hesitant, hating telling him any of this, but I know I don’t have a choice.
“How many times?”
“Three,” I whisper. “Well—three nights. We had—intercourse multiple times each of those nights.” It feels like too clinical a term to describe what Niall and I did together, but in a way, I’m grateful for it. It makes it feel set apart from what we really did, like I’m talking about something else. It feels, honestly, like the only way I’m going to get through this without bursting into tears, screaming, or both.
“And did you use protection any of those times?”
“No,” I whisper, closing my eyes. I’ve had no visible signs of pregnancy, other than vomiting—but that could have been from anything. Stress, fear, pain. I’d wanted Niall’s baby, but now I’m hoping beyond hope that the test I know Diego has demanded comes back negative. I couldn’t bear to know I was carrying Niall’s child only to have it ripped away from me before it was hardly even a reality.
“Only vaginal intercourse?”
“No.”
“Anal? Oral?”
“Yes, to both.” I can hardly get the words out, my face burning with humiliation. The doctor makes a grunting sound that could have meant anything, and a moment later, I feel his touch in places far too intimate. Days ago, back at Diego’s, I would have had at least the shield of my pubic hair—but now I’m bare and smooth at Javier’s demand. It makes the doctor’s touch even more skin-crawlingly private.
His fingers push inside me, examining places that only Niall had touched before. His hand palpates my abdomen, he peers between my legs, and the entire time I keep my gaze focused on the carved tiles on the ceiling above me, willing myself anywhere but here.
I want to kick him in the face. I want to see his teeth go flying across the room. I want to fight back.
I can’t, or Niall dies.
Obey, obey, obey.
The doctor has me lift my shift, and he touches my stomach, examining my breasts for far too long. My belly is churning with nausea by the time he takes the blood sample and tells me I can readjust my clothing.
“The test results will be available in the morning,” he says calmly, packing up his things. “She’s all yours,” he adds as the guards walk in, clearly having been listening to what was going on inside.
I don’t see Diego as I’m taken back to my cold room, but I don’t see Niall either. The former is a relief; the latter twists my heart in my chest as a realization hits me the moment I’m tossed back into my room.
