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There’s nothing left.
Nothing fucking left.
I search the room that I know has nothing of use inside of it. I search it anyways because I am desperate to find something, anything, that I can use to end this.
I want to be with my sister.
I want to be with my twin.
Suddenly, his footsteps thud overhead.
I know he’s coming.
And I know he’s going to blame me for this.
I can only hope he makes my punishment quick so I can leave this hell and move on to the next.
I come to too quickly, the same nightmares I’ve had for years unable to shock me anymore. I’ve become immune to them. To the feelings and the emotions they used to evoke. Or maybe I’ve just become an expert at suppressing anything that has to do with my past.
Throwing the covers off myself, I slowly sit up and stand. The lightheadedness I experienced when I first came to after passing out yesterday has passed. I probably have the bags of fluids and blood to thank for that. It feels good to not be attached to wires and IVs. I glance down at my arm where I had the IV in my vein and see the black and blue shade it’s turned my skin.
I head to the closet that Niccolò had stocked for me and choose a pair of yoga pants and a plain top. There’s a full-length mirror, and I take advantage of seeing my entire body for the first time in months. The suite I was held in at the DeSantises’ was nice, but there was only an old antique oval mirror, and it didn’t allow me to see my reflection below my neck.
I strip off my pajamas and pull up the pants before turning to the side and examining my lower stomach.
It's almost unnoticeable. I barely notice…anything. It’s so small and not what I assumed I’d look like if I ever were to get pregnant.
I recall some of the thoughts I had when I was locked away in Gabriel’s home after everything happened with Enzo. I noticed a feeling of being more bloated than normal. Sometimes feeling like I had what I attributed to a food baby.
But I just assumed it was because I couldn’t exercise. I wasn’t going out to work or utilizing the gym I always frequented. I was sitting on a bed with Sofia, trying to get her to grasp just a fragment of reality…or pacing back and forth while daydreaming about Niccolò knocking down the door.
But now… Now that I know there’s a baby growing in here…things make a lot more sense. I still had my period, even up until last month. The bleeding was irregular, but I’ve always had irregular and strange periods. It’s my normal. I assumed it hadn’t come back because of stress.
What a fucking idiot.
I slide my arms into the shirt and pull it over my head, tugging it down over the small, unwanted bump. I can’t want it. I just…can’t. How can I make myself want something that’s been conceived on nothing but lies? A piece of him that will forever live on.
Unless.
Unless this baby is Niccolò’s.
How didn’t I think of that before?
I’d rather my baby be conceived in a heated, passionate moment than a fucking mountain of lies.
And if this baby is Niccolò’s…maybe it wouldn’t be as hard to…accept.
I let out a loud, long scream, trying to release even a sliver of this frustration that’s eating me alive.
In seconds, Niccolò is bursting through the door. I jump backward, tripping and falling over my own feet and landing on my ass.
“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” Niccolò rushes out and hurries to help me.
I’m already standing when he makes it around the furniture and to my side.
“I’m fine. Sorry.”
Now, I’m not just some sad, pregnant charity case with a loser of an ex-husband, but I’m also the weirdo bitch who is screaming at exactly nothing for no reason.
