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So I purse my lips and grab the test, forcing myself to calm down and focus. It’s just a test, it’s not a big deal. It’s not gonna change my life forever. With cold and tense fingers, I open the box, read the instructions, and follow them, struggling to keep my thoughts from swaying into panic.
It can’t be, it can’t be positive. But what am I gonna do if it is? Should I get rid of it? Should I tell Paolo? My whole life flashes before my eyes as I pace around my room, fiddling with the fabric of my shirt and waiting for the timer to go off. Whenever I think about having a baby, my thoughts immediately scatter all over, refusing to stay still and focus even for a second.
The dread of the possibility is so strong that even when the timer does go off, I freeze for a minute, unable to force myself to walk back to the bathroom. My heart is pounding, and my throat is so tight I can barely breathe. I’m tempted to just throw the test into the bin and forget about it, pretending that I didn’t even think about being pregnant. Maybe then it’ll never become true.
But when I finally walk to the bathroom with heavy feet, I know that I can’t escape it. I have to know. My whole life is on a thin string, and ignorance will drive me crazy. I can’t even hear my own steps behind the frantic beating of my heart when I enter the bathroom, and I catch a glimpse of the test even before I reach the counter.
Oh god, that’s one stripe, right? It’s—
I freeze, and something inside of me bursts with a wave of nausea so strong I sway on my feet. The second stripe is faint, but it’s there.
I’m pregnant.
This time, I do throw up. I kneel on the floor of the bathroom, keeping my hair away from my face, and when there’s nothing left in my stomach I simply stay there, leaning on the wall. I have no strength left to get up, to walk, to do anything. My body feels empty from the inside, but it isn’t. Not anymore.
I don’t know how long I stay there, struggling to pull myself together. My mind is too weak and overwhelmed, and my body is limp and unable to move, so it takes me a while to find a way for them to work. With trembling arms, I grip the edge of the counter and get up only to be immediately faced with my own reflection.
Oh god, I look terrible. My skin is pale, and my eyes are swollen. When did I cry? I didn’t even notice. I stare at myself with my lips pursed. What child would want a mother like this? What man would want to be its father? I can’t keep the baby. Dad will kill me if he ever finds out—and that already sounds like a plan.
I’m in the middle of washing my face and clearing my thoughts when I hear the door of my room swing open. Is it Paolo? Did he come back to see me? I grab the test and rush to meet him—only to come face-to-face with the guy who interrupted our dinner. Louis, right?
“What—”
“Let’s go,” he cuts me off and grabs my wrist. “You’re coming with me.”
Before my mind can process it, Louis turns away and storms to the door, pulling me after him. I liked him more when I saw him last time. He looked friendly, if even a little arrogant—but now, he’s so grim and aggressive that I can't even protest. I simply follow him on my trembling legs, barely catching up with his pace, and Louis takes me outside of the mansion and to a car with a driver.
“Wait, where is Paolo?”
I try to stop and frantically look around, searching for him, but Louis and the driver grab my arms and push me to the car. Shit. I don’t like this. I try to weave out of their grip, but they hold me tightly and tie my hands behind my back. I clutch the test in my grip, and thankfully, they seem to miss it in the darkness.
“What’s going on?” I make an attempt to turn around and look at Louis. “Where are you taking me?”
“Home, Señorita.” He grabs my hair and pushes my head down, forcing me into the car. “You’re going home.”
What? I burst my eyes open and try to twist myself on the passenger seat, pushing my feet against the door. No, no, they can’t do this! I start to scream and kick the door with all my strength, hoping for someone to hear me, but Louis quickly covers my mouth with a piece of fabric.
I try to bite his fingers as he does this, and Louis immediately grabs my neck and hits my head against the front seat. He doesn’t do it as fiercely as he could, but the pain is still strong enough to make me swallow my cries. Shit. I huff and shake my head, feeling weak. It hurts.
“Stay quiet, princess, or the next time will be even worse.” Louis forces me to sit back and look at him. If only I could, I’d spit into that face.
I glare at him and, through the linen of my gag, mumble, “I’ll tell him. My Dad will kill you.”
“Too bad you won’t be allowed to speak.” Louis chuckles and ties the fabric tighter, forcing me to bite into it.
He covers my eyes a moment later, but at this point, I don’t have enough strength left to fight. I slump into the passenger seat, listening to the pulsating pain in my temple and the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat. The pregnancy test is still in my hand, and I clutch it tighter, feeling hopeless tears swell in my eyes.
If they are really taking me to Dad…will I ever see Paolo again?
Will he ever know that he changed my life forever?
Chapter 9 - Paolo
I blindly stare at the papers in front of me, distantly listening to Matteo reporting all he could find at the murder scene.
Our men were captured behind the grid, on the bank of the river, where they must’ve climbed in an attempt to capture an intruder. Matteo found traces of a fistfight and footprints of at least five more men, which means that the Mexicans knew what they were doing. They knew there would be only three inexperienced men in our patrol, so they ambushed them and probably disarmed them in less than a minute.
Then, the Mexicans killed each of them with a shot in their foreheads and dragged them to the grid to show off their barbarism—and all of this for nothing. Because the only important thing, in the end, was that tiny piece of paper they left behind.
