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In these dreams, I would wake up eight or nine months pregnant, having no recollection of being pregnant and having no idea how I let myself get this far without knowing about it. Sometimes, I would dream that I was already in the hospital and that I was giving birth by myself with nobody to help me.
Especially not Elliot.
Even if the circumstances are completely night and day, I can’t help but worry about how it would be to raise a child with Akim. Getting out of this place alive is the first priority, of course. But after that, what will I do?
Akim is a mafia boss. He’s surrounded by people who break fingers for a living and then go home to their wives every night. He and everybody he knows are so disconnected from violence that raising a baby around any of them seems like it would be a monumental failure. I don’t want to raise a violent person, and I definitely don’t want to raise a baby in a place where they would risk getting hurt.
I stand motionless in the bathroom, and I turn to the mirror to look at myself, imagining what I’ll look like when I start to show. I’ve never been the type of person to hate my body, but the idea of it changing and shifting to accommodate a baby suddenly fills me with deep dread.
Will I be able to handle the changes mentally?
Will I be able to love something that has ruined my body irreparably?
I feel selfish to even think about that, especially given the circumstances. In some ways, I feel like I’m in a fugue state, like I’m not actually here and that I’m just watching myself participate in life from a disembodied standpoint. The whole entire situation feels incredibly sinister and evil, but the pregnancy is my fault no matter how many ways I try to flip it.
I just have to take responsibility for it, but I’m so, so scared.
21
Delilah
I’m completely speechless as I stand there in the bathroom with the test in my hand. I almost drop it from the overwhelming feeling of dread and fear that comes over me.
The best-case scenario is that I escape Luka while pregnant and live a life of anonymity on the road, trying to run from him forever. The second-best case is that I don’t escape, and the test is a fluke, which I doubt very much.
My ears are buzzing from the onslaught of scenarios in my head when my focus is shattered by the sound of the doctor knocking on the door.
“Your time is up,” he says, opening the door to see me holding the test with a paper-white face.
“I see,” he says, taking the test and looking at the two lines that have appeared.
“Please, I can’t have a baby here. You need to help me,” I plead, feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable as I begin to cry.
“You think you’re the first girl ever to turn up here already pregnant? You’re not. Most of you end up pregnant at some point anyway, might as well just get used to it,” he replies, leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
I want to fall to the floor and weep violently. This is the absolutelastthing that I need right now. How am I supposed to focus on survival if I have a baby in me that needs twice the care and safety that I do?
Even the fall from the tree earlier means volumes more than it had before now. Might I have killed my baby on impact? I feel sick at the thought.
Just as I’m about to begin having a mental breakdown, I hear the two men walking back over to the bathroom door.
“Okay, Delilah, you need to come out now,” Luka says, impatient and agitated.
I freeze. I have absolutely no idea how to navigate this, much less pretend that I do. Do I try to beg Luka for mercy? Do I try to be as uncaring and neutral as he is?
I don’t open the door. He’ll just have to come here and drag me out. I won’t make it easy for him.
“I don’t give a fuck that you’re pregnant,” Luka growls through the door. “You still have to work like all the other girls. I’m not about to make exceptions for you, so don’t even ask.”
Even though I knew the chances of empathy from him were slim to none, I collapse onto the floor, sliding down the door as I stifle my sobs.
“Quit wasting my time. You’re going to end up costing me more if you stress yourself into a miscarriage,” he continues, forcing the door open and pushing my body with it.
A few men come into the room, big guys with scowls on their faces, and they grab me like I’m nothing more than a sandbag they’ve been hired to move. Tears stream down my face as I try to fight them. I absolutely hate crying in front of people, especially men.
Luka steps in and handcuffs me. “Stand up now, or I’ll make it so you’re never able to stand again,” he says, yanking me to my feet.
My legs are shaking from fear and rage, but I have to focus on walking carefully in order to not trip down the stairs as he leads me back down to the room where the rest of the women are.
