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I can never hear anybody around me in these dreams, and when I realize where I am and what’s about to happen, I cry out for anybody to help me. All I ever hear in return are echoes from the hallways, almost as if the empty hospital is mocking me with my own words.
It’s at this point that I try to leave the bed and search on foot, only to find that I’ve been chained to the bed with no key in sight.
This dream almost always evolves into a completely different scenario where I’m in a small house in a quiet neighborhood, rocking a baby to sleep in the setting sunlight as Akim cooks dinner. Every single time, I recall the relief that washes over me at the realization that the previous dream wasjust a dream,that this quiet domestic bliss is my true life.
Then I wake up for real.
It almost feels like my baby is in a prison of their own, that I’m just the first layer of many in a never-ending system of imprisoning circumstances. I doubt my sister Arielle has ever felt this broken in her life. She got to spend every waking minute being showered with praise, love, and affirmation over everything she did while I waited in the corner for my share, which never came after she was born.
If Arielle was pregnant right now, she’d be getting nightly calls from our mother, free meals, and house cleanings every other day, and to my annoyance, a loving and attentive Elliot right by her side.
The idea of watching her milk her pregnancy on social media for the world to see sickens me in contrast to how the other woman in this basement lives, with no baby in sight like she had been promised.
If Elliot never cheated, I would have never ended up in this mess.
I never would have met Akim.
To be honest, I don’t know how I feel about that. Akim has made me feel something that I never thought existed for girls like me. He’s made me feel like my life is romantic, passionate, and dangerous, which is something I recognized and reveled in when I first met him.
Now, all there is is danger.
My life with Elliot might have been turbulent and a little tedious, but it was nothing like this. Before I knew he was cheating, I thought we had just settled into the routine of a long-term relationship like adults. I was under the impression that adult relationships were always supposed to burn out over time, staying glued together only by obligation and the slight hope that whatever the other person is doing wrong will resolve itself.
I always used to think that I wanted the adventurous, turbulent romance that I’d see in movies when I was younger, but now I would give anything for the banality of day-to-day life with a boyfriend that I’m mostly ambivalent to, if not positively neutral.
My desire to get into trouble has put me here, and it may have cost me my life as well as the life of an innocent baby.
Now, I lie on a dirty, cold concrete floor chained to a radiator while pregnant with a mafia boss’s baby, and I’d give anything for the monotony of suburban life that I’d heavily judged my parents for indulging since I was a child.
The overly-planned summer vacations, the quiet Friday nights, the same three sets of friends that they saw at neighborhood gatherings. It was something I resented them for as a girl. I felt like they had the entire world at their disposal, and now they spend all their time just rotting away in the living room when they’re not working.
Though, it would appear that I’m the one who’s rotting now.
22
Akim
“What have you come up with so far?” I ask Shura. He, along with a dozen others, have been tasked with tracking down Luka’s location for the past three days.
My concern grows the longer it takes, and at this point, I’m willing to put a million-dollar bounty on Luka’s head just to get Delilah back.
“Nothing super helpful,” Shura says, breathing a dejected sigh. “Luka seems to have moved around a lot since his whole family is affiliated with the Italians. Probably learned that from his father.”
“Yeah, I was worried about that,” I reply. Having been raised in the family business myself, I know many of the tricks my father used to avoid run-ins with the cops. We evaded suspicion for an impressively long time before half our men were arrested.
“So, what do you think we should do? Just go to every house he’s been to in the last three years and see if he’s there?” he asks.
“Have you checked his social media? He might be careful not to update his address for the post office, but he’s a major showoff. There’s got to be something we can use on his Instagram page,” I reply, feeling a false sense of premature hope and trying not to let it consume me.
“I checked. The only locations I could get a good read on were just expensive restaurants and rooftop bars in the city with a few international hotels here and there. No trace of his actual house,” Shura replies, his expression wary as if he’s expecting me to punish him for the lack of info.
“Fuck. I think we might have to resort to plan B then,” I say, feeling the tension headache forming in the base of my neck already.
“Which plan is that? I thought we were already on plan B,” he replies with confusion as he closes his laptop.
“We need to stage some kind of meet-up with him in order to bug his phone. That’s the only way we’ll be able to get a shot at finding him and getting Delilah back,” I say.
“You think he’ll fall for that? You were pretty firm with him the last time you saw him,” Shura replies as he gets up from his chair to grab a beer from the mini-fridge.
