Die For Me (The Consumed Series Book 2)

Hana

I hurriedly walked up to our new apartment in a lush condo building located right in front of the Williamsburg waterfront. The mid-April spring brought a slight chill as I walked up the steps into the lobby. The views from our place were amazing—from our living room, you could see the Williamsburg Bridge and the Manhattan skyline. It was only eight or nine blocks from mine and Billie’s apartment, but it felt like I was a thousand miles away. I hadn’t seen or talked to her in six weeks, not since the night I left Michael alone in that hotel in Jersey City. My life had changed drastically since then. I had talked to Emily only a handful of times, mostly to convince her that I was okay, that I had left with Jack willingly, and that I was really fucking happy living my new life as Mrs. Jack Maynor.

And that was mostly true.

I was okay. I was pretty happy, considering the circumstances that led me to this. I did not leave Michael willingly, but I had to pretend I did. That was the only way I could accept that I would never see him again. I pretended it was my decision—that I had to let him go. Now he could move on and live a happier life with a level-headed person that wouldn’t always have a violent homicidal maniac hunting them down.

Of course, Jack wasn’t that way all the time. He had been a loving and caring husband in the previous six weeks. He let me pick out our place. He brought home flowers and took me on romantic dates. He continually supported my creative ideas, gave me massages while we watched cheesy movies, and made me feel like the most important and special person in the world. He gave me the freedom to wander the streets of our neighborhood, but still reminded me that he would always know where I was. He hadn’t laid a hand on me, except during sex; then he still liked to slap me around, bruise me, choke me, spit on me, call me his whore. And I still liked it.

But it left me with a little problem: I was potentially pregnant. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gotten my Depo shot—was it before Michael and I got together? Was it after we were engaged? That time was all fuzzy in my brain; I think it was a coping mechanism. I was starting to forget his touch, his voice, the look in his eyes when he told me he loved me.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I took my meds, or saw my therapist or psychiatrist. Jack wouldn’t allow it. He liked me unmedicated and not talking to anyone without knowing exactly what I was saying. I think he worried that I would tell someone everything that had happened between me and him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, though—I was fine. I had been perfectly content and hadn’t had any obvious hypomanic or depressive episodes. So clearly, something was going right.

However, when I realized I hadn’t had my period since before we moved into our new apartment five weeks ago, I started to panic. It could be nothing. But I wanted to make sure. Because if I was pregnant, I didn’t know if it was Michael’s or Jack’s.

I threw my purse on the couch, set down some bags, and hurriedly went into the bathroom with my pregnancy tests in my coat pocket. I didn’t want Jack to know that I might be pregnant. I needed time to think about how to tell him. Jack had installed cameras on the outside of the front door and in the living room. I knew he was always watching me if he was out—he was still paranoid that I would try to run away again. Which was fair enough, but I knew I would never try to leave him again. It was too dangerous. And, for some reason, I didn’t want to.

I quickly put the little box into the back of the cabinet under the sink next to some makeup remover wipes and a big bottle of shampoo. I didn’t think Jack would be interested in snooping around back there.

And then I was back to decorating our apartment. Our place was beautiful—definitely fancier than my last Williamsburg apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows in every room provided a beautiful view of Manhattan and the waterfront. The kitchen had brand new appliances and granite countertops, and the light fixtures were modern and artsy. The small dining area sat a small rectangular black table with four chairs around it; Jack always got me fresh flowers for it. Outside of the dining area, there was a little balcony where I had set up a cozy outdoor couch with white lights lining the railing. In the living room, parallel to the kitchen and dining area, sat a huge gray L-shaped couch in front of our big-screen TV.

I unloaded my bag of useless things that I acquired at an antique store nearby, wanting to fill our apartment with things that didn’t remind me of the past. At least not my past. I set down a bronze pitcher in the kitchen, a cat salt and pepper shaker set on the dining table, and a pretty little glass picture frame on a bookshelf near the TV. I sighed as I put my hands to my hips and looked out the living room windows; it was such an amazing view of my beautiful city. The sun was starting to set, and I had hoped that Jack would be home soon so we could walk to the waterfront and watch the sunset, as we often did. It was a cute little routine we had that I was starting to enjoy. I took time to appreciate all the small things I could in this new life of mine, and at the top of my list was watching the sunset next to my handsome husband—even if I hadn’t chosen him.

As I started for the kitchen to see if we had anything to make for dinner, my phone went off with a text. It was a special tone reserved for Jack—I knew if I heard it, I needed to get to my phone immediately.

Hello love. I miss you terribly. How are you doing?

I smiled as I read it and texted back: I miss you more. I’m just getting the place all set up. Will you be home soon?

Maybe I could take the pregnancy test quickly and get that out of my mind.

As I looked up at the setting sun, the pinks and blues around the clouds swirling together, my phone went off again: Yes, sweetheart. Within the next couple of hours. xx.

I stared at my phone. Jack was in the Lower East Side at his loft working on some paintings. Even if he left now, I would still have time. I can do it now. Just get it over with. Just go fucking see.

Before I could change my mind, I tossed my phone on the couch and headed for the bathroom in our room. I shut the door behind me, locked it, and opened the bottom cabinet. My hand shook as I reached behind all of my bathroom bins and found the box. I held it up, quickly read the directions, and then tore it open.

I set the pee stick on the counter and nervously started the five-minute wait. I had no idea what it would mean for me and Jack if I were pregnant. What if it was Michael’s? Would Jack make me get rid of it? What if it’s Jack’s? Isn’t that worse? Did I really want to give this man a child? Did I want to give him one more thing to hold over my head so that I would behave? But isn’t this what we had planned for our life? To live in my favorite neighborhood in New York City with little children running around as I cooked dinner, as Jack…god, I can’t imagine Jack with a child. Would he be jealous of this baby of ours? That it was taking up all of my time?Do I even want children anymore?

The timer on my watch went off, and I held my breath as I slowly turned to look at the test.

It was positive.