Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Veronica
“Ithink…” Iz swallows hard, his body swaying with the night breeze.
Is he okay? I wonder for a moment. My brows furrow together as I inch closer, already noticing the split lip and the bruises blooming on his jaw.
He's been fighting and, by the smell of it, drinking. My nose twitches from the strong scent of liquor that drifts with the wind. “You’re hurt,” is all I can muster to say because I don’t want to know what he thinks.
He shrugs, almost falling to the side. “I’m always hurt, Ronnie,” Isaac deadpans, his words more slurred than anything as he leans closer, our eyes fixed on each other. “Always.”
Me too! I want to shout back, but instead I bite down on the inside of my cheek and tuck myself beneath his arm. “No, Ronnie. I’m fine…” he begins to protest when I toss his arm over my shoulder to better balance his weight. “I can.”
“It’s okay… Let me help you.” Reluctantly, he gives in, and we step inside our quiet home.
If our parents catch him like this, he will be in so much trouble.
And I just can’t bear it. It’s been nonstop lately.
Thankfully, my mom and his dad should be asleep by now.
Nixie has kept them up with fever the last few nights, so tonight they crashed pretty early.
Which is good. My stepfather would have hated to see him like this.
I can already hear him saying. “Maldita sea1, Isaac. What’s happening to you?
” All while Iz turns away, unable to face him.
It made my heart hurt watching him self-destruct and not being able to do anything.
I’m just a bystander in his destruction.
My eyes flutter open, slowly adjusting to the darkness that surrounds me.
I don’t remember falling asleep. All I know is, one moment I closed my eyes and the next I’m waking up with a deep ache between my shoulders.
My eyes feel swollen and heavy, and my gaze moves to the spot in front of me.
Iz is fast asleep, which is good. Sometimes when I wake up from a nightmare, he’s sitting up watching me with a tortured look on his face.
I roll onto my back, not being able to stomach looking at him.
I’m not mad at him—not necessarily; however, there’s something festering.
Something I can’t quite name. No matter how badly I try to conjure a memory to hold on to, I’m only reminded of what occurred this morning, catapulting me back to reality.
I shift to my side, laying my head over my arms as my gaze lands on Isaac, who thankfully continues to sleep.
The small stream of moonlight illuminates his face, and using my finger, I trace his side profile.
Wishing I could feel the warmth of his skin, instead of the cold of the ground.
It was my favorite thing to do on the nights he would sneak into my room.
A sigh escapes my lips as my finger stops mid-trace, lingering in the air before I pull back, balling my hand into a fist. Rage bubbles inside me as I move a shaky hand to my womb.
Not only have we been kidnapped and raped, but soon, I will also be forced to carry a child.
A child I don’t want… a child born from rape.
I have never even thought about being a mother. Fuck.
Willing the thoughts away before they can smother me, I rip my hand away from my center, a soft groan escapes my mouth when I shift.
The pain from sleeping on the ground has my body tense in places I didn’t know existed.
How I wish I was back in my bed, I promise to never complain about a lumpy mattress.
A pained whimper slips past my lips, as I bite back the sob threatening to wrack my body.
The sound wakes Isaac from his sleep. “Ronnie?” he groans, his voice thick with sleep as he sits up using his elbows for support.
“Go back to sleep. Rest,” I tell him, but he yawns and shakes his head.
“I’ll be okay. How are you?”
I shrug. “Feeling less raped.” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. I know it's not his fault, but I’m angry, and unfortunately, he’s standing directly in the line of fire.
“In that case, we’re making progress,” he counters, attempting to lighten the mood but failing miserably. His hazel eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes me squirm uncomfortably under his gaze.
“What about you?”
“I’m fine.” He exhales harshly through his nose.
“I’m so sorry about all of this,” Isaac murmurs, lifting his hand in the air as if he could comfort me.
I bet his wrist is sore from all the tugging and pulling.
I can laugh at the irony that we are both victims, and he’s apologizing to me as if somehow this is his fault.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” My tone sounds harsher than I intended.
I just can’t mask the bitterness in my tone.
Sure, he’s also forced to perform… ugh. I shake the thought away, ignoring the frustration buzzing inside me.
After a beat of silence, Iz mutters, “Fuck, I just wanna hold you,” before letting his hand drop back to his side, looking at me with a mixture of sadness and understanding.
He knows he can’t fix it. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
Still, he wants to hold me through the pain, like he would do every time I cried.
The basement door opens once again, and this time, Priscilla is there alone, holding two sandwiches and two water bottles.
Yay! Dinner time. She walks slowly, her head down and shoulders sagging like someone doing a walk of shame.
Finally, her gaze meets mine. Hatred clouds my vision as I picture her riding him.
Defiling him. I fucking hate her. I hate everything about this.
“I'm sorry about earlier,” she whispers as she hands me the water and sandwich.
“I know this must be hard. We just really want a baby…” She glances at him.
“…This is the only way.” She motions toward Isaac, who stares at her with disgust. If she somehow thinks this sob story is an excuse for everything, she has another thing coming.
Isaac's voice booms through the haze of my mind.
“I’ll do it if it means he doesn’t touch her.” He points at me, trying to hide the emotion in his voice. “She’s not my blood sister. I’m just her stepbrother.”
Priscilla seems shocked, her eyes widening slightly before sauntering towards Isaac and handing him his water and his sandwich.
“Very well,” she replies tersely. “Then we wait for her to get her period, and you two can try, until then, things remain the same.”
“He’s not fucking touching her again,” Isaac says, his voice like steel. “I promise.”
There he goes making promises he can’t keep. And I once again can't speak. The knot in my throat is too tight to unravel. All I can do is offer a small dip in my chin as I listen to him say, “Use my body anytime you want, just keep him away from her.”
Priscilla’s eyes flicker between us before she saunters over towards him.
“Isaac,” I manage to choke out, my voice barely a whisper against the musty basement air.
Why must he be the only one to tear parts of himself?
When we are in this together. “You don’t have to…
” My words are cut off by the steel determination written all over his face.
My heart twists inside my chest, and the pain becomes physically unbearable, making it harder and harder to breathe. Iz.
“My husband shouldn’t have touched you. We talked about it, and he didn’t take well to having him touch me,” Priscilla says, her eyes checking out Isaac.
She wants him, that’s for sure, and I hate that.
Still, there's a hint of remorse, or maybe regret. I can’t be too sure, but it’s the kind of look you see in a person who has already accepted defeat.
And trust me, I know because I’m certain that’s the same look that will reflect in my eyes.
“If you can’t get either of us pregnant, he will get her pregnant,” she mutters softly. “It’s just the way it has to be.”
“Over my dead body,” Isaac snarls, his fingers coiling into tight fists at his side.
Priscilla takes an involuntary step back, her smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
She casts a nervous glance toward the doorway before turning back to Isaac.
“You don’t have a choice, Isaac,” she mutters, her voice shaking slightly.
“We need a child. You should be grateful that we’re giving you this privilege.
” Her words hang heavy in the room, the silence pressing on our chests.
“Fuck you and your privilege. This is rape. Inhumane. Whatever you fucking believe is nothing but a delusional lie.” Isaac’s gaze doesn’t waver from Priscilla. His eyes burn with raw defiance and a fury that I have never seen before.
“It doesn’t change the outcome,” she snaps back, giving him a look of disdain before storming out of the basement. When the door closes behind her, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My eyes find him as he collapses back into his sitting position, his bandage dirty and soiled.
“Are you gonna marry him?” Isaac asks softly, breaking the tense silence. My brows knit together, confusion clouding my mind. Is he serious right now?
“I – I,” I reply, taking a small bite of the tuna sandwich. “I didn’t answer. I’m not sure if that’s what I want. I don’t want kids or the life that he expects us to have.” Isaac continues to stare at the door, expecting it to swing back open, his fists still clenched at his side.