Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty Five
Veronica
My eyes flutter open to what seems like a brighter day.
A small ray spills from the window, landing right on my skin.
The warmth causes me to feel fuzzy inside.
Something about today feels significant.
I’m not sure what it is, maybe delusion, maybe optimism.
Or maybe it’s a strong intuition that rings inside me like an alarm.
I bask in the feeling for a moment, allowing the feeling to surge through me like a drug.
Before shaking it off and turning to look at Iz, who has once again fallen, sitting down and watching me as usual.
I roll the tension of my neck, trying to ease the ache that comes from sleeping on the floor.
My muscles are stiff and sore. Everything hurts.
How I long to sleep somewhere comfortable and warm.
I don’t know how much longer we have. All I know is there’s not much fight left in me.
It’s a secret I keep buried inside me. I couldn’t let him down like that when all he’s done is hold on to a sliver of hope.
Even in this shithole, he tries to be my sun, and in many ways, he is.
I wish I could say that this experience wouldn’t leave me scarred, but that’s a lie.
Every morning, I wake up with butterflies in my stomach knowing I’ll get to be with him.
I try to tell myself it’s a trauma response, that it’s just my body protecting my mind.
Yet that feels like an insult to what I feel for him.
Just the thought alone sends warmth straight to my core, a sick, familiar tightness coiling as I relive the memory.
At this rate, I will definitely end up pregnant and just surviving.
No, not surviving, because this is not that.
My heart beats, I breathe, but there’s nothing there.
The only relief in this situation is that the bastard hasn’t touched me—at least, not where it matters.
So, if I do become pregnant, my only shining light is that, without a doubt, I know it’s his.
My eyes remain on his chest as it slowly rises, his words echoing in my head. “I’m here for you. Let me help you carry some of it. We just gotta keep living.”
Funny, this doesn’t seem much like living.
Even if we were to get out, there’s no going back to who I used to be.
Freedom? Yeah, sure. But me. That version is long dead.
Will he still love who I’ve become? Will I?
Could I live with the memories of this place?
Of Harry? I’m not sure if I could. I sit up, using the wall to lean on and resting my cheek on my firm knee.
My mind drifts towards the memory of last night.
It’s been a while since they started drugging my nighttime water.
I don’t know if I should feel insulted that he would think I wouldn’t notice what he’s doing.
How, even now, he tries to protect me by sacrificing himself.
His plan would have worked if I weren’t so familiar with the metallic taste of the tap water, that it easy to point out the bitter taste after each swallow.
Much to Issac’s disdain, I didn’t touch it.
I pretended to, making sure to dump out the water when I used the bucket.
It’s the only time I get some kind of privacy; Isaac will usually turn away.
So while he fucked and puked, I lay there awake listening to all of it.
Being here with him through it all—even if he didn’t want me.
One thing became clear, which is that Priscilla wouldn’t give up Isaac, and since I'm Harry’s favorite girl, there’s not much hope that our plan will work, but at least I get to shower more often.
And I get to touch the only man I ever wanted.
Iz stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake up; his features, as always, are so strained.
So full of despair that not even sleep can mask it.
I stare a little longer, wondering how different things could have been if we had never crossed paths with Harry and Priscilla.
Maybe this is our punishment for using others, knowing we love each other.
My chin dips low into my chest as the familiar tension inside my chest grows tighter.
Guilt tugs at my heart. I have never said this aloud, but it’s my fault we’re in this situation.
I could have left with Max that night and taken Alexa home, leaving Iz alone.
Instead, I used the opportunity to be with him.
To have him for myself, even if it was just for a couple of hours.
I guess this is what I get for being selfish.
I wanted him so desperately, and it became my undoing.
Ours.
Suddenly, a noise from outside the room snaps me back to reality. My heart races as I strain to listen. Footsteps approach, heavy and deliberate, sending a chill down my spine. Harry.
The door swings open, and Isaac jolts awake, his eyes focused on the basement door.
Already ready to attack, even though we both know he can’t.
Priscilla emerges from behind Harry with breakfast in hand and a box.
A pregnancy test. I gulp. It’s too early.
I wasn’t ready to face this. But something about today was off.
Could this be the day that determines my fate?
Am I pregnant, or is she? Which one of us is carrying Iz’s child?
My heart flutters in my chest, my breath becoming shallow as they come closer. Harry eyes me with hunger while Priscilla steals glances at Iz, beaming with joy, and my heart sinks. Could it be? I look over at Iz, his jaw clenched and his Adam’s apple bobbing. Could he be thinking the same as I am?
“We are testing today.” Harry is the first one to speak as he brings me my breakfast. The smell instantly soured my stomach, making saliva gather in my mouth.
Thick and heavy. I frown when he hands me the boiled egg, a banana, and water.
Then he turns to Priscilla, watching closely as she approaches Iz since he never gets close to him without me standing in between, which only occurs when he forces him to breed me.
I’m not ashamed to say it doesn’t bother me.
I’ve gotten used to the high of being with Iz.
I’ve gotten used to the comfort of his touches.
Sometimes I hate that I kept myself away for so many years.
Not that this was any better, but it wasn’t terrible.
Or maybe now my brain is so fucked that I’ve grown okay with it all.
Or is this hopelessness speaking? I keep contemplating as I bite into the egg first, feeling a tad bit hungrier than usual.
Watching as Priscilla smiles when she hands Isaac his breakfast, her smile wide, reaching her eyes.
My heart clenches tightly in my chest. Jealousy roars through me.
Harry follows my gaze, and I can see the smirk on his face, his yellow-stained teeth showing as the smirk turns into a grin.
He unbuttons the top of his blue and yellow flannel.
“I have something for you,” he says as he pulls out a small kitchen knife and a block.
“Cheese. Something savory to celebrate.” I knit my eyebrows together, confused about what we are celebrating.
He must have noticed the look of utter confusion because he leans in and cups my shoulder, bringing me to him.
My body tenses at his touch, the egg threatening to come back up before even entering my stomach.
“There’s much to celebrate, but first, take the test, and I’ll feed you some pieces.
Maybe I can spare some for the pretty boy,” he says, before he releases his hold on me and moves away.
I release the breath I was holding, and my eyes meet those warm, honey eyes I love so much.
A small smile plays on his lips as he does his Rock look, arching a brow dramatically, trying to lighten the mood like he would when we were kids.
I return the favor by mimicking him before he takes a bite of his food.
His smile falters and turns to a look of disgust as he chews slowly, struggling to force it down his throat.
I wonder if he’s grown to hate eggs? His favorite source of protein in the morning, or would it bring him back here?
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of shuffling as Harry saunters over with a bucket, a cup, and the pregnancy test, so I can take care of my needs and test. I'm accustomed to this; there’s never any privacy.
None of us is ever alone, or at least we aren’t supposed to be, for safety measures.
In other words, so we don’t try to escape.
He places the bucket in front of me and then hands me the cup and the pregnancy test. Iz just stares, his eyes fixed on me, so many emotions reflected in those beautiful hazel eyes.
He doesn’t say anything, but the pain in his gaze is enough to leave me feeling hollow. I know this is his fear, too.
Our fear.
Slowly, I take the pregnancy test from Harry’s hand, my stomach churning with a mixture of nerves and dread.
Then I grab the cup, trying to ignore the pressure building inside me.
I want to believe it’s Isaac’s child, but what if it’s Harry’s?
He hasn’t touched me, not there at least, but what if it is?
It’s an irrational fear, but still a very nagging one.
I urinate into the cup, my mind racing with possibilities.
What if it’s positive? What if it’s negative? What does that mean for us all?