Chapter 34 #2
“It’s been like that since…” I stop myself from giving her more details than the ones she already knows.
No reason to torture her with the things we went through—still going through.
Mariana’s eyes soften, before filling to the brim with unshed tears.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I whisper, trying to find the words to explain what I feel.
What she needs and what we both want. “She needs me.” My jaw tightens at the memories that invade my mind.
Mariana shakes her head before taking a slow sip of her coffee.
“She doesn’t need you, Isaac. She trusts you.
There’s a difference.” Her words hit with a revelation I didn’t quite notice.
Trust feels like a weight on my chest and like wings on my back. Heavy. Precious.
“You love her?”
“Always have.”
“I had a feeling…” She sighs in resignation as if she waited for this moment long before now.
“She loves you,” she adds, her voice breaking.
“It’s been a long time coming. I saw it long ago, but I figured it was a childhood crush that would go away with time.
At least that’s what she told me when I told her I would walk away from Nelson.
But you know, Ronnie, I was so selfish. And last night only highlighted how selfish it was of us to force our relationship on you two…
” She chuckles softly, before taking a much more serious demeanor.
“I’m sorry for trying to remain blissfully blind while you two suffered in silence. ”
Tears sting my eyes, but none fall. She shouldn’t be sorry.
She gave me the chance to have a mother after losing mine.
Because of her, I have a little sister that I adore more than anything.
If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.
I should have let Ronnie go. Maybe none of this would have happened to her if I had just left with Lex that night and not been a selfish asshole. “I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong.”
Mariana leans forward, her hand reaching for mine and giving a gentle squeeze. A mother’s touch. Comforting and assuring. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. What happened to you two was wrong. The love that held you two together is what helped you two survive.”
I blink hard, trying to register her words. There are so many things I want to say, but the vision of my dad at the hospital comes to the forefront, drowning any hope of this being something they could easily accept. “Dad won’t accept it.”
Mariana smiles, it’s small and crooked, not quite reaching her eyes.
“Your father loves you both too much to stay upset forever. He’ll come around.
He just needs time to understand.” Truthfully, I didn’t care for their approval or anyone’s.
Ronnie does, and it would mean everything to her…
and with that, I don’t want to be selfish.
They don’t have to understand our connection.
I just want them to accept it. “Give him time,” she adds before sipping on her coffee.
My gaze moves towards the window, watching as a squirrel runs up a tree.
Time. We all need the very thing that has robbed us of so many things.
The word is like a bruise that throbs beneath the skin.
If only she knew the truth I’m still carrying.
If only she knew that time is the one thing not on my side. Ever.
“I know she’s pregnant.” She stops, her eyes darting to the windows. I steel myself for her next words, not disclosing that Ronnie already shared with me that she told her mother. I hold my breath for what feels like an eternity, my mouth running dry despite the coffee I’m ingesting. “Yours…”
I choke up. The way she says it feels like a wish. The same one that Ronnie wished for when we were back in that sordid place, with the smallest, “Yes,” escaping my mouth. She exhales a long breath. “I figured,” she mutters, but feeling more like ‘I was hoping.’
“Whatever happens,” Mariana continues, this time her gaze is locked with mine, reflecting all that motherly love back.
“Just know, you’re not alone. Neither of you.
Not in this house.” She takes my hand, giving me a gentle but firm squeeze.
“Not in this world.” I nod and give her a small, reassuring grin.
“Thank you,” I reply quietly, returning her gentle squeeze with one of mine.
“You’re a good man, Isaac.”
If only that were true….
Days later….
I want to say that things have been getting better.
I guess in a way they have. Yet, in some ways, they are terribly fucked.
I’ve been trying hard to keep myself together for Ronnie’s sake.
She’s pregnant, and that alone has been hard on her.
Between the nightmares, the constant puking—she also worries about the judgment of others.
It doesn’t help that we’ve become overnight celebrities, and everyone wants to know our story.
Or simply create something entirely different than what actually happened.
I shake my head at the thought. The things they conjure up sometimes are quite absurd.
I try to keep myself busy. It helps quiet my mind.
I fight and train when I’m not around Ronnie.
I don’t know where I would be without my outlet.
Training helps blur the days into something tolerable.
It’s become a wicked dance.
Punch. Breathe. Punch. Breathe.
My hand moves on autopilot, wrapping my hands so tight to get my knuckles to stop shaking from all the rage I contain inside.
I know I could easily talk to someone. Ronnie has offered many times, I just can’t overwhelm her with my issues when she has so many of her own.
But the fear of it all collapsing never leaves me.
I fear not getting better… that she will break.
My phone buzzes on the bench, the sound pulling my attention to it.
It’s an unknown number, and the sight alone has me nauseous and already sweating.
Something tells me that whatever I’m about to walk into changes the trajectory of my life.
My stomach drops, just as I answer and press the phone to my ear.
Taking a seat on the bench, I try to mentally prepare myself for whatever comes next.
“Mr. Vargas, it’s Agent Blake. Do you have time to talk? ”
“Yeah.”
“I’m here with Dr. Escobar from the county corrections medical unit.
I have the paternity results.” My heart stops, and even breathing becomes a conscious effort.
My leg begins to bounce, and I bite down on my lip, dreading the words that are about to come out of her lips.
Something inside me tears. I freeze. “Are you there?”
“Tell me,” I manage to reply. Daring her to rip off the bandage… just so I can bleed… There’s a pause before she exhales sympathetically. “The fetus is biologically yours.”
I think I’m gonna be sick. My stomach churns. It twists and turns. I’m sweating. The air leaves my lungs in a single, brutal punch. Whatever words followed next are drowned by the roaring rush of blood. The truth slides down my throat, thick and sour. A baby.
Not ours.
Not something born of tenderness or healing.
But a child born of rape.
Bile works its way up my throat, “I have to go,” I mutter, trying to swallow down the vomit. The sickness crawls its way through me, pain throbs inside my chest, and my vision blurs. My hands shake so bad, I have to use my shoulder to press the phone against my ear.
“We will be in touch,” she says softly.
“Thank you,” is all I can say because it’s the only thing I can force out without falling apart.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to hold it all in until the phone call disconnects and all that’s left is silence.
My body lurches forward with a desperate need to purge as I head to the bathroom stall.
My knees collapse in front of the toilet, and without hesitation, everything in my stomach empties into it.