Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty Nine
Veronica
“Are you sure about this? When I said to reach out, I meant like a letter.” Alexa squeezes my hand while simultaneously casting a concerned look my way.
“Not this Ronnie. This seems extreme.” I smile, bringing our joined hands to my lips and placing a soft kiss.
A gesture we would do when one of us was struggling. “It’s okay. I need this.”
“Need?” Alexa mutters before letting out a long breath. “Did you tell Iz?”
I shake my head. “There’s no need. He wouldn’t agree.”
She chuckles nervously. “Yeah, no shit.”
I don’t respond, and thankfully, she goes quiet.
I know she doesn’t agree with what I’m doing, hell, I’m not even sure if I should be.
But this is the part where I begin to put myself together.
It’s fucking messy and emotional. It’s my way of healing…
and in order to do so, I need to face her…
face the woman who haunts me. It’s something people who haven’t experienced this kind of trauma have trouble comprehending.
Fuck, I’m still struggling to. All I know is this is something I need to do.
And despite her reservations, Alexa holds my hand the entire drive without saying a word or judging.
She just holds me. Her touch is firm, unyielding, and grounding as she gives me small squeezes, reminding me to breathe.
Or maybe it’s all in my head, and she’s just trying to be there for me while I lose my fucking mind.
I think of all the reasons why I shouldn't do this and come up blank.
Resting the side of my face on the window, I look at the sky.
It looks sad.
It’s a bruised grey, swollen with rain, and the closer we get to the prison, the heavier the pressure in my ribs grows. This isn’t the hoa, hoa, hoa kinda gloom that we see and love in Twilight, but the kind that slams you back into a cage. The only difference is that I’m choosing it. It’s purging.
“I’m proud of you. I might not fully be on board, but fuck, Ronnie, I’m so proud. You tell that bitch that she deserves nothing. You tell her everything that’s locked inside you.”
I look over at my best friend and smile before turning my attention back to the road.
Through the clouds, the building rises in the distance, monstrous and sterile.
The kind you never want to see. It sends a shiver through me, making me question if I’m truly ready to face her, face the truth that I can’t even bring myself to acknowledge.
As if sensing the spiral, Alexa squeezes my hand.
“You’re taking your voice back. Remember that. ”
That’s right… my voice.
I give her a tight nod, afraid to say anything.
Afraid that if I speak, my throat will only close back up.
I hope I don’t choke when I see her, that I can face and slay her.
But we shall see. Alexa pulls into the parking lot, and that’s when dread consumes me.
My knees wobble, and I’m not even out of the car.
My heart begins to race, the sound flowing harshly in my ears as my hand grows colder and clammy. “Ronnie, you don—”
“I do.” I cut her off and swing open the door before stepping out of the car.
I try not to look back and focus on the task ahead, even as my feet grow heavier.
Each footstep feels like I’m walking barefoot through fire.
But I need to do this. I can’t back out even if everything in my body demands that I do.
Squaring my shoulders, I go through the gates.
Holding my head high, feigning a confidence I do not feel as I’m checked in.
Everything smells like bleach, metal, and musk.
It’s distinctly nothing I’ve ever smelled before, yet I will remember it forever.
A guard leads me through a series of buzzing doors, keys jingling with each step, the sound ringing louder than my heartbeat.
My mind continues to drift back to Harry… to her. My hand curls at my stomach, reminding myself of all that I lost because of her… because of him. If I truly survived them, why does it feel like I’m still dying?
We turn a corner, the hall leading towards the visitation room—a beige room with glass separating us, and on each side, a metal phone. “Prisoner 56532 should be out shortly. Sit.”
“Thank you,” I whisper softly, taking a seat at the spot the guard motions towards, my pulse hammering.
My stomach clenches, turning and turning until I’m unsure if I can keep myself from vomiting.
A lump forms in my throat as I hear footsteps approaching and the familiar buzz of a door opening.
My heart quickens within my chest, as if trying to escape the safety of my ribs.
One breath. Two breaths and my exhale… There she is.
At first, I only see the top of her head, dark hair braided perfectly, before her full face came into view.
She looks older now, her eyes hollow and full of sadness, but her face is also fuller.
The guard rounds the corner, and my eyes zero in on her, roaming over her.
Inspecting the orange jumpsuit that fits a little too large, the cuffs that bind her wrists, before landing on her stomach.
A loud gasp escapes my mouth as I take in the small swell that’s there. Visible beneath the orange fabric.
No.
I shake my head. No. NO.
Blood rushes like roaring waters through my ears.
I swallow hard and fast. Still, my mouth goes dry.
Pressure builds behind my eyes. My heart.
It all hurts. Quickly, I blink away the tears already forming.
I won’t let her see me down. She wouldn’t see me cry.
I won’t break even as this reveal kills me.
Yet, here is the proof that it was real.
Proof she’s carrying a life that should have been mine.
Proof that the universe stole from me only to hand it to her.
Why me? Why give me a life only to take it away? WHY? WHY? WHY?
The question fades into my mind as the room grows colder, and then the air leaves my lungs when she sits in front of me. Confusion marks her features when she grabs the phone with a shaky hand. I follow suit.
“Hello, Veronica,” she says softly, as if we are old friends sharing a coffee instead of trauma. The sound of her voice is too gentle, careful, and human in a way I can’t stand. I fucking hate her.
I swallow hard. “You’re pregnant?” My words come out croaky, pained, and definitely not sounding like a question. She exhales the word, “Yes.”
My vision blurs once again, and something inside of me fractures even deeper. The cracks pulling into the abyss—it’s not jealousy, not exactly. It’s something I can’t even comprehend. Something so fucked up, I can’t even fathom. “Why?”
Priscilla's brows pull together, her head tilts to the side. “Why what?”
“Why keep it?” I whisper. “Why have a baby? Why?”
“Like you, I was also a victim. I didn’t choose what Harry did, but I also did not stop it. And eventually, I participated to get my happiness.” Her eyes shine with sorrow. “What I chose is to protect this baby.”
Like an onion, everything peels away. Like me? LIKE ME? A scoff escapes my lips as I shake my head. My throat burns, and my heart shatters. “Give it back.”
Her forehead creases deeper, “Come again.”
“Give it back,” I repeat, quieter this time, before everything comes tumbling down. “Give it back. My safety. My life. My voice. My sense of self. MY BABY.” My voice breaks as I shoot to my feet. “Give me back everything that fucking basement took from me. GIVE IT BACK!”
My fingers curl around the phone, my other hand presses against the glass as if I could touch her.
Rip from her everything she took from me.
Everything she took and will take from Iz.
Priscilla mirrors me perfectly. We are two broken women on the opposite side of a transparent wall.
Separated by a crime neither of us can undo.
“I can’t give you what was taken,” Priscilla whispers, her voice breaking slightly. “But this baby… I can make sure he grows up safe. Loved. Not broken. That’s all I ever wanted, a baby, something to love. I didn’t want to hurt you or anyone. I just want—”
“FUCK YOU!” I spit. “FUCK WHAT YOU WANTED.”
She flinches, shame and maybe pity contorting her face as I continue. “You wanted him, and this is how you keep him. You’re sick.”
Priscilla shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “I only wanted a child. A family. I needed something to love before Harry hollowed me out completely.”
My breath stutters, and without thinking, I slam my hand against the glass hard enough to rattle the bolts. In an instant, guards move towards us. “Give it back,” I whisper, slamming my hand over and over. “GIVE IT BACK!”
All she does is stare back at me with pity that devastates. “YOU DON’T GET TO DO THIS! GIVE IT BACK!” I shout harder, my hand slamming painfully against the glass, rattling her.
“Ma’am, step back!” a guard instructs, but I’m too far gone to stop myself from wanting to tear her apart.
“GIVE IT BACK!” I shout, before I’m being yanked away from where I stand, my arm caught in the guard's arm. Priscilla looks at me, tears streaming down her face. My feet drag across the floor as they escort me out, my eyes never leaving her until I can no longer see her. The guards begin to talk to me, but I can’t hear them.
All I keep thinking about is the swell of my stomach.
Within minutes, my life shatters again, all while I’m processed and barred from seeing her before being let out of the building.
Once outside, Alexa runs to me just as the guard steps away from me and releases my arm.
By the look on my best friend’s face, she must see the shock written on mine. “Hey, what happened?”
I don’t respond. I just let the tears fall as my body shakes from the anger… from the grief. “It’s okay, Ronnie. I got you.” She takes my face into her warm and soft hands. “Ronnie breathe, breath–”