37. Lucia
37
LUCIA
M y alarm clock blares, ripping me from a restless sleep plagued by uneasy dreams. I groan as I roll over to hit snooze, but I knock the whole thing off the nightstand instead. It clatters to the floor, dragging my phone down with it. Any lingering drowsiness evaporates instantly, leaving me wide-eyed and fully annoyed.
With a resigned sigh, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and fumble for my clothes in the dim morning light. My fingers feel like sausages as I struggle with the tiny buttons of my shirt, the laces of my shoes seeming to tie themselves in knots of their own accord. My eyelids droop heavily, threatening to close at any moment, while my head feels as though it’s stuffed with cotton.
Raffaele is in the hallway when I exit my bedroom. Since his return a couple of days ago, he’s been even more annoying than usual. His presence used to make me feel safe, but now it makes me feel trapped. I half expect him to follow me into the bathroom, but thankfully, he keeps his distance.
As I pull my hair into a messy ponytail, I notice that one of the straps on my bra is twisted—just another little thing to add to my list of frustrations. I yank it straight, biting down on my irritation. It’s Thursday morning. I have to get through today and tomorrow, and then I have the weekend to get my head straight.
When I reach the kitchen, Raffaele has coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs and salsa waiting for me. It’s a dish he’s made half a dozen times and I’ve loved it every single time, but it turns my stomach this morning. I should appreciate his efforts, but today, I’m just annoyed. Why does he have to be so damn efficient?
I grab a cup of coffee and take a sip, but it’s too bitter. I grimace as I set the cup down on the counter harder than I intended. “Morning,” I mutter to Raffaele, but he doesn’t reply. He nods, leans back in his chair, and continues reading the morning newspaper. I want to snap at him. Stop staring. Stop hovering. Just stop. But I don’t. It’s not his fault Saverio put him in charge of guarding my every move. But everything this morning makes me feel like I’m one breath away from cracking right down the middle and spilling my guts in a haze of frantic truths.
The drive to school doesn’t go any better. In fact, it’s a disaster from start to finish. The traffic is terrible, with cars inching along at a snail’s pace through construction zones that popped up overnight. Every station on the radio is filled with static, crackling, and popping like angry fireworks in my ears. I fiddle with the dial, but it’s no use. When I finally pull into the faculty parking lot, my mood plummets even further as I see someone’s already taken my usual spot. I circle the lot twice before settling for a space near the back, grumbling under my breath the entire time.
By the time I get to my classroom on the second floor, my legs burning from the exertion, I’m barely holding it together. My nerves feel raw and exposed like I’ve been flayed open for the world to see. It’s one of those days where you want to punch everyone in the head for daring to look at you, where even a casual glance feels like a personal attack. I clench my fists at my sides, willing myself to keep it together as I navigate the crowded hallway of students, my irritation growing with each passing second.
I force a smile onto my face for the kids; it’s not their fault I’m in a bad mood. But the second graders are rowdy today—their voices are too loud, their laughter is too sharp, and they ask too many questions. Usually, I can handle the chaos, but today, it feels like nails on a chalkboard.
All morning, I think about my period—or rather, the lack of it. The anxiety simmers under my skin like an itch I can’t scratch. As I teach my students how to count by twos, I silently calculate the weeks since Saverio forcibly removed the birth control rod from my arm. As we learn about the life cycle of a butterfly, all I can think about is the potential life growing inside me. As I encourage my students to think about how stories begin and end, I consider how my own story is unraveling in ways I didn’t expect. As we talk about the importance of the food pyramid and eating balanced meals, I wonder if I should have packed carrots for lunch instead of a bag of chips, just in case.
As I reach my breaking point, the bell rings, dismissing the kids for lunch, and twenty tiny humans pop out of their chairs and race to the cafeteria. I don’t have it in me to tell them to walk; the hall monitors can deal with it today.
Silence breaks out over the room for a glorious two minutes. I put my head down on the cool desk and try to remember some of the lessons I learned during a meditation course I took in college. But just as I remember breathwork, the door swings open, and Brooklyn walks in. Her energy is a whirlwind that cuts through the fog of my anxiety. “Three dates this weekend,” she announces as she drops into a chair near my desk.
I blink, my brain struggling to make sense of her words. “What?”
Brooklyn laughs as she pops the cap off her water bottle. “Three dates! I’m on fire, Luce. I’ve got a nice dinner tomorrow night with this guy from Lawrence. On Saturday, I’m going axe-throwing with this finance bro. I don’t really like him, but he made a big deal about how much more athletic he is than me. So I’m thinking I should kick his ass at axe-throwing, make him buy me dinner, and then tell him at the end of the night I’m not feeling it. I also have brunch on Sunday with this older man, something like forty-two, I think his bio said. I don’t remember. But he’s taking me to that place downtown with bottomless mimosas. You should come with me. I’m sure Brent wouldn’t mind getting fucked up at brunch with two gorgeous girls in their twenties.”
I shake my head, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yeah, that’s not happening,” I say with a forced chuckle. I shouldn’t drink until I figure out this whole am-I-or-am-I-not pregnant thing. The uncertainty has been gnawing at me for days, and the last thing I need is to complicate matters with alcohol.
Brooklyn studies me with narrowed eyes, her gaze uncomfortably perceptive. “You’ve been weird the last few days,” she accuses, her tone a mix of concern and suspicion. “Like, really off. What’s going on with you?” She leans closer as if trying to read the truth on my face.
I swallow hard and think of a way to deflect the comment. Brooklyn doesn’t know about Saverio or his bodyguard—not the whole story, anyway. I told her about my overprotective ex-boyfriend who wants to know where I am every second of every day, but that was a few months ago. And frankly, I didn’t tell her the whole truth. Saverio is more than an overprotective ex-boyfriend; and he’s tied up in things far more dangerous than she could imagine.
“I’ve just got a lot going on,” I say, forcing out the words. What would be more damaging to tell Brooklyn: I can’t go out because my overprotective ex-boyfriend is actually my very intensely overprotective fiancé , or I can’t go to bottomless mimosas because I might be pregnant with his baby?
“Are you okay?” Brooklyn asks a few moments later. “Because if there’s something wrong, you can tell me.”
I debate holding onto the secret for a few more days. If I have more time to think about it, that also gives my period time to show up. A few more days will change everything. But then the words come tumbling out.
“I think I might be pregnant.”
And I realize that a few more days would have driven me off the deep end. I couldn’t continue keeping this secret without exploding into a million pieces. Thankfully, I overshared with someone I could trust.
“You… what ?” The air in the room changes, the lightness evaporating in an instant. Brooklyn’s mouth falls open as she’s in the middle of unwrapping her lunch.
I look down at my hands, fidgeting nervously as my stomach twists into knots from the weight of what I’ve just admitted. The words hang heavy in the air, and I feel a sudden urge to backpedal. I haven’t said those words out loud since that day in the emergency room when the nurse first brought up the possibility and hearing them now makes everything feel so much more real.
“I don’t know for sure,” I rush to explain, my voice barely above a whisper. I can feel Brooklyn’s eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to meet her gaze. “There was an issue with my birth control implant a few weeks ago—it had to be removed unexpectedly. And, well… I haven’t had a period since then.” My heart races as I speak, each word feeling like a step further into uncharted territory.
Brooklyn gets up from the chair and walks over to the reading couch, her movements jerky with nervous energy. She throws herself down with a dramatic thump, shaking her head in disbelief. “Lucia, this is huge. Like, earth-shattering huge,” she says, her voice a blend of awe and worry. “For starters, I didn’t even know you were getting dicked down. I mean, when did this happen? Who is it? Some secret boyfriend you’ve been hiding from me?” She leans forward, her curiosity palpable. “And secondly, what are you going to do? Because holy shit, this is not just a small hiccup in your life plan. This is potentially life-altering stuff we’re talking about here.”
I push myself up from the chair, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me. With slow, deliberate steps, I make my way over to the couch where Brooklyn sits. “I don’t know,” I admit, the words catching in my throat. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.” The second I allow myself to contemplate how drastically my life will change with a child, I know I’ll be tumbling headfirst into Saverio’s carefully laid trap. He’ll have me perpetually pregnant, churning out babies until we can assemble our own soccer team. The thought makes me shudder involuntarily as I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable.
Brooklyn leans back and stares at the ceiling, her brow furrowed in concentration. She drapes an arm over her forehead dramatically as if she’s the one in crisis. “Okay, okay. We just need to figure this out. Easy peasy,” she says, her voice straining with forced optimism. “Let’s start with the basics. Have you taken a test yet? One of those at-home pregnancy tests from the drugstore?”
“No.”
Her eyes widen with disbelief. “Why not? That’s the quickest way to find out if you’re pregnant!”
“Because I’ve been freaking out!” I blurt out loud enough to bounce off the classroom walls. “I’ve been freaking out for days now, Brooklyn. It’s complicated.”
We sit there in silence for a long minute, both of us staring at the drop ceiling as if it holds all the answers. My pulse pounds a steady beat in my ears, blocking out the distant sounds of kids playing outside on the playground, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere in the classroom. The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead. Eventually, Brooklyn breaks the silence, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pile on. That wasn’t fair of me.” She pauses, chewing her lower lip nervously before continuing. “But you need to know, right? I mean, if you’re pregnant, that will change your whole life. Everything you’ve planned, everything you’ve worked for… it’ll all be different.”
Her words echo the thoughts I’ve been too afraid to think. If I’m pregnant, I’m tied to Saverio forever. I can run, I can hide, but he’ll hunt me down until he finds me. He’s happy to let me live my own life right now, but if there’s a baby involved, he’ll never let me go.
“Do you want to go to Walgreens and get a test? We can go after school.”
Raffaele will follow us, which is another story I don’t want to come clean about. And if he finds out what we’re shopping for, he’ll tell Saverio. It’ll only take my husband-to-be forty-five minutes to get here when he finds out I’m pregnant, less if he’s speeding.
But I can’t weigh my options until I know what they are. If I’m not pregnant, nothing changes. But if I am…
“Yeah. Let’s do it.” Some days, you have to put on your big girl panties and get the job done, even if it’s the last thing you want to do.