Chapter 1 - Lucas, my lost love
With my eyes closed I take a deep breath, the morning sun warming up my face through the bedroom's window. I never wake up early and I never open the curtains. I am usually lingering in bed till late morning, partly hoping that if I stay still I will stop breathing and it will all be over, partly because of the soreness between my thighs. Every night is a rape, worse than yesterday and less than tomorrow.
But today was a special morning, that kind of morning that changes your life, for most could be in better, for me, could be an end.
I clench the plastic tube in my hand, tight, till my knuckles become paper-white, with the same intensity as I squeeze my eyes shut. I can't believe I am having a new life growing in me. I have always been careful. I have been on pills since I was sold in this cursed marriage by my father but seems faith had other plans. It is impossible to ever let Lucas be the father of my child, I prefer death.
But now it happened and as my life could not have been more fucked up, it brought me to the point I have always avoided. I feel tears rolling down my face, although no muscles move. My body is lifeless, sitting on the edge of the bed, arms hanging along my body, hands resting numb on my lap. Instantly I open my eyes as my brain snaps awake and I turn my face to the bathroom door. There it is my escape, my door out, the redemption of me and my unborn child.
I stand and as floating I am reaching the medicines locker in the bathroom and take out a full bottle of Xanax. I know. I should fight this. I shouldn't take the easiest way out. I never did, no matter the consequences. But right now this seems the only exit for me and most importantly, for my baby. I will never let an innocent life be fathered by a monster.
I can't stop tears falling, my hand clenches around the bottle of pills and I am having seconds thoughts as I am thinking that if my child choose to be the 1% to be conceived, what rights do I have to take life from him? Yes, the seeds of my torturer have fathered this child but I don't resent him. I want to feel him, I want to feel him growing in womb, I want to feel his kicks and give me hard times while he gracefully grows till finally the light of the day will shower him with his first gasps in this world. Him. The first thing coming in my mind. It is a him. I know it.
I snap out of my thoughts. Fear starts to flush me. My hands are shaking as I drop the bottle of pills and the next feeling I have is to hide. I can't take it anymore. I have faced him and confronted him and held strong against his terror for two years now, but I can't do it anymore.
"Rebecca!" he shouts again.
I take a deep breath, clenching my fists and make a mental note that I must be good and obey. Again.
"I am in here, Lucas," I say in a low voice exiting the bathroom. I don't look at him although he is quite a sight to enjoy. He could easily pass as a damn handsome man, tall, broad straight shoulders, strong, worked out arms that I knew so well when grabbing me every night and squeezing me till my lungs empty of air, his hair in long black strands falling sometimes careless in his blue eyes, shading them in dangerous, rough looks while staring at me with distaste. I've used to believe that it was impossible to ever find a more sensual smile like the one Lucas has.
I was madly in love with him during our first year of marriage although I loathed my father for selling me just to save his dear company, bankrupt by my dear brother. We were happy then, in our first year. Or at least this is what I thought. I have been missing that Lucas every single day of our second year. Until one day when I realized that Lucas who used to love me died and I had to face the ugly truth of never finding him again. It was the day when I told him that I want a divorce. I couldn't take anymore the physical and mental pain, the hate he wreathed over me, the violent sex he started to have with me, the words spoken in disgust every time he would lay his eyes on me.
That night was the hardest I ever faced in our home. He made sex with me the whole night, against me fighting to get out of his room, his house, his life. I fainted a few times that night and God knows what he did to me while I was passed out. I shouted, cried, begged him to let me go, to stop before I would die because I was sure that was going to be the last night of my life. He never hit me. Never. But the way he was handling me every time, the way he would touch me, was more painful than a hit leaving bruises and hicks on my body.
Sometimes I wished he hit me, just not to touch me the way he did. The suffering was double, the physical pain and the pain of missing his tender touch. I was missing my first Lucas so much, my palms were aching for him, my lips were always dry missing his kisses, my body was longing till pain for his touch. Every night he would take me to his bed, roughly and torturing me, my mind was going back to Lucas I used love and every painful touch of his was in my mind replaced with one of his caressing hands when he used to ... love me. It was my only way to make the pain go away, to distract myself from the pool of emptiness he threw me in. I don't think he actually ever loved me though.
"What were you doing in there?" he asked in a rough, deep voice peeking at me with the corner of his eyes. I felt cold sweat running down my spine. 'I wanted to kill myself and our child' I wished I could say, to punish him. He wouldn't give a damn on me, I know, but his child... his child ...
I snap my eyes on the bed where I remembered I left the pregnancy test. I started to hyperventilate and did my best to hide it, or he would have never let it go before squeezing the reason of my anxiety out of me. If he made another step he would definitely see it. And I didn't know what would be next. I was expecting the worst. He never spoke about babies, even in our first year of marriage he never opened the subject and I never dared to. I thought it was too early for him although it is quite an age gap between us, twelve years to be exact. I was twenty-one and he was thirty-three when we got married.
I walked towards the bed and sat on the pregnancy test, without a word. I lay on my back and with my left hand I grab the test and toss it quickly between the mattress and the bed. At this point his rough hands grabbing me and bruising me would be much better than him finding out I was pregnant.
"Becca, I asked you something and you know I don't like to repeat myself," he said coldly.
"I – I was just ... I wanted to take a pill. I am not feeling okay."
He looked at me in disbelieve.
"You've got stocked hundreds of pills in that locker of yours and you never seem to feel better. I don't know why you bother."
I see his frame walking towards the window, passing by my bed. He was wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt with long sleeves, wrapping his body showing how good looking his is. I am still shivering at his sight, I am still getting lost in the icy blue of his eyes and I am still savoring his glares when the madness doesn't take him over. Sometimes, when his eyes would stare at me, wordless, like trying to read deep inside of my mind, I still believe that Lucas who loved me once was struggling to come out at the surface, insanely missing me, but then the wrath would come and all magic and hope disappear.
He wasn't planning to go to the office today or else he would have been gone already, looking dashingly handsome in one of his expensive suits fitting him so damn good. As I see him closing the distance between us my breath stops. I knew he was coming towards me and I felt my blood draining out of my body, freezing. I follow him with my eyes, instincts sharpening to predict his next move. I used to be so afraid that one day he would hurt me that much with a snap of his hand that I wouldn't have the time to safe my life.