Chapter 1 - Lucas, my lost love [Republished]
When life gives you lemons, make a lemonade.
Well, lemonade it is!
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, sitting on the bed’s edge under the morning sun which is tenderly warming up my face.
Its rays are landing right on me, poking through the bedroom’s windows, slash glass-walls slash huge, fancy sliding doors.
This exorbitant, luxurious bedroom used to be our den of thrills and bliss, and we used to fill this house with laughter and joy.
Today it was just an eccentric, golden birds’ cage, miserable and asphyxiating.
I never wake up early and I never open the curtains immediately I wake up. I’m usually lingering in bed till late morning, hoping that if I stay still, I stop breathing and that will end my wretched life. Or the soreness between my thighs will go away together with the memories of the earlier evening.
Every night his making love to me has become brutal, worse than yesterday and less than tomorrow. My ordinary life turned into a plea between wanting to be invisible and him not coming home.
Today is a special morning though, that kind of morning that transforms your life, for most it can be for the better, for me it can be the end.
Clenching the plastic cylinder in my palm, tight, till my knuckles become paper-white, I squeeze my eyes with the same intensity till thousands of little stars are floating around in the blackness of my vision.
I can’t believe I am having a new life growing inside of me, not being as careful as I’ve been. I was on pills since my father sold me in this cursed marriage, but destiny seemed to have other arrangements for me.
It is unacceptable for me to let Lucas be the father of my child. I choose death. He changed in a way that would only make you run. Run till your feet don’t touch the ground. Run till you feel exhaustion chocking you. Run till you don’t breathe his scent anymore and you don’t seize any glimpse of the man that once was loving and caring and now was just a walking anger.
I loathed him for becoming what he was today, for reminding me every day about the passion I lost, for having me love him still. I despised him for robbing me of the happiness to bear his baby.
But now it all happened as my life could not have been more screwed up, it took me to the stage I had struggled to avoid most, becoming pregnant with his child.
Tears are rolling down my face, springing from my closed eyes, although no muscle moves. My body feels sluggish, shoulders bent in front, and head leaned on my left side. The arms are hanging on the sides of my body with hands resting numb on my lap.
My eyes snap opened while my brain stirs, and I shift my glare towards the bathroom door. There is my freedom, my way out, the redemption of me and my unborn baby.
Stepping into the bathroom, like floating and feeling lightheaded, I reach into the medicine closet and pick out a full bottle of Xanax.
I know I should resist this. I shouldn’t take the easiest way out. I never did, no matter the aftermaths.
Right now, this looks to be the only exit for me and for my baby. I will not allow to an innocent life to have a monster as a father.
I can’t stop the tears falling, my hand clenches around the bottle of pills and I am having second thoughts. Considering my baby has been the 1% exception from the rule, what rights do I have to take life from it?
Yes, the seeds of my heart’s torturer have conceived this baby, but I don’t resent it. I fancy having it in my womb. I want to feel it kicking and causing me hard times while it gracefully grows inside of me. I want to see it reaching into the light of the day with its first gasps for air.
Him. It’s the first thought coming into my mind. It’s a “him”. I know it.
I snap out of my thoughts, fear blended with anger engulfing me. My hands are shaking as I drop the bottle of tablets on the floor and the next feeling I have is to run.
I can’t take it anymore.
I have fought him, resisted him and kept strong against him for two years now, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t have those magnificent blue eyes scrutinizing me deep down to my wretched soul that can only shiver with the love I still have for him.
“Rebecca!” he roars again.
I gulp a sharp breath, clenching my fists and making a mental note that I must be good and obey. Again.
“In here, Lucas,” I reply in a deep tone, 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 with wide, firm shoulders, strong, worked out arms I knew so well when grabbing me every night and crushing me till my lungs emptied of air. His hair, trimmed on the sides and with long, black strands on the top, get sometimes sensually into his blue eyes, shading their daring glares and harsh looks while gawking at me with distaste.
I’ve used to believe that it’s impossible to find a more appealing smile like the one Lucas has. I still do, and I haven’t seen that smile in a long time.
I had been madly in love with him during our first year of marriage. At first I despised my father for selling me into this union just to save his dear company, bankrupt by my dear brother. When we met, I fell for him the minute our eyes sealed with each other.
We were happy then, during our first year of marriage. Or at least this was how I felt.
I had been missing that Lucas every single day of our second year of marriage. Until one day when I realized that Lucas who used to love me was gone, and I had to face the hideous truth of never finding him again.
It was the day when I told him I wanted a divorce. I couldn’t stand anymore the physical and mental suffering, the hate he wreathed over me, the intense sex we had, the words uttered in disgust every time he would set his eyes on me.
That night proved to be the roughest I ever suffered in our home. He had sex with me the full night, against me trying to get out of his room, his house and his life. I longed to discover, deep down, that man who adored me once. He had me me raw at first, almost as a punishment only to worship me after but leaving the bed as soon as we finished.
I practically fainted a few times that night, the way he loved my body, from the crown of my head to the tip of my toes, bringing back the memories of our lost love, breaking my heart in million pieces.
I shouted, cried, begged him to let me leave, to stop before I would die, as I was certain it was going to be the last night of my life with a drop of virtue left. He wouldn’t have it. He didn’t stop. He made me a mess and my dignity, nonexistent.
He never hit me though. Never.
The way he was using me every time, the way he would touch me, kiss me, love me was more distressing than a strike, leaving burning marks on my skin just as he was leaving bruises on my heart when he would leave the room without a word, without a look back as soon as our sex was over.
I was missing my Lucas so much that my palms were aching for him. My lips were always dry for his kisses, my body was longing till grief for his touches and my miserable heart was crying out loud to either love me again or let me go.
Every night he took me to his bed my mind was traveling back to Lucas I used love and every painful touch would dissolve under the memories of his caressing hands, brushing my skin, when he used to... love me. And by a wicked magic, the agony would vanish and gentleness reign.
It was my only way to make the pain go, to divert myself from the pool of emptiness he pushed me into. I don’t think he has ever loved me, though.
“What were you doing in there?” he asked in a heavy voice peeking at me with the corner of his eyes.
I felt an icy sweat falling 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 baby... maybe for his baby...
I shift my eyes to the bed where I recall I’ve left the pregnancy test. I started to hyperventilate and did my best to hide it, or he wouldn’t let me be before squeezing out of me the reason of my anxiety.
If he walked another step, he would surely spot it. And I didn’t know what would happen next. I was expecting the worst.
“The darker the night, the brighter the stars.”