Page 152 of Depravity

He lays me down, puts me back into bed and he pulls the covers up around me before he once more wraps me into his arms.

“It’s a bastard.” He says with his face turned up in disgust. “It could be deformed, it could be disabled, it could be…”

“It’s mine.” I say. “My baby. It’s from me too.”

He snarls, slamming his head back against the headboard like he’s actually heard me for the first time.

I don’t know how he can understand my words, how he can take the twisted sounds of my tongueless mouth and turn them into anything comprehensible.

I don’t dare to speak more, I don’t dare to move. I just stare up at him, silently begging for the one thing I know he won’t ever grant me.

“I need an heir.” He states. “My brother needs an heir. Our family needs an heir.”

I nod, scrambling to grab the notepad, scrambling to write a response back to him. “And you’ll have one.” I state, practically shoving it in his face before I scrawl more. “Please, once this child is born, once I can get pregnant again, then I won’t fight you. I’ll give you a child. I’ll give you a son, so many sons…”I know I’m rambling, I know I’m making promises that I can’t possibly guarantee I can keep, but I’ll say anything right now. I’ll do anything.

“This child…” He spits, shaking his head.

“Please.”

He shakes his head more before he pushes me back, pushes me away and then he’s up, crossing the room, slamming the door behind him. That action, that sound, all of it seems to seal my fate.

I crumble, I collapse, I weep into the duvet because I know where he’s gone.

And soon my baby will be too.

Gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

She’s pregnant.

She’s fucking pregnant.

The one thing I wanted, the one thing I needed, and it’s not even mine.

I slam my fist into the wall, feeling that old stubborn stone forcing my knuckles backwards and the pain helps, if only a little.

I should call the doctor, have this dealt with and sorted before anyone else can find out.

But as I pull the phone from my pocket, I hesitate.

I can hear it, hear her sobs, even from here. I know she didn’t want my child. I know she didn’t want any child, but sheispregnant. If I do this, if I have the brat killed, then she’ll neverforgive me. She’ll never fully love me. It will always be there, it will always sit between us, like some festering poison.

And I can’t have that. I just can’t.

My pride might take the hit, but what better way to prove how much she truly means to me, what better way to make her understand that she iseverything?

A plan seems to formulate in my head as I make my way down to the kitchens.

When I return to our bedroom with a tray of food in my hands, I know it’s the right call. I know that doing this will give me everything I want. It will give meher. Every piece of her.

She shrinks back before her brows drop in confusion.

“You need to eat.” I state, laying the wooden tray down between us, as if that simple boundary might give her a sense of courage. “Your baby needs sustenance.”

From the look on her face, it’s clear she thinks she’s misheard me. Or she thinks this is a trick.

Perhaps it is, but it’s not the one she believes it is.

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