Page 35 of Forbidden Pregnancy
I’m just lucky he leaves me alone all day like clockwork from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. I don’t ask where he goes, even when he drops hints that he wants me to ask. During my last doctor’s appointment, my small town obstetrician gave me anappointment schedule for the duration of my pregnancy, so I know exactly what timeline I can expect for everything.
If it all works out.
I still don’t know how I got pregnant and even if there’s a little voice in my head that wants to call this opportunity to have a baby “divine intervention”... there’s nothing divine about Michael Corsini reappearing into my life out of nowhere to put a baby in me.
Luckily for me, I can use all my alone time to binge watch television at this lake house. If I don’t watch television, my mind immediately wanders to Michael’s freaky sex contract and what the hell will happen to me once I have this baby. He won’t even tell me what the hell he means when he tells me that I’m in danger.
From what? There’s nothing out here. Nothing.
Ten weeks into my pregnancy, stir crazy thinking sets in. It’s not just the morning sickness symptoms, but my complete lack of a social life. Listening to Michael grunt something rude in response to all my requests doesn’t have any type of fulfillment to it. I’m partly happy that I don’t have to explain what happened with my frozen eggs to everyone in my life… but I don’t have a clue about a damned thing happening in the outside world since Michael only has subscription streaming services and not live television. Ugh.
My mind behaves like any human mind would in captivity – I start searching for avenues to escape. What would be the big deal if I got fresh air for an afternoon? I don’t have any money, nor any real notion of where we are. I suspect we’re in New Jersey, but I don’t have any proof of that, just a suspicion because we drove away from Buffalo for such a long time.
Michael probably isn’t even telling the truth about how much danger I’m in. The perfect lie to keep me docile would be pretending that there’s someone after me. If theywerehunting me down, wouldn’t it take them less than ten weeks to find me? It’s not like Michael dyed my hair and gave me a new identity. He’s been leaving this house everyday and especially since he has one eye and a huge knife scar across his face, this man has extremely recognizable features.
I work myself into a sense of security that gives me mental space to plan an escape. I haven’t noticed any cameras around the perimeter. Michael seems to rely entirely on the fact that I trust him and I haven’t shown any signs of wanting to escape yet.
Maybe I won’t have to try that hard to get some free time. If I get back here before 4 p.m., he might not even notice I’m gone.
I just want information. It’s normal to want to know where I am…I’m a grown ass woman, not Michael’s surrogate. I can technically go wherever I want to regardless of the insane contract we both signed.
After lunch, my anxiety over justtryingto make a break for it reaches its peak and I pack a bag of items in the bedroom, just in case my escape reaches untold success. I toss a t-shirt, a change of underwear into a bag, and scour Michael’s house for some cash I could possibly borrow. What? I just want to get myself an ice-cream or a sweet treat. Nothing wrong with that.
I bet the baby would approve of a sweet treat right now. Yup. I’m doing this all for the baby. And because Ican’tjust stay here. I can’t be the type of woman who falls for Michael Corsini’s insane tricks. I wasn’t that type of woman twelve years ago. I stood up for myself and left Michael even after giving him my v-card, which I had considered precious before.
I had to deal with the truth – that I gave it all up to a man who didn’t give a fuck about me.
Now, I’m pregnant with that same man’s baby and I don’t want to face it. I don’t want to face how he makes me feel right now, when the only reasonable response I should have to Michael is punching him in the face and running away…
I shouldn’t let him ‘make it up to me’ with his tongue between my legs. How about an apology? How about changed behavior? I suppose that’s too much to ask for from a man raised the way Michael was. Even back then, I knew he wasn’t accustomed to hearing the word “no” and that this made him dangerous.
I still gave in to this man, just like I did under the influence of whatever drug Cosima slipped in our drinks…
When I open the lake house front door, I stare at the lawn and freeze in place. I’m quietly amazed at how quickly my mind adapted to captivity. Even with nobody keeping me here, I’m frozen in place in the door frame, too scared to take a step. But there’s no alarm and there are no cameras. Sunlight shimmers on the surface of the lake and a brilliant idea enters my head.
I can find a place to buy a swimsuit. I’m not much of a swimmer, but I can at least wade into the lake and experience something aside from the couch in Michael’s living room and the deep mental fog that accompanies too many nights of binging television shows. My life, just like my frozen eggs from a couple months ago, feels like it’s slipping away from me the longer I’m in captivity.
My first step outside hits me with a wave of euphoria. Sunlight warms my face, calming me in a way that I’d forgotten sunlight could. I’m glad I did this, even if I’m only taking a few steps outside.
Chapter Fifteen
Michael
She’s gone.
Ihave to stop my car at the end of the driveway when I arrive home, because about a quarter mile off from the front door, I see it swinging madly back and forth, slamming into the frame. The American flag planted in the driveway flaps aggressively, as if warning me that somebody breached my safe house. Nobody knows this place exists except my cousin Luigi and he would havenevercompromised Myra’s safety.
Never.
That could have only happened if Luigi was compromised. Wouldn’t I know if that happened? Perhaps not. My stomach tightens in a knot, which I immediately stifle and replace with blind, untempered anger.Who would dare touch my woman? Who would dare take her?
My immediate gut instinct is that Myra’s been taken, but once I stop my car, I sprint all the way to the front door, running faster than I ever ran one of my several championship winning touchdowns in college. Her absence and the lake house’semptiness immediately contrast my agitated heavy breathing. But she’s nowhere.
I remove my emergency pistol from its holster as I search the house. It takes me less than five minutes to clear the house and confirm Myra’s absence. There aren’t any clues and the ones I find suggest a far more horrifying fate than kidnapping. I don’t know what to make of the situation.
There are signs Myra packed a small bag with the intention to escape, but I also find evidence that she might have been taken. I walk outside with my gun and search the perimeter of my small lake house, finding even more concerning evidence. Tire tracks and marks in the dirt where an assailant might have dragged a body.
Or a woman kicking and screaming? I can’t tell. I just know she’s gone and I only have one suspect.
