Avery
No. Please God, no.
I sat there on the cold ceramic, panties bunched around my ankles, and blinked at the pink plus sign on the stick.
It had to be wrong. I’d taken enough of these tests over the past six months, each negative. An answer to my prayers, buying me just a little more time.
Because I could not have a child with this monster.
I continued to sit there and stare at the little stick, as if somehow the result would change. My heartbeat intensified the longer I stared, sweat forming on my brow. “No,” I mouthed, “I need more time.”
My lip began to quiver as tears welled in my eyes. I’d secretly been taking birth control. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Gia?” Two swift knocks came at the bathroom door, causing me to jolt. “You done yet, tesoro?” My husband’s thick, Italian American accent boomed from the other side. When he and I first met, the term of endearment rolling off Angelo’s tongue was sweet music to my ears. Now it was nails being driven into my coffin.
“One minute,” I shouted back, scrambling to wipe, pull up my panties, flush the toilet, and turn the water on full blast to drown out any noise I hoped not to make.
Lifting the lid off the tank, I carefully retrieved the negative test taped to the inside, swapped one for the other, and quietly as possible replaced the ceramic lid. As meticulous as Angelo had become with tracking my cycle, he thankfully didn’t like to watch me do my business. He considered it ugly, un-feminine, and degrading. It was the only area of my life where I had any sort of privacy.
I ran my shaky hands under the tap, scrubbing them with soap, as if it would somehow wash away the lie I was about to tell. As I continued to rinse, I calculated the money I had stashed. The black Louboutins sold for $200, my Coach handbag sold for $125, my red velvet Oscar De La Renta cocktail dress sold for $675…
Six grand.
Angelo was fussy about finances and checked every receipt, so I’d gotten a little crafty. For quite some time, I’d been selling some of my expensive clothing for cash at consignment stores.
I needed more money, more time.
I needed a car.
It would take me a few months to start showing. But what if I started getting morning sickness? How long could I keep up the charade? The fact was, I couldn’t. Because if I didn’t lose this child from the stress, surely I would by his hand.
What I had wasn’t near enough, but it was gonna have to do. I didn’t have a choice now. I had a life growing inside me that I needed to protect.
I toweled off my hands and gazed into the mirror. Lifting a finger, I dabbed away any stray mascara from under my amber eyes, then ran my fingers through my disheveled, long, blonde waves trying to collect myself. God, I hated this color hair. I missed my natural, chestnut brown. But what Angelo wanted, Angelo got.
Deep breath in, and a deep breath out. I calmed my breathing and steadied my racing heart.
Grabbing the handle, I unlocked and opened the door.
Angelo stood there, watching, waiting. He’d removed his Armani jacket, but was still wearing his suit pants and tie. Back against the wall, arms crossed over his massive chest, dress shirt rolled at the sleeves to showcase his formidable forearms. A not-so-subtle display of strength and power. His way of saying I’m in charge here.
As if I didn’t know the force behind those hands.
As if I didn’t know who held the power.
I tried not to think about all the times he’d hurt me with those hands.
No, the only thing I was thinking about was the life inside me, and how I was going to save my child from this devil.
“Well?” he asked, waiting for my response. His brow raised to a hairline that was beginning to become peppered with grey. Admittedly, it made him all the more handsome even if he was Lucifer incarnate. And even though he was nearly twenty years my senior, and pushing fifty, the years had been kind to Angelo.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I handed him the false test, looking him dead in the eye.
His face fell as he yanked the stick from my grasp, examining it. “You’re fucking kidding me, Gia!” His voice boomed like an exploding bomb, each word a piece of shrapnel meant to make me cower. “How is it possible that we’ve been trying for a year and you’re still not pregnant?”
I bowed my head to the floor and curled my arms around myself, protecting my child from the possible blow.
“Look at me when I speak to you.” He tugged on my chin a little too hard, forcing me to look him in the eye.
His dark brow was furrowed, nostrils flared, his cold, brown eyes narrowing and turning nearly black. That gaze said it all. Disappointment, anger, resentment. Yet again, I was unable to give him an heir to his throne.
“I…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” My lip quivered as tears rolled down my face. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and braced myself for his wrath. “I’ll make an OB appointment tomorrow. Maybe they can run some tests…” I trailed off.
His lips tightened as he scrutinized my face like he was trying to solve some sort of riddle. “Let’s take another test. Together.”
I tried to keep my face like a stone statue while my heart jerked inside my chest, beating triple time, thumping so fast I could feel the blood pulsating through my veins. Did he hear me swapping the tests? Did he know what I was doing? Planning? Could he see the lie on my face?
“Angelo, I really don’t think that is necessary.”
“Come on.” He bobbed his head to the bathroom. Then, his meaty fingers dug into my arm, making me wince as tears filled my eyes. Dragging me inside, he pushed me down on the lid of the toilet.
“I can’t just pee on command,” I protested as he rifled under the sink.
“Where is the other test?” he shouted, “I bought six, and we’ve only taken five.” His deep voice echoed through the room.
He knows. This is it. He’s going to lose his mind. Think. Think. Think.
I stood and began pacing as he pulled every item out of our bottom cabinet, tossing the room. “I…I took one a couple days ago, wh…when you were at work,” I lied through my teeth, my back turned to him, so he couldn’t see the deception written all over my face.
“You what?” His baritone growl was so loud I could have sworn my insides turned to liquid.
I shrugged and bit my lip. “I’m sorry, I just—” But I didn’t get to finish that sentence because his hands collided with my back strong enough to break my shoulder blades, pitching me toward the bathtub. I tried to put my hands out to brace myself, but I couldn’t catch myself in time. Next thing I knew, my stomach landed smack on the edge of the tub and my brow hit the porcelain, knocking out every bit of my air.
“You are not to take them without me,” he thundered.
Rolling over to the floor, I clutched my belly. I could feel blood trickling down my temple as sobs mangled my answer, “I wanted…surprise you…planned baby-themed meal.” I dragged air down to my lungs as my throat burned with irritation—at him, at me, at the pain. “Baby back ribs, tiny shrimp, baby portobellos. I was going to give you the test with a tiny bow on it…” the lies magically rolled off my tongue faster than the blood sliding down my brow. “I…I’m sorry, I just wanted to make it special. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” I kept repeating.