To the Stars (Thatch #2)(17)
“It’s test day, baby.”
“It is,” I squeaked out, trying to have something that resembled excitement in my voice rather than fear.
“You excited?”
I nodded my head and turned to look up at him. There was an expectant look in his eyes, and a thrill on his face that I knew wouldn’t be there much longer. The anxious thrill never turned to joy, and despite my hate for these days, I prayed it never would.
“Well, let’s go.” He moved quickly off the bed and grabbed my hands, pulling me behind him.
A nervous energy flowed off him and through me, only causing my dread to deepen.
“You’re shaking, baby,” he said when we got into the bathroom. Collin turned to face me and pulled me into his arms. “What’s going on?”
“I just want this,” I choked out, trying to appease him in a vain attempt to have him go easy on me later. But it was a lie. I didn’t want this. Not with him. And I knew that no matter what I said to him now, it wouldn’t change his reaction—it was the same every other week.
“I do, too,” he said softly. Kissing me gently, he released me and bent to pull a pregnancy test out of one of the drawers below our bathroom sinks.
After handing me the foil-wrapped stick, he faced me with his arms crossed over his chest and waited. He wouldn’t leave, and he wouldn’t take his eyes off me; he never did. I tore open the packet and walked to the toilet to pee on the stick. When I was done, he took it from me and set it on the countertop, and just stared.
I walked slowly over to him, my insides twisting and shaking as I briefly glanced at his hopeful expression. He pulled me into his arms so my back was against his chest, and his hands went to my stomach as we waited for three agonizing minutes.
“This is it, I know it is.”
“I hope so, too,” I responded, staring just past the stick to the counter.
The test would be negative, as every test had been, and hopefully would continue to be. Not long after we’d gotten married and I’d come to understand who Collin really was, I’d gotten a birth control implant in my arm. I knew Collin wanted to have kids early on, and he never wore condoms or let me buy birth control, but I couldn’t bring a child into this life. So I’d gone with the only option I could think of that he wouldn’t find out about.
I still had about six months left before I needed to get a new one, and I knew when that time came, I would do just that. I would take what was about to come for the rest of my life if it meant keeping an innocent child from my monster. I just had to keep praying that it continued to work.
I knew when the results showed by the pause in Collin’s breathing, and the way his fingers went from making lazy circles against my stomach, to digging in. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and sent up a prayer that this would be over soon.
“What . . . the f*ck . . . are you taking?”
“Nothing,” I whispered.
“Do not lie to me, Harlow,” he growled. Each word was emphasized as if it were its own sentence. “What are you taking?”
“Nothing. I promise I’m not taking anything.”
“Don’t lie to me!” he roared.
Before I could comprehend that his body was no longer behind mine, he grabbed my upper arms and threw me down onto the floor. A sharp cry left my chest when my head bounced off the tile, and my hands immediately went to cover my face—even though I knew he wouldn’t do anything to mess with something that could be easily seen.
“Don’t show your pain, Harlow!”
“Please! I’m not taking—” My words cut off on a wheeze as his foot slammed into my stomach three times in a row.
My hands left my face and went to cradle my stomach as I began curling into the fetal position. His foot stomped down onto my side, making me arch back as a scream tore through me. As soon as my stomach was exposed, the top of his foot connected with it over and over again.
I tried to beg him to stop, but all that left my lips were grunts and cries. My bloodied hands reached for him in a silent plea, and he smacked them away.
“What are you taking?” Collin shouted.
Hard sobs left me and I shook my head against the tile as I lay there, no longer able to curl in on myself. Blood smeared from the tile onto my cheek from where I’d hit my head, and each sob that shook my body felt like someone was stabbing my stomach with a white-hot poker. I couldn’t take in anything more than shallow breaths, and breathing out felt impossible.
“I will find it,” he assured me in a dark tone. “When I do, you will be begging me for this.”
He kicked my stomach once more, and when I started to roll over to protect my stomach, his foot smashed down onto my back and pinned me to the floor. My tears and spit mixed with the blood on the floor, but I couldn’t move my head no matter how hard I tried. The pain was unbearable, and the way he had me pinned was making it impossible to breathe. It was all I could do to keep from passing out—I’d found out in the beginning that passing out wasn’t an option. He’d only start up again once I was conscious.
“Don’t move until I’m back. If I find birth control, Harlow, I’ll be sure to tell your mother that you are the reason she’s about to die.”
My face twisted in pain and fear as silent, agonizing sobs continued to torment me. I knew he wouldn’t find anything, but that never made the time while he searched for something any easier. Every time I wondered if I was making the right choice. He threatened my family—but I was saving a child. I just had to keep reminding myself that in the two and a half years of going through this every other week, those threats had been just that. Threats.