Pregnant

TWO MONTHS LATER

I tried to squeez past Ianthe by the foot of the stairs as I made my way up to my room but she blocked my path.

“Excuse me, please,” I said to her, trying to hold on to my temper.

“Were you actually about to push me out of the way?” She asked in pretend shock as all of the maids looked on.

She wanted to humiliate me but I wouldn't give her that chance.

I kept my voice low and with reverence as I say, “Sorry, Ianthe.”

This had been a daily occurrence between us now. She insulting me, and me apologizing — even when she was clearly at fault and I was innocent.

She eyed me from my head to my toe then took a step back, covering her nose slightly, “I suggest you get a shower in and stop reeking up the entire house. You stink. Even the animals in the slaughterhouse smell better than you.”

I kept quiet until she left, then made my way to my room.

Would I ever be free of this? Of her?

She had hated me ever since I got in to this house and I had always tried my best to always stay away from her, but luck wasn't always on my side. Like today.

I doubt if I would ever be free.

Freedom, I thought cynically, the word sounded so foreign and strange. I doubt if I would ever be free.

There was no freedom in these parts. The only way to leave was death.

I had tried to leave, but it turned out that killing yourself wasn't as easy as it sounds.

The night I raised the knife to my throat, I had thought of my mother and what the news of my death would do to her.

I doubt she would ever survive it. My father's death had broken something in her and I knew my own death would just finish her off.

Also, I had been scared.

I had tried countless of times after that, but I hadn't been able to pull through with it.

And because of that cowardice, my life was about to get more worse.

I opened my palm and stared at the pregnancy strip laying there.

I hadn't seen my period for three weeks and asides that, I had been battling with nausea every morning.

When it happened again today, a growing fear inside me had made me go get the strip, but no. It was just an irrational fear. I couldn't be pregnant. Not now. Not ever.

I knew that was my purpose as a Breeder, but I couldn't bring a child into this world. A world where I wouldn't even be considered his or her mother.

I shook my head furiously against the pressing thoughts in my head and muttered to myself, “No. No. It won't work. It can't —”

The door flew opened and I jumped up, sliding the strip underneath the bed covers simultaneously.

I went down on my knees as I saw who it was.

“Alpha Roman, I'm ready to serve you,” I pushed those words out of my mouth like I had been trained to, because that was my only one purpose: to serve.

“Get up,” came his gritty voice, and I did, but my head remained bowed.

I had never for once looked at his face directly. His mere presence and proximity to me was enough to drench me in deep fear. And his rough voice was enough to shake even the most battle worn soldier.

I watched from the corner of my eyes as he made his way to the bed, my heart thumping loudly as I thought about the strip I had shoved underneath the covers.

The strip formed a lump and as he sat, I could see a frown creased in his brows.

Oh, Goddess, please.

He mustn't found out. He couldn't know that I was pregnant.

As he reached to pull the bed cover back, a shrill sound rang out loudly in the room.

His phone.

I heaved a sigh of heavy relief as he stood and walked away from the bed to recieve his call by the window.

“Thank you, Goddess,” I whispered silently as i shoved the strip further back underneath the covers. It had been a close one.

When he ended his call, he came back to the bed, but his attention was no longer on the lump.

“Tomorrow is the annual Alphas' dinner and you will be going with me as my companion.”

He handed something to me. “Here is my card. The guards will go with you to get something suitable to wear.”

“Thank you, Alpha Roman.”

I kept my face down until he left, then I grabbed the pregnancy strip and headed to the bathroom.

I stared at myself in the mirror. There was no joy, no happiness or emotion whatever on my face.

I was like an empty hollow shell, a walking, living dead: a walking living dead that was about to bring a baby into this word.

I quickly snapped out of my thoughts.

“No, you can't think like that,” I whispered to the reflection in the mirror. “You're not having a baby.”

It couldn't be a baby. Anything but a baby. It could be a disease, and if I was lucky, it would be life threatening.

Then I could just die peacefully without guilt.

I followed the instructions on the strip and waited with bated breath. I prayed, I begged.

I shut my eyes and counted to a hundred. Then I recited all of the poems my father had taught me as a child. I did that and many more — all in a bid not to open my eyes and check the test result. But I couldn't keep my eyes shut forever. Ignoring — or trying to— would not solve my problems or get rid of the baby if I was indeed pregant.

Taking a deep sigh, I opened my eyes.

It came back positive.