Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
“No, pig. I am the devil, and this is my hell.” I fire at him; hearing Callum shout my name behind me. I feel something burn my flesh, before I fire one more shot and it lands between his eyes. I watch him fall, shock mirroring his face that he has been taken out by a female. By me, the avenger of my father’s name.
I vaguely feel something warm running down my shoulder, and it is starting to seep in what that is. I hear Callum shouting beside me, asking me if I am alright, but the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know if I am alright. I have spent months tracking him down, trying to complete this one thing and now, I have seen it through, and I don’t know what to feel.
All around me are bodies littered in the dirt, corpses of men who helped to shatter my world. I should be feeling triumphant, but I am numb, empty, and without direction now. “Baby look at me. You’re bleeding. We have to get out of here and get you to someone.” I hear his words. I know they are true, and I am about to agree with him, when I feel something warm sliding down my leg. This feeling wakes me up. It renews my senses.
“No. Please.” I beg the God who I am sure wants to punish me. I move my hand between my legs, down my pants and come up with blood. Not like the kind pooling at my feet from the war we just won. No. this blood is pure. Innocent. From a life I didn’t want but now, I think I need. It would be karma for it to be taken from me now. “Oh God. I have to get to the hospital.” I cry out, running toward the car.
“What the fuck is going on, Cat? Where is that blood coming from?” A cramp hits me and I double over, clutching my waist, trying like hell to keep it inside of me even though we all know it is futile. I deserve to lose this and everything else.
“Please no. Please not the baby.” I am begging with the last of my humanity and heart for this to be ok. I hear a gasp beside me, but I can't care about that right now.
“Baby? You’re pregnant?” I look at him not answering him, just pleading in silence for him to just drive. He grinds his teeth and nods before starting the car I drove here and weaving through the streets. Hell, I don’t know where a fucking hospital is in Barcelona, but I am praying we find one.
I must doze off between the pain and crying. When I open my eyes, doctors are saying something to me I don't understand, and I am being wheeled into a room. Frantically a few of them work on my shoulder that I still don’t feel, and the others are peeling my pants down, checking the only thing that matters.
Callum walks in as they are hooking a monitor up to my stomach and turning it on. I wait with bated breath, not willing to breathe if my baby is no longer inside of me. Callum’s hand grips mine and for the first time, I acknowledge his part in this. I look up at him, a tear falling from my face, and he wipes it with his thumb. I am trying to think of the words to say to him, but then I hear it. The sound that might be my salvation. “Heartbeat.” The doctor, who speaks some English, says, smiling and nodding his head. Knock. Knock. I turn toward the door and a woman is standing there.
“Am I too late to translate?” Ah. makes sense.
“No, please come in,” I tell her. She converses with the doctor and then turns back to us.
“He says the bleeding was likely just caused by stress and some light implantation bleeding. He says to take it easy for a few days and see your doctor when you get home. He says the heartbeat sounds strong and as far as he can tell you are about six weeks pregnant.” Callum squeezes my hand slightly, giving me much needed comfort. “Do you have any questions?” she asks, gathering her things.
I have no idea what I should be asking. So I shake my head no. She smiles, obviously in tune to my dilemma. Once she and the doctor have left the room to get my discharge together, I begin to feel the dread of confrontation with him. He moves to the front of me and puts his hands in his pockets.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” Shit. He starts with the hard questions first. Might as well be honest.
“At some point, I guess.” He throws his hands up in the air.