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Frick. Frick. Frick.
I went to the drugstore today. Bought three packs of pregnancy tests, came back and locked myself in the washroom.
I'm late. My period is late. I have been throwing up every morning for the past 5 days. My girlies are swollen. All symptoms of pregnancy. I searched it up.
But I can't. I can't be pregnant. We were careful.
God what would I even do? Abort it? Give it away? I'm not ready to be a parent. Look at me. I'm a mess.
I look at myself in the mirror. A real mess. My hair is tied in a messy bun as I haven't even showered in 3 days. My eyes are swollen. My whole face is actually. I'm breaking out. I'm in the same pyjamas as three days ago. I've lost weight as I've barely been eating.
And the worst part is, my nightmares are back. Every single night. I wake up sweaty, terrified and crying. Only this time, Alessio's not here to pull me in his arms and comfort me.
I take a shaky breathe and flip around all 5 pregnancy tests.
Positive. Positive. Positive. Positive. Positive
Oh god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
I slide down the wall, dropping my head into my hands. My heart aches. My body aches. My soul aches. I'm just aching. That's all I am.
"Isabella?" I hear Marco's voice. He knocks on the door. "Are you okay? Isabella?"
"I'm coming in." He warns. The door is opened and he steps in. Immediately his eyes drop to the corner Im sitting in. He crouches down next to me, his eyes scanning my body.
"Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? Are you hurt Isabella?"
I don't blame him. I don't blame them for hiding the guns away. The knifes, the ropes, the pills. I scared them that night.
I swallow the upcoming sobs, wipe my tears, look into his brown eyes and say, "I'm pregnant, Marco."
His face falls. His hand drops from its position on my knee. He stumbles back, looking at me with a look of disbelief.
"Fuck!" He suddenly curses, slumping back against the wall next to me. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He runs his hand down his face. "Fuck, Isabella."
I clench my eyes shut. Stop crying. Stop freaking crying. Stupid, stupid, weak Isabella.
"Are you sure?" He says.
I nod my head, willing myself to stop the tears. I open my eyes and point to the counter. He stands up, his hand swiftly picking up a test.
"Shit." He takes a seat on the closed toilet. "It's not safe. Now that Alessio's gone, you don't have any real ties to the mafia. And now you're carrying the heir to the Italian mafia." He explains.
