Page 21 of Say You're Mine

Her gaze flicks to me and my blood turns to ice in my veins. "I warned you, girl," she hisses, all pretense of civility stripped away. "I told you what would happen if you tried to take what's mine. Now you'll face the consequences."

She nods sharply at her goons. "Take him. And if the little bitch tries to interfere...well, accidents happen, don't they?"

June wheels to face me, raw panic etched into every line of his face. "Cara, run! Get out of here, now!"

But I'm frozen, paralyzed by a fear so deep it strangles the scream building in my throat. My arms wrap instinctively around my stomach, desperation howling through me as the goons advance.

The next moments blur together, a sick kaleidoscope of grasping hands and flying fists. June fights like a wildcat, a blur of savage grace as he fends off his attackers. But there are too many of them, their drugged bulk and sheer number overwhelming his ferocity.

A blow lands, a sickening crack that sends June sprawling. Blood gushes from his nose, his eyes unfocused as a goon drags him upright by his hair.

"June!" The scream tears from my throat, my muscles unlocking as I lunge forward. But iron hands close around my arms, wrenching me away from my love, my heart, my every reason for drawing breath.

"Let this be a lesson to you, Cara." Elaine's voice is distant, muffled by the blood roaring in my ears. "Deveaux men belong with their own kind. With women who understand power, who wield it like a sword. That sweet child growing in your belly? Will never see the light of day. Not if I have anything to say about it."

A wrenching sob heaves from my chest as they drag June from the room, his heels carving grooves in the polished hardwood. His eyes never leave mine, a thousand apologies and vows searing me to my marrow.

"I'll come back for you," he mouths, crimson rivulets staining his teeth. "I swear on our baby, Cara. I'll come back..."

The slam of the front door reverberates through my bones, a jolt that buckles my knees and sends me crumpling to the floor. I land with a dull thud, my back against the newly painted wall, oblivious to the splatter of color against my skin.

Time shivers and blurs, seconds into hours into days, months, years. An endless blur of grey and cold and the hollow howl of my loss beating in my temples. I drift through the motions of life unmoored, a vacant stare and hollow eyes following me as I move through a world drained of color and meaning.

I wake each morning with June's name on my lips, reaching across the empty expanse of our bed for the solid warmth of him. But my fingers grasp only cold sheets and the shattered remnants of our dreams. I stare at the ceiling, listening to the silence where his heartbeat should be, until the sting of tears and the ache in my throat threaten to suffocate me.

Somehow, I force myself through the rituals of the day.

Shower, dress, choke down enough food to sustain the tiny life growing within me. But it's all mechanical, rote motions stripped of joy or purpose. I move through a fog, numb and disconnected, going through the motions of a life I no longer recognize.

At night, I lie awake, my mind churning with memories and fantasies and half-formed plans. In my dreams, I'm back in June's arms, his voice a rumble against my ear as he promises forever.

But inevitably, the dream twists, warps, until it's not June holding me but Elaine, her talons sinking into my flesh as she rips our child from my womb.

I wake screaming, drenched in icy sweat, the taste of blood and despair thick on my tongue.

Sonya and Song hover, their concern almost too much but just what I need – even if I can't appreciate it…my heart won't let me, while my soul mourns for June.

They coax me to eat, to rest, to talk about what happened. But their words wash over me, meaningless platitudes that can't penetrate the haze of my grief. I catch snatches of their conversations when they think I'm not listening - talk of the police, of private investigators, of leads that go nowhere.

I know I should care, should feel something other than this yawning emptiness. But I'm hollowed out, scraped raw and bleeding, a husk of the woman I used to be. The only thing tethering me to reality is the flutter in my womb, the tiny prick of feet against my ribs.

This child, this piece of June and me, is the only thing that feels real anymore.

I think the grief, the impotency would grind me into dust. My stomach grows, balloons out and stretches the skin, the new life sheltered there often the only reminder I have, that I'm still somehow breathing. Somehow still alive.

Hours have become days, days have become a week, and the calendar blurs 7 times before I find myself staring down at my body under the harsh lights of an exam room.

Sonya rubs my shoulder and smiles in encouragement, Song beams at the grainy image spreading across the ultrasound screen.

But I am floating, somewhere high above the beeps and droning medical lecture as my mind shies from reality.

June is gone.

He isn't here now, and he wasn't here yesterday, and he may never be here again. The thought steals the breath from my lungs and sends tears spilling from my eyes that Sonya misinterprets.

"Cara honey? What's wrong, is something wrong with the baby!?" She worries, whispering urgently to Song to fetch the doctor back from the hallway.

I shake my head mutely, trying to force what I hope is a comforting expression across my face. I fail judging by their twin looks of concern, but manage a shrug and platitudes that seem to assuage the worst of their distress.

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