Page 92 of Cruel Riches

17

Alexis

Nate didn’t returnto torture me for four days. When he did, I was ready.

As soon as I heard his footsteps thudding down the cold, dark tunnel outside, I curled myself in a ball on the mattress and affected a pained grimace. “Stop,” I muttered to myself. “Please stop!”

Nate’s footsteps drew to a halt. There was a heavy clumping sound as he dropped his torture kit. “Who the fuck are you talking to?” he asked as he unlocked the cell and stepped in. “The voices in your head?”

I looked up at him with wide eyes, pretending that I’d only just noticed his presence. “Nate… help me. Please. Something’s wrong.”

He didn’t step any closer to me. He just stared down at me with a dispassionate look on his face. “You’re probably hungry.”

“No.” I shook my head and then added in a little whimper for extra measure. “It’s not that. You left enough food last time.”

“Obviously I didn’t.”

Another fake cry ripped itself from my lungs, and I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched my stomach even harder. “Nate,” I gasped. “I think… I…”

“You think what? Spit it out,” he snarled, eyes narrowing.

“I… I might be pregnant. We didn’t use anything the other day, so…” I let my voice trail away, leaving my statement hanging in the air.

Nate laughed. “Pregnant? That’s not possible. It’s been three days.”

“Four.”

“Whatever. Same deal. You wouldn’t know anything yet, even if you were pregnant.”

I grimaced again. “I know you usually wouldn’t. But the blood…”

“What fucking blood?”

I rolled over slightly and nodded toward the bucket. There were wads of toilet paper around it, smeared with blood.

“When I woke up today, I was bleeding,” I said, peering up at him through my eyelashes.

Truthfully, the blood came from the inside of my cheeks. I’d been chewing on them and spitting the blood on the toilet paper for the last two days in order to give my story credibility.

Nate took one step forward and peered down at the bloody tissues. He still wasn’t close enough for me to get anywhere near him without raising suspicion.

“We were probably too rough the other day,” he said, lifting a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug.

I let out another whimper and shook my head. “It’s not that,” I choked out. “Please just listen to me.”

“Fine.” Nate rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his eyes upward. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not just the blood,’” I said. I paused and drew a deep, shaky breath before going on. “I’ve been having these horrible cramps for hours now. It’s not in my stomach, so it can’t be hunger. It’s lower. Feels like period cramps.”

“Then it’s your period.”

“No. It hasn’t been long enough. I had it when I first came here, remember?” I said. “And I’ve only been here for two weeks, unless my estimate is totally off.”

He rubbed his chin and stared wordlessly.

“I think the blood might be implantation bleeding,” I went on, faking another wince. “It’s when a fertilized egg burrows into the uterus a few days after conception. Some women get cramps and bleeding when it happens.”

From what I recalled from high school bio, egg implantation and the subsequent bleeding that came with it didn’t cause crippling cramps like the ones I was currently faking, and it also didn’t occur until at least a week or two after conception. I was counting on Nate being a typical ignorant male when it came to those sorts of facts.

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