Page 48 of Dirty Behavior

There was so much to be curious about, that I lost myself in my thoughts. So being alone wasn't an issue right then. I kept touching my stomach like I was going to feel something. As if tiny feet were going to miraculously start thumping against my skin.

I knew it didn't work that way, I couldn't have been more then a month along, but it was exciting to think about that moment.

Would it scare me?

Would I be nervous the first time I was actually able to feel the tiny life inside me?

I remembered when my mom was pregnant with my little sister, she used to say it felt like real live butterflies in her belly. She would tell me that the baby's toes were tickling her insides.

Taking my hand, she had pressed it against her giant tummy, and a huge smile spread across her face as Rachel's foot popped up.

The first time I felt it, I screamed and ran to my room, hiding under my blankets and crying. My mother came up and cradled me in her arms, telling me stories of what it was like when she had me in her stomach.

I miss her.

I miss my family.

There was nothing more I wished for right then than sharing this with them. I wanted to call them and tell them they were going to be grandparents, I wanted to tell my sister she was going to be an aunt.

I can't, not yet.

It was too dangerous for me to do that. Remo had threatened their lives so many times, it was burned into my brain. As long as they didn't know where I was, I had to convince myself they'd be safe.

Sadness swept in, washing me in tears. I hadn't allowed myself to cry for them in so long that it hit me with such force I almost collapsed.Reaching out for the back of the chair, I held it tight.

When this is all done, I'm going home. We're going home.

I need them.

Lowering myself into the chair, I rested my forehead in my hands and just sobbed. I couldn't stop the tears from coming. My chest was struggling to catch its rhythm, my muscles ached from head to toe.

It was the first time I had actually allowed my body to feel that type of release. Everything had been bottled up, snugly hidden and removed from the front of my mind. I couldn't let myself feel anything, it was too painful.

If I had let these tears control me, I wouldn't be alive.

But right then, I cried. The tears drew long streaks down my face, spilling and rolling like fresh rain in the desert. It was more than just my parents I was crying for. I was crying for being sold, I was crying for all the horrible torture Remo had put me through. Every tear was a piece of my pain, spilling over my cheeks and falling away.

The droplets fell from my skin, splashing into my hands, and there was nothing I could do to shut it off. All the walls came crashing down as I finally gave in, the dam holding it all back had shattered into a million pieces.

Dante's phone rang from in the kitchen, jumping, I took in a deep breath and pulled myself together. Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I picked it up and stared at the screen.

He hadn't had a phone call on this line since I had been with him. I wanted to answer it, but I didn't.

For months I had been forbidden to use a phone, for months I had been cordoned off from the rest of the world except for the one trip for training. Just thinking about it made my skin crawl.

That first breath of fresh air when Remo had finally opened the front door was euphoric and infuriating. . .

I hated the memory, I hated him.

Hate is a strong word, too strong to be thrown around as much as it is by people who have no idea what it truly means.

Hate should be saved for those who deserve it, for those who carried nothing but evil.

And every memory of that monster was coated in hatred.

He deserved the hate I gave to him, because he earned it.

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