Page 78 of Devour
“Why don’t you help me instead?” I shoot her one of my stink-eye glares, but her attention is locked on Lucia.
Lucia, however, doesn’t even look her way.
“Don’t mind her,” she whispers to me.
Livia snorts.
“I could get one from Mistress Tilly and you could help me fix it. Since you wanna touch a nipple so—bad.”
I catch the look Livia throws me with that last line. It’s the kind of look a jealous boyfriend gives when someone else gets too close to their girl. But just as quickly, her face shifts back into the usual bitchy expression when Lucia doesn’t respond. Lucia just pulls the covers over herself, turning to the other side.
“Goodnight,” she mutters.
“Goodnight,” I echo automatically, still processing what just happened. I glance back at Livia, she’s turned away now too, curled under her blanket.
It hits me then. Livia obviously likes Lucia. That’s why she’s been acting so weird toward me, maybe she thinks Lucia likes me back. But I know Lucia is just being kind because that’s who she is. Still, I feel a little bad for Livia. I don’t know if Lucia even likes girls… and both of them are about to be auctioned off to some man. It makes my stomach twist.
I wish there was something I could do for them. But I can’t even save myself. The only thing I can think about now is how to avoid the auction. I need to still be here… when Luca comes.
With a sigh, I drop the nipple clamps on the bed beside me and pull the covers up to my chin. As I close my eyes, an unsettling thought creeps in—what if Livia tries to take me out in my sleep? I crack one eye open and glance in her direction. Her back is still turned to me. I hope it stays that way.
Nausea is the first thing that wakes me. The lights in the dorm are still dim when I rush to the bathroom, dry heaving over the sink—but nothing comes up.
My stomach feels hollow. I haven’t eaten much since I got here. I just picked at dinner last night. I need to eat something today or I really will get sick.
“Are you okay?”
The unexpected voice makes me jump. I turn toward it—it’s Livia.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she says. “I was just using the bathroom and saw you bent over the sink for a while.”
“I’m okay—” The dry heaving hits again, cutting me off. I bend over the sink, gagging. When it finally passes, I realize Livia is gently patting my back. She’s… surprisingly gentle.
“You don’t look okay,” she murmurs, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
I slowly straighten, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I think it’s just stress… and maybe hunger. But…” I pause, the thought forming like a storm cloud in my head. “I’m starting to suspect it’s something more.”
The signs are too familiar—morning sickness, loss of appetite… and I just realized I missed my period this month. My hand flies to my mouth as the realization crashes into me. I could be pregnant. In God knows where, about to be auctioned off to whoever.
As if sensing my panic, Livia pulls me into a hug. She’s much taller than I am—built like some kind of tattooed Amazon warrior, my face ends up buried against her shoulder as the sobs take over. Full, aching sobs. And she just holds me, murmuring quiet words I can’t even make out.
When the tears finally slow, I pull back and lean against the sink, trying to come back to my senses. If I am pregnant, I can’t let anyone find out.
This is a virgin auction, after all. What would they do if they found out I’m not? I want to ask her, but… she might suspect something. She’s being kind right now, but that doesn’t mean I can trust her not to rat me out if she figures it out.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, wiping my eyes. “I’m not usually like this… it’s just—this place. It’s messing with my head.”
“I understand,” she says quietly.
My breath hitches. I freeze, thinking she’s figured me out—until she continues, “I went through the same thing when I first got here.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding in a rush as she says that. In fact, we all do. Livia shifts her weight against the sink, arms loosely crossed as she stares at her reflection in the mirror.
“It doesn’t get easier,” she says quietly. “But you get used to pretending it does.”
“Were you sold too?” I ask.
“Oh no,” she replies, her voice dry. “I owed a lot of money to the wrong people. It was either this… or they killed me.”
