Page 89 of Darkest Oblivion
Then the lingering ache in my stomach twisted violently, a stab so sharp it ripped the breath from my lungs. I cried out, clutching my abdomen, the phone sliding from my slick palm as my breaths broke into ragged gasps.
Still, I grabbed it again, dialing his number. Once. Twice. Five times. Ten. Twenty. I lost count, each unanswered ring slicing deeper than the last. Why wasn’t he picking up? Why wouldn’t he?
The agony built in brutal waves, my body contracting, squeezing until a hot trickle slipped between my thighs—then a gush, soaking through the thin fabric of my nightgown.
My gaze dropped, and horror punched through me. Dark red streamed down my thighs, warm and relentless, painting my skin in streaks that shouldn’t be there.
“No... no, no, no...” The words tore out of me in broken whispers, then louder, frantic, “Please, God, no—” My hands pressed uselessly against the flood, trembling, smearing it over my nightgown, over the marble floor, as if I could force it back inside, hold on to what was slipping away.
My chest heaved, sobs choking me as I stumbled back, my knees buckling.
The phone clattered beside me, Dmitri’s number still glowing on the screen, mocking me with its silence.
I snatched it again, bloodied fingers shaking, and hit redial, my vision swimming through tears.
“Pick up,” I begged into the empty room, voice shredded. “Please, just pick up!”
But the call rang and rang, the only answer was the wet sound of blood dripping beneath me, spreading like a grotesque shadow.
My pulse thundered in my ears. Panic clawed at my throat, suffocating, my breath hitching into sharp, uneven gasps.
This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.
I should call Giovanni, I thought, but I couldn’t stop dialing Dmitri’s line, as if his voice alone could save me.
The pain intensified, a burning tear inside me, my body convulsing as cramps wracked me, each one worse than the last.
I collapsed to the floor, curling into a fetal position, sobs tearing from my throat as the world narrowed to the fire in my abdomen.
I passed out, the darkness a mercy, but when my eyes fluttered open, hours later, the room was dim, the clock glowing 3 AM.
Something had changed—an emptiness settled in my core, the pain dulled to a throbbing ache.
I pushed myself up, my hands slipping in something warm and sticky. Blood. My chest caved, horror crashing over me as I stared at the pool beneath me, dark and viscous, staining the marble.
No... no, no... let it not be what I think. God, please, not my baby.
I reached between my legs, my fingers coming away slick with red, the metallic scent hitting me like a slap.
The bump on my tummy felt wrong, deflated, and a sob ripped from my throat as the realization hit—miscarriage.
I’d lost our child, the life he’d planted in me during that one night, gone because of his cruelty, his punishment for sins I didn’t remember.
I screamed, the sound raw and primal, echoing through the empty villa.
“No!” I shouted, my voice tearing at my throat as I slammed my fists into the bloodied floor.
Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the blood as I soaked my hands in it, smearing it across my palms like a macabre ritual, wishing desperately that the child could somehow emerge from the crimson mess.
The agony was all-consuming—physical, emotional, a void where my baby had been, ripped away by loneliness, stress, the monster who’d left me to rot.
My body shook, sobs wracking me as I rocked back and forth, the blood sticky on my skin, the metallic taste in my mouth from biting my lip too hard.
I felt empty, hollowed out, the life I’d carried—my secret anchor—gone, leaving me adrift in this hell.
I stood, unsteady, the blood dripping down my legs, soaking my nightgown, not caring how messy or broken I looked.
I walked out the door, the villa’s halls cold and indifferent, the lake’s beauty outside a mocking contrast to my ruin.
