Blood Means Nothing

TWELVE

It's been a week since I left the hospital, and since then, I haven't seen my brothers. I couldn't return to that house knowing they would ask questions about my abuse. I can't handle them looking at me with pity or asking who the father of my child is when even I don't know the answer.

I've been staying with Saint. He hasn't asked me questions or looked at me with pity. He's treating me like he didn't see me break down on that hospital floor. That is why I like Saint so much—he's not treating me like I'm a different person.

"Hey, princess," his voice was hoarse from just waking up. "I hate when you call me that," I joke, sitting in bed.

"I didn't know it was the opposite day," he retorts, sitting on the side of the bed.

"So, what did you need to talk about?" he asks.

"I want to tell you about what happened before you found me on the floor in my hospital room," I said, my voice severe and stern.

"You don't have to." His voice is much softer than before.

"I want to please."

He nods in response.

"When I was ten, my mother died, leaving me with my stepfather Raul. That was when his abuse became worse. At first, he called me names and shoved me here and there, but then he began hitting me daily. When I was thirteen, he started raping me.

"Aurora, you don't have to continue," Saint says as he notices the tears forming in my eyes. "Please, I need to say this," I tell him before continuing.

" When I was fourteen, I found out I was pregnant. It disgusted me. I was carrying his child, but then I realized I finally had someone who loved me and whom I could love. I came home late from a doctor's appointment when I was twenty weeks pregnant. He was enraged and beat me to the point where I lost my child, my daughter. Then, two days before I came to live with my brothers, he raped me again. The night I came here to Italy, I slept with you. When the doctors talked to me, they told me I was six weeks pregnant. I'm so sorry," I whisper as tears pour down my face.

For once, I feel like I have lifted a weight off my shoulders.

I turn away from him, embarrassed by how pathetic I am. How miserable I always am because of my abusive past. "Do you want this baby?" he asks softly. "I think so," I answer honestly. My hands grab my stomach, holding onto it as tight as possible.

"Then I will be here for you and our baby. No matter what, I will be here for you," he tells me, pulling me into a hug.

I melt into his arms. He is warm and comforting. His skin is soft against mine. It feels nice and correct. "Thank you," I whispered into the crook of his neck. "You're welcome."

"I think I'm ready to go back home," I say, pulling away from him. "Are you sure?" I could hear the concern in his voice as he spoke. "I'm sure," I say, smiling at him.

If I can tell him about my abuse, I can say to them.