One line.
That's the only answer we get from the tests Michael makes me take every week. (At least I assume it's around a week between tests. But to be honest, it's just me trying to keep track of the time.)
This is the fifth one. Still nothing.
I don't know if I should break down and cry, or shut up and thank god that my days aren't numbered quite yet.
After I take the test, Michael allows me to take a quick shower. Not out of kindness. Just the fact that I give off a gross smell after awhile of not bathing.
When I step out to towel myself off, he grabs me by the arm and drags me back to the bed. He's no gentler to push me down and shackle me up.
I open my mouth to mention that I need clothes, but I close it again when I see the look on his face.
I don't even need to look at the test now.
Negative. Again.
Michael snaps the test in half and throws it across the room before climbing on top of me again. My breath catches in my throat as I hold back countless apologies for not being pregnant yet.
His long fingers comb through my wet hair before gripping firmly. I close my eyes, bracing myself for whatever happens next.
I can't help but flinch when he presses his lips to mine. Not softly. Without much effort, he forces my lips open with his tongue.
I don't fight him. I can't.
I lie beneath him, motionless as he takes what he wants. This is always how it starts.
After what feels like forever, he pulls back and slaps me across the face. I barely even register the pain of the blow.
His fingers curl around my chin. "You need to enjoy it, September." The tone he uses tells me just how frustrated he is. "It didn't take much trying the first time."
My lip quivers as I look up to meet his eyes. "Maybe I was only meant to have one. You should probably just kill me. Save us both the heartache."
I don't want to die. But I do want to see my baby again.
Michael slaps me again. "DON'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT HEARTACHE YOU LITTLE BITCH!" His hand goes around my throat, still wet from gripping my hair. "Or do I need to get the cards out?"
My whole body stiffens.
He sneers. "You remember those, don't cha." I look away when he starts to laugh. "I mean. I might as well have some old fashioned fun with you until your body decides to cooperate." He jabs a finger into my stomach, making me flinch. His hands slip under my towel and go to my breasts to squeeze playfully.
I dare to look up to see the look in his eyes. The emotion behind them is completely different from what it was just moments before.
Any anger he had in him has been replaced with a hunger. And not the sexual kind.
I thrash beneath him. "Get off me!" I scream, my nails scratching into the skin of his arms.
Michael doesn't seem fazed by any of it as he leans down to kiss my cheek. "There's the September I missed," he whispers hotly against my ear. "I missed that spirit."
I'll show you spirit.
My hands shoot up and I try to claw his eyes out. He just shrugs and pulls away from me before getting up from the bed. The only scratch I managed to give him is a couple slashes across his cheek.
Before I can reach for it, Michael has snatched my towel away too. I know better than to object to him doing that.
With a smirk, he turns to leave, tossing the towel over his shoulder.
I can't keep the words in. "YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!" I scream at the top of my lungs. The same words that I used to hurt him so long ago.
I hadn't uttered them since before we found out I was pregnant.
Michael stops mid step, his shoulders tensing. Then he turns to look back at me.
"You know," he says with a hollow look to his eyes, "there was a time when that word... It made me want to stop." He reaches up and takes off his glasses to clean them with his shirt. "Made me wanna stop killing. Just so I would never have to see that look in your big brown doe eyes ever again..."
His eyes flick up to meet mine. "I was prepared to do just about anything for you back then. The idiot in me dared to dream." He runs the towel through his fingers before bringing it to his nose and sniffing deeply, his eyes closed dreamily. "I dreamed of a normal life. A better life. With you, Morning Bird."
Then his eyes open.
A shrug. "Even dear old Nancy had to die because she tried to kill you." A chuckle.
Then Michael is walking towards me. My breath catches in my throat as I back up against the wall, my arms up to shield me from any other surprise blows he has in store for me.
Michael's shadow covers me now as he stands before me, hands on his hips.
The exact same image I saw the first night I was here.
My eyes go down to the faded sheets as tears fill my eyes. His fingers go under my chin and lift my face up to look at him.
We both stare in silence. His eyes are so cold they make my heart shiver.
A kiss.
I barely have time to flinch as he presses his lips firmly against mine. Not forcefully, like he wants to take away every last drop of hope I have left. Not softly like he is testing the waters between the two of us.
This kiss is a statement.
There is nothing special about it. No ulterior motive. No games. No passion.
I don't return the kiss, nor do I pull away. As much as I despise his touch, this moment is a lifeline. Maybe if I play along, Michael will forget about his playing cards.
When I finally let my eyes close, Michael pulls away, his hand now gripping my chin like the vice it has become over the past few fruitless weeks.
"Feel that?" His voice is no louder than a whisper.
I have no idea what to say.
Those cold blue eyes search mine for an answer before crinkling in laughter. Cruel laughter.
"Neither. Do. I."
Then he is gone. And when he comes back, he's already shuffling the cards.