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23 | Clara Saint

"𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫...𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬..."

𝐣.𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐞

My father was right.

He won't notice.

He hasn't noticed.

Because my right wrist was still cuffed and chained to the wall, and my stomach grew with each passing week. I had come to terms with the harsh reality that no one was coming for me, and the only way out was to save myself.

I meticulously memorised my father's schedule, along with the patterns of the men who dropped off my meagre portions of food.

Days turned into weeks, and my father's retribution took the form of deprivation—he stopped delivering my meals, punishing me for defying his orders. Alone in the dimly lit cage, I found solace in the growing life within me.

I began narrating stories to my child, a feeble attempt to create a semblance of normalcy in the midst of my captivity.

"And then I got arrested for murder—ow! Stop kicking me!" I growled, but my unborn child continued to stir and kick, a reminder of a life I was desperate to preserve. In those moments, my mind became a refuge, weaving tales of a future where freedom and happiness were not just distant dreams.

I glance down to my wrist, and my eyes widen once I notice that my bracelet is no longer wrapped around it. It must have fallen?

I then hear the rattle of locks, and look up to see my father pulling the door open as he settles down a bag of food onto the floor.

"Finally remembered me, have you?" I whisper, my body weak as I crawl towards the food. I take out the box, Indian take out, and flick the container lid off before ramming down the naan bread. I wanted to vomit it out, I wanted to but I couldn't. My baby needed to eat.

"I forgot." Thats what he responded with.

He simply forgot about his daughter.

The pregnant daughter downstairs in a cage.

"You forgot? I'm fucking pregnant, unless...you're trying to kill me?"

"I would never kill you Clara, you're my daughter." I scoff, is he being serious? He leaned against the wall opposite the locked cage, his hands buried into his pockets as he watched me eat the food willingly.

"You might as well, remove the threat."

"You're no threat anymore, actually Vincent seems happy. I guess your sister is pulling it off, they did baby shopping and designed a baby room together..." his words railed off my mind, and I feel tears in my eyes once again as my stomach clenches with the hurt.

And for some reason, I feel my heart breaking. And the shivers crawling up my arms as I suddenly do not feel the need to eat. I drop the bread and slide back to the corner of the cage, I know what he is trying to do and I am trying my hardest to not let it get to me but I can't.

Because whilst I'm rotting down here...he's up there.

And he hasn't noticed.

I gulp down the bread.

"Don't be sad, child. It isn't good for the baby," my father utters, his voice a strained attempt at comfort.

"I'm not sad," I retort, a fire burning within me. "You're trying to break me, but it isn't working. You need to understand, I'm not a weak little girl anymore. I'm not a little girl who needs her daddy. I know Vincent. And I know he will notice that bitch of a sister of mine is not me!"