Week 1
The cabin they found after barely escaping in the alley was old and falling apart, the wooden bones creaking in the wind.
Rain dripped through cracks in the roof, collecting in a chipped soup pot on the floor.
Emilia counted the drops to drown out the silence. Plink. Plink. Plink.
Linda tossed a blanket at her. "Stop staring at the walls. You're freaking me out."
"I'm fine," Emilia lied.
She wasn't fine. Life as she knew it was over but Emilia wasn't in a hurry to acknowledge that.
"You're green." Linda kicked a rusted bedframe, sending a rat scuttling into the shadows. "And this place is a death trap. We should've gone to Montreal."
Emilia traced the water stains on the wall— blot of mold and neglect. "There was no time to go to Montreal, Lyn...this is it for now and Gio said this was safe."
"Sure, let's take the word of the guard dog in your father's employ. That's very smart!"
Emilia looked at her friend, who had risked neck and limb for her. "You should go. My father must not see us together. You will be in trouble too"
Lyn ignored her.
Linda rummaged through a mildewed cupboard, cursing. "No food. No radio. Just… sardines?" She held up a corroded tin. "Expired in 1998."
"We're not here to vacation." Emilia told her.
"Could've fooled me." Linda lobbed the tin out a shattered window. It landed with a wet thud in the mud. "Gio said this safehouse was prepped. This isn't prepped. It's a death trap"
Emilia found a corner and laid down. She turned and faced the wall, backing Lyn, trying to drown out the voices inside her head.
"Are you alright?" Lyn asked her.
There was a little bit of silence before she spoke. "Do you think he made it out okay?"
"Who?" Lyn threw another can of sardine out the window. "Your fuck boy? I'm sure he did"
Linda wasn't convincing but Emilia didn't say anything about it.
That night, thunder shook the cabin. Emilia lay awake, the wind howling like a wounded animal. Her fingers brushed the scar on her shoulder—the one from her father's belt.
Never let them see you bleed. Paolo had said. But here she was, bleeding in the dark. Doing her best not to curl up like an infant and sob until the ache in her soul was gone.
She shut her eyes tightly trying to will herself to perfect calm but all she ended up doing was thinking about Luca.
His hands, rough but warm, tracing her spine. His laugh, low and velvety, when she'd cursed at her tangled dress. The rose he'd left—thorns stripped, like he'd tried to make it safe.
"Why didn't you run?" she whispered to the shadows.
The storm answered with a roar.
***
By Week two, everything had gone to hell.
Emilia woke to the taste of metal in her mouth, sharp and sour.
She barely made it to the outhouse before retching, her knees sinking into cold mud as last night's canned beans burned her throat.
Rain sheeted down, plastering her hair to her face.
Linda leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Flu?"
"Bad beans," Emilia croaked, wiping her mouth with a shaking hand.
"Bullshit." Linda tossed her a rag "You've been puking for three mornings."
Emilia rinsed her mouth, the water bitter with iodine. "You're not a doctor."
"No, but I am the idiot who watched you smuggle pregnancy tests from the pharmacy, yesterday."
The rag slipped from Emilia's grip.
She stared at the mud swallowing it, and then at Linda.
One night, she almost said. It was one stupid, reckless night.
Linda crouched beside her, voice softening. "Is it…?"
"No." Emilia stood too fast, the world tilting. "It's stress. Or food poisoning. Or—"
"Or the guy whose name you won't say out loud?"
Thunder cracked. Emilia flinched.
Luca's face flashed in her mind—his hands rough against her hips, his laugh when she'd fumbled with his belt. "Amateur." he had whispered.
She blinked the image away and shoved past Linda. "We need to check the perimeter."
"Emi—"
"I said no!" She screamed at her best friend.
Emilia looked at Linda and for a brief second, she wondered if her best friend had the slightest idea of how terrified she really was.
Life at that moment sucked majorly... could you imagine what life would be like on the run pregnant with a baby conceived from a freaking one night stand?!
She couldn't even begin to imagine it and so, she turned around and walked right back into the cabin.
The cabin door slammed behind her.
Inside, Emilia pressed her forehead to the damp wall, breathing in mold and decay. Her hand drifted to her stomach.
"I'm not pregnant. I'm not pregnant" She said over and over again.
*
By Week three, it was undeniable.
Sunlight speared through the clouds, turning the cabin into a sauna.
Emilia peeled off her sweat-soaked shirt, staring at her reflection in a cracked mirror.
Was her waist thicker? Were her hips softer?
"Stop it," she hissed.
But her mind betrayed her. Yes. Yes, it is
She punched the mirror. Glass shattered, slicing her knuckles. Blood dripped onto the floorboards, mixing with rust and rot.
Linda burst in, eyes wild. "What the hell?!"
"Rat," Emilia lied, clutching her hand.
If Linda saw anything amiss, she didn't say. She was used to seeing blood. She simply went to the cabinet and took out the faded white box that was a make shift first aid box.
Linda bandaged her hand in silence, her jaw tight. Finally, she said, "You need to talk about him."
"Who?"
"The guy who's got you breaking mirrors. His seed that's growing inside you"
Emilia yanked her hand back. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Bull. You've been zoning out for weeks. Is he…?" Linda hesitated. "Is he why you won't go to Montreal?"
Emilia stood, the floorboards groaning. "We're done here."
That night, she dreamed of Luca.
They were back in the alley, the neon sign flickering. But instead of pulling her close, he stepped into the headlights, his body dissolving into smoke. "Run," he whispered. "Run and don't look back."
Emilia woke up gasping, her pillow damp with sweat.
-*-*-*-*
By Week 3, things had gone from bad to devastating especially when Emilia found the rose.
It was tucked in Paolo's old jacket, the one she was wearing the night she fled. The petals were dry, crumbling at her touch, but the note remained:
Stay safe, Little Star. – L
She pressed it to her chest, tears blurring her vision. Why didn't you leave? Why didn't you fight?
Linda found her curled on the floor, the rose clutched in her fist. "Emi…"
"He's dead, isn't he?," Emilia whispered. "Because of me."
Linda sat beside her, their shoulders touching. "You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." Her voice broke. "My father doesn't leave loose ends."
Linda hesitated. "What was his name?"
Emilia closed her eyes. "Luca."