Owned: Chapter 3

I stare at the shelves in front of me, stacked from top to bottom in feminine hygiene products and baby stuff.

My heart is beating in my throat. The sound of the cash register beeping has me on edge.

It shouldn’t be this difficult.

I don’t even know why I’m frozen to the ground.

But looking at all the options in front of me is making it hard to choose … especially when I have an audience of impatient customers trying to shove me aside so they can continue their search for products in this little convenience store.

But I am too busy trying to figure out what to do.

If I should ask someone if they could please buy this thing for me. This one thing, when they don’t even know me. Or if I should just steal it.

I swallow and close my eyes for a second in an attempt to calm my nerves, but nothing helps. I have to choose one way or another, and the longer I stand here staring at these shelves, the more suspicious I look. And then there will be no more options left because the employee at the cash register will surely call me out.

There’s no more time left.

I glance to my right, then my left, waiting for the last customer to pass me. Then I quickly lean in, grab the package, and tuck it underneath my shirt when no one is looking.

My heart beats so fast it feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest.

My eyes flick around skittishly, praying no one caught what I just did.

I swallow again and temper my breathing. If I’m going to get out of this store, I need to appear calm, rational. Like I just didn’t find what I was looking for.

Besides, what I did wasn’t so bad, right?

I mean, I didn’t steal anything expensive like a phone or a laptop or jewelry.

What I stole is only meant for women in dire need.

And I am in dire need.

I take a deep breath and move along through the shop, trailing behind some customers so as not to appear like I’m dawdling. It’s already scary enough as it is. I don’t need more attention on myself.

But those cookies in the aisles next to the exit really make my mouth water.

The past few days, I’ve only eaten the scraps given to me by restaurants at closing time, and the only reason they were so kind to help me out was because I told them I was pregnant.

I gulp.

I don’t even want to think about what could happen if that was really true.

Which is why this must work.

The only thing between me and the exit is the cash register. My breath falters when I come face-to-face with the woman behind it. Her eyes bore into my soul as she raises her brow. I’m almost on the verge of crying.

She must’ve seen, right? That’s why she’s looking at me like that. She’s getting ready to reprimand me, stop me in my tracks, and call the police.

Fuck. I don’t want to go to jail. Not for something like this.

Still, I continue walking because I have no other choice. She’s seen me now, and she knows I’m intent on leaving the store. I can’t stay here forever.

The woman continues to stare me down until I’m right beside her. My lips part. Sweat rolls down my back. Adrenaline fills my veins and muscles, ready to make a run for it if I need to.

“I… couldn’t find what I was looking for,” I stammer, unable to look her in the eyes.

When I attempt to walk farther, a sudden hand around my wrist stops me in my tracks.

Panic floods my body. I gaze at the woman with misery, expecting a scolding in return. But the look she gives me is so full of sympathy and compassion that it catches me off guard.

“You’re not alone,” she says, looking up at me.

She knows what I took, why I’m here. And that I’m trying to steal it.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

I gasp. “I … I … I’m sorry, I don’t have a p—” Partner in crime.

“I don’t need to know your reasons,” she says, and she reaches below the cash register and grabs a tiny card, holding it out to me. “Here. Take this.”

I glare at it for a moment like it’s a booby trap waiting to explode, but then my brain kicks into action. What harm could a little paper do?

I grab it with my other free hand and stare at it for a few seconds. “Women’s Shelter,” it says at the top, and there’s a number along with an address on it.

The woman releases me from her grip. “They can help you there.”

I do a double take. “So you’re not going to …?”

She holds up her hand. “Just get out and don’t come back.”

My face starts to wrinkle because I’m so grateful that it makes me want to cry. My voice is also in shambles. “Thank you.”

She waves it off and shoos me toward the door. “Go. Just go.”

I quickly walk out with the box still hidden underneath my shirt, determined not to come back here, despite the fact that this probably won’t be the last time I’ll need something to get by. But I can’t do that to this store again. Not when these employees are so helpful and kind and don’t call the police, even when someone just stole from them.

Kindness goes a long way. I’ve learned that much in my time spent out on the streets now. And I know that when I finally get back on my feet, I will repeat that same kindness a thousand times over.

When I finally get back to the abandoned house I’ve been occupying, I immediately go to the bathroom and lock myself inside. Even though I haven’t seen anyone come inside this house since I’ve been here, I must take precautions.

I grab a few pieces of the toilet paper that I had gotten from another shop and lower my underwear, dabbing myself. When I look, again, the paper is empty.

I sigh out loud as a knot forms in my stomach.

It’s been weeks since my last period. I should’ve gotten it by now.

Anxiety rages through my body as I stare at the little box I put on the small wooden plank above the toilet. The happy face of the woman on it makes me want to gag.

I snatch the box off the shelf and take out the test. There’s only so much prep one can do for this. Only so much convincing oneself of the necessity, despite the fact that I’d much prefer to stick my head in the sand. There is no way around this.

So I sit down on the toilet and pee over the stick, then put it down on the small sink next to the toilet. I flush, and I wait, and wait, and wait …

Until two red lines appear.

No. No. No. NO!

Pure panic rushes over me as I get up, letting the tears flow freely across my face.

This can’t be happening.

This can’t be real.

I can’t be pregnant.

Bile rises up in my throat, and the sudden urge to vomit becomes too much, so I spin on my heels and throw up in the same toilet I just took a pregnancy test in.

It doesn’t stop until my stomach has emptied itself of all those nutrients I so desperately need while still homeless and jobless.

After I’m done, I flush and sink to my knees in front of the damn thing, sobbing my eyes out. Never in my life have I felt more alone than now. And just for a second, a teeny, tiny second, I wish my parents were just that—parents—and that they were here for me, consoling me, nurturing me, guiding me every step of the way.

But there is no one, not even Andrea, to hug me tight and tell me things will be okay.

There is only me, and I have to be the one to support myself in this difficult time.

Sighing, I force myself to get up from the floor and exit the bathroom. As much as I would like to cry all day, I still need to find a damn job to pay for all the things I need. Let alone the fact that I haven’t thought about what I’m going to do with this pregnancy.

But what am I going to do?

I don’t have anything to offer to a child except pain.

I can’t bring a kid into this. It would be cruel and inhumane.

There is another option. Getting rid of it. But to do so would require so much emotional strength, which is in short supply at the moment.

How does anyone decide such a thing? Especially right after finding out?

I need to come to terms with the fact I’m pregnant before I even start to think about what I’m going to do about this situation. If I’m going to do anything at all.

But that note the cashier gave me about the women’s shelter … maybe I can do something with that.

The clock on the wall in this waiting room is ticking so loudly that I swear it’s going to make me lose my shit any time now. I wiggle around on the plastic chair, trying not to look at the other women in line. Something about watching others in need of as much or even more help than you is unsettling.

This society is really fucked up.

Women of all ages and backgrounds come to this place for help, whether it’s for housing, food, or jobs. Or pregnancies.

I stare down at my belly, feeling nauseous at the thought of having to admit to anyone, let alone myself, that I’m pregnant.

Maybe the stick was lying.

Maybe it wasn’t true.

Sweat ripples down my back, and I take a strand of my hair and tuck it behind my ear to stop the jitters from spreading all over my body.

Because the thought of some nurse trying to make me go through tests just to confirm my worst fears is making me wanna run like hell.

“Hey.”

A voice going in my direction makes me lift my head and look.

A woman sits down next to me, holding a pen and paper, but her full hair and beautiful face make me do a double-take.

Because I recognize this girl.

This girl was in the auction with me.

“Melanie?” I mutter.

Am I high, or am I dreaming this up right now?

“You’re really Harper, aren’t you?” she asks, still clutching the pen and paper like she was about to fill it in but got sidetracked. “I thought I recognized you, but I wasn’t sure.”

I fall into her embrace just as hard as she hugs me.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here,” I say.

“Me neither. Of all the places, this is where we see each other again,” she replies. She pushes me away with both hands and looks me up and down. “You look like you’re in bad shape, girl.”

I snort. “That’s an understatement.”

“What happened to you?” she asks. “I mean, I know we both got …” She leans in to whisper, “Auctioned off, but …”

I nod. “Marcello got me. The Italian don.”

She makes a face, baring her teeth. “Yikes.”

“Yep.” I rub my lips and look away briefly as I don’t really want to discuss my ordeal. “Let’s just say it wasn’t all sunshine and roses.”

She rolls her eyes. “Tell me about it. I thought that whole Mafia thing was sexy and shit, but Stefan is just a girl’s worst nightmare, to be honest.”

“Stefan?” I frown.

“The Polish don.”

“Ahh …”

She stares off at the wall for a moment. “Guess we both got the rough end of the deal.”

“Do you know what happened to the other girls?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Nope. I asked, but no one ever answered me. Not even Stefan. He only uses me as a fuck doll, and that’s it.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply.

“Don’t be. At least I’m here now, away from him.” Her scoff ends in a laugh, but not a good one. “For as long as it lasts anyway. I only have to go for a test, and that’s it.” She turns to me. “How come you’re here?”

A blush creeps onto my cheeks. I don’t really want to discuss it, but I guess there’s no way around it now. “I may be pregnant.”

Her look intensifies. “May?”

“Well, I mean the stick said I was, but it might be a false positive.” I clutch my shivering knees. “I just hope it is.”

The look in her eyes softens. “Oh, honey …” She pulls me in for another hug. “It’ll be okay.” Suddenly, she starts to whisper, “Is your don waiting for you outside? Are there guards?”

I shake my head.

“He lets you go by yourself?”

“I ran away from him,” I whisper back.

She leans back, her jaw almost on the floor. “How?”

“He trusted me and let me sleep in bed with him,” I reply.

“Oh wow,” she mutters.

“I don’t know.” I frown, rubbing my legs as they’re starting to itch from all this worry coursing through my veins. “Maybe I—”

“Listen, girl,” Melanie interrupts, grasping my shoulders. “Get out. Run. As fast as you can.”

I’m bewildered by her comments. “Wha—?”

“Save yourself before it’s too late,” she hisses. “Stefan is right outside, waiting. If he sees you, he’ll catch you.”

The sheer horrifying look on her face tells me enough as I get up, panic flooding my every muscle.

“Go. Run,” Melanie says, and she looks over at another corner of the room. “There’s a side exit over there, and I don’t think Stefan’s guards will be watching that one.”

“What about you?” I ask as I keep holding her hand.

“It’s too late for me. Stefan owns me now. But I’ll figure something out.” She scribbles something down on the paper she received at the desk and tears it off, stuffing it into my hand. “Take this and go. And don’t look back.”

I take a peek only to realize it’s a phone number. Hers maybe?

“Just go before he sees you. GO!” She pats me on the back to force me to walk.

I nod and scramble to get myself together as I storm away, not even looking back to wave or say goodbye. And I hate that I have to leave so abruptly, even before I had the chance to get looked over and helped.

But the risk of being discovered by another don, a Polish don … is a risk I’m not willing to take.

After all, I’m free now, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone lock me up again.

But that freedom sure comes at a heavy price … heavier than the loneliness it encompasses.

Fear.