So, I thought long and hard about the proper responses to some of the feedback I received, but I decided that I'm just going to address the readers who actually left positiveresponses: Thank you for your patience and I appreciate your willingness to finish my story as well as understanding that I do know what I'm doing. For those who still would like to read, please enjoy.

Chapter 14: Careless

Gabriella

There were absolutely no words that could describe the shame and humiliation I felt as Troy assaulted me in front of our daughter. While he did just about whatever he wanted to me, she reluctantly looked on in tears. If she even tried to glance in the other direction, he'd warn her that she was next if she kept looking away.

I could do nothing but endure the torture and obey his every command no matter how gross or degrading. Unfortunately, I could only wish that things were going to get better.

For days I couldn't look my daughter in the eye, and neither could she. At night I would listen to her cry for hours until she fell asleep. The incident had both left us traumatized.

From then on, life at home had reached an all-time low as Troy's punishments grew much more extreme and damaging. Besides abusing us physically, he also targeted our self-esteems. On some days, he would smash our faces against a mirror on the wall and tell us how repulsive we were. He would tell us that we were worthless and stupid. After a while, even I started to believe it.

His demented games never seemed to cease. Whenever Leah decided to take a shower, he'd stand in the doorway waiting for her to come out. My daughter would become so petrified that she'd end up hiding behind the shower curtain for hours, until her father gave up and left.

Eventually, his punishments went from abusive to plain cruel. Whenever he felt too exhausted to beat any of us, he simply locked us in the basement for the night, and we would remain shivering on the stairs until he returned in the morning.

He once starved us for an entire week while he was away at his parent's for Thanksgiving. I imagined that my family could have cared less since I still failed to call after all those months, and apologize. I couldn't call even if I tried. Troy had cut off all means of communication in the house and locked them away. If only they knew that we were being held hostage in our own home.

That was our new life, until Troy eventually grew bored with us and decided to put an end to our misery.

One morning as I was slaving away cleaning the bathroom, I paused in my tracks once Troy stepped in and stood in the corner. He remained there for a moment observing me in silence, which eventually caused me to grow annoyed.

"How are you, Gabi?" he suddenly inquired.

I rolled my eyes and continued to scrub the floor without replying.

"Watch anything good on TV lately? Any movies at all?"

He was not going to get an answer out of me no matter how hard he pressed. According to my husband, Leah and I did not deserve to be rewarded with the luxury of entertainment.

"Criminal Minds is pretty good. And that House is so damn hilarious! Did you watch the episode last week? Oh, wait, you can't. All of those long words might give you a headache. Try using a dictionary," he taunted.

As I glanced at the jug of bleach sitting in front of me, I suddenly imagined myself splashing the chemicals in his eyes before drowning him in the mop bucket. A grin of satisfaction rose on my lips at the thought.

Lately I had been dreaming up gruesome ways of killing my husband and enjoying my visions just as much. Whenever I was preparing dinner for him, I held the sharp knife and took pleasure in its smooth texture. I wanted to plunge the instrument right into his heart and watch him suffer a slow and painful death. While cooking the food, I often contemplated lacing it with poison. As he marched up to the second level of the house, the urge I felt to push the drunk over the banister was agonizing. I could simply care less if Troy were to overdose on drugs one day. That was a day I somewhat looked forward to.

"Maybe I should. I'll probably find your picture above the word 'jackass,'" I muttered under my breath.

"What was that, Gabi?"

Finally fed up with Troy, I slammed the brush against the floor and surged to my feet.

"Maybe I should. I'll probably find your picture above the word 'jackass.' What, does your addiction affect your hearing too?"

Boldly, I stood my ground as he promptly slapped me across the face.

"You better watch who you're talking to. I'll have your ass bleeding on the floor if you keep it up," he threatened before turning to leave the room.

"And who are you? Henry VIII? You're not exactly royalty, you know," I sneered at his back.

I hardly flinched once he spun around and gripped my arm.

"If you provoke me one more time, I swear I'm going to—"

"You're going to do what? Beat me until I'm unconscious or burn me with your lighter? You do that all the time. I was bound to get used to it sooner or later."

Since his usual threats were not enough to affect me, he decided to use words in hopes of hurting me.

"You're weak. All you do is cower against the walls and cry like a little baby. When I married you I expected to have a woman, not a toddler. Even your daughter can take a hit more than you can. You think the world revolves around you, but it doesn't. Take a look in the mirror and just see how pathetic you are."

"I'm pathetic?" I scoffed. "Why don't you take a look in the mirror and tell me what you see? Because what I see is an insecure, selfish, heartless man who will do just about anything to feel more than two inches tall. You're not even a man... You're a scared little boy crouching in a corner, waiting for somebody to feel sorry for you. Well, let me be the first to say that I don't. Whatever grudge you're holding about the past, leave it there and forget it. Using drugs and alcohol to numb the pain is one thing, but don't take it out on us."

With my point already made, I brushed past Troy and left him silent and stunned in the doorway. As I strolled through the hallway, I realized that I might have uncovered a dark secret of my husband's past that was clearly haunting him to that very day.

Remarkably, he did not go into a fit of rage. Instead, he stumbled down the stairs and began grabbing more bottles of liquor from the refrigerator. I grinned to myself knowing that I had indeed gotten through to him. While he frantically swallowed bottle after bottle thinking that he could avoid his own problems, I saw a man who desperately needed help.

A few hours later, I returned to the living room only to find Troy passed out on the floor. Cleaning up after one of his heavy drinking binges was not new to me. Almost every day I took the initiative to pick up the bottles littering the floor and struggled to prop him up on the couch.

The only time he wasn't in the mood to beat us was the following morning, when he woke with a terrible hangover. I usually gave him coffee to calm him down, but that always resulted in watching him heaving and buckling over the toilet bowl. By the end of the day, he became so weak that he couldn't move. Clearly, he was suffering almost as much as us. Whenever I attempted to soothe him, he would push me away and yell that he wanted to be left alone. So I left him.

I never felt sorry for him at all, but if he was truly willing to quit his deadly habits and find closure within his past, I was going to support him because that was my job as his wife. If he refused to turn his life around, then I would gladly watch him wither away. I just didn't care anymore.

Once the mess had been properly taken care of, I returned upstairs to complete my chores so that I could relax for the rest of the day. For reasons even I didn't know, I walked into the bathroom and began observing myself in the mirror.

The changes my body underwent over the past six months were dramatic, to say the least. Beneath my eyes were dark circles due to lack of sleep, and my hair was not as thick and healthy as it used to be. My once bright and cheerful green eyes had faded to an empty, opaque shade. I had not smiled out of joy in what seemed like forever. Blemishing the majority of my body was the evidence of countless beatings and attacks, as well as the emotional scars that would haunt me for as long as I lived.

Moaning to myself, I rest my palm against my stomach as the painful hunger pangs started. That was when I felt something that certainly was not there before. Hoping to investigate, I lifted my shirt and stared at the insignificant bump in perplexity.

It had been weeks since I'd eaten a sufficient meal, so I doubted that it was because I ate too much. Usually, I exercised whenever I felt that I was about to put on some weight, and I hadn't visited the gym for a long time. I was convinced that I must have gained a few pounds.

For what other possible reason on earth could my stomach be slightly raised?

"Hey, Mama, where's the..." Leah said as she suddenly appeared in the doorway.

By the time I hastily put my shirt back down, it was much too late.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, nothing. What did you want to ask me?"

"You were looking at your stomach..."

"I just gained a little weight, that's all," I replied.

Her eyebrows furrowed in skepticism, and it was clear that she thought otherwise.

"How? We've been eating scraps of food for weeks. There's no way that you could've gained weight in such a short amount of time."

"I tend to put on weight when I'm under a lot of stress. It's no big deal, Sweetie," I said while trying to dismiss the subject.

"Well, are you sure?"

"I'm pretty sure I know how my body works by now. Come on, let's go downstairs and you can tell me what you were looking for."

As I guided my daughter through the room, she suddenly paused in the doorway.

"Do you think you might be... pregnant?"

Pregnancy was the farthest thing from my mind. It was possible, but highly unlikely at that point.

"What? No! I can't be pregnant. I've been using the same prevention methods for years. Why should it be any different this time?"

"Because, Daddy's been dragging you into the bedroom at least once a day. With that much 'activity' going on I wouldn't be surprised if you were," she said.

Refusing to believe her prediction, I stepped in front of the mirror and turned to the side. I then shook my head in disbelief.

"It's fat, Leah. I'm not pregnant... Would you stop saying that already? You're scaring me."

"And you should be scared. Papa would kill you if you were having a baby. It wouldn't survive a week in this house."

"Yeah, I know. Let's just not think about it and see what happens. If my stomach stays the same size in the next few weeks and I don't feel sick, then I'll know that I'm definitely not pregnant."

Still sticking with her theory, my daughter shrugged her shoulders before heading towards the stairs.

However, as I followed, the smallest part of me also believed that I was pregnant. The possibility of conceiving a baby as a result of sexual abuse was terrifying. Although Troy would have been mostly responsible for getting me pregnant, he'd blame me for not being careful, and probably punish me for assuming that he had anything to do with it.

If I really were pregnant, I would have to plan another escape. It seemed impossible under Troy's homemade prison, but a pregnancy would only motivate me to get out for the sake of saving a life. No unborn child of mine would die before having a chance at life.

That was why I hoped with all of my heart that I was not expecting.

~WYLS~

Later That Night

After Leah had gone to bed and Troy was still passed out on the couch, I lie awake as my thoughts remained occupied with worry. Sleeping seemed nearly impossible, and I'd spent the last hour plagued by a mental conflict.

Receiving confirmation was going to be the only way for me to get any kind of rest that night. However, if the results turned out to be my greatest fear, I would not sleep for days. I could not wait any longer.

Without hesitation, I tossed the covers aside and stepped into the bathroom. When I crossed the mirror like I had earlier, I gazed at my stomach again and released a sigh.

In the bathroom closet was a collection of pregnancy tests in which I kept whenever I suspected that I was pregnant. Knowing that the results varied on the test, I grabbed four different tests just to be sure. Once I'd used all of them, I found myself waiting anxiously for five minutes. Those few minutes felt like hours.

Meanwhile, I sat on the floor racked with anxiety. There was no telling how Troy would react if I had to tell him that I was having a second child. I feared that he would go on a rampage and try to kill the baby, which was something I surely did not want to happen.

After building the courage to get up and find out the results of the test, I reluctantly approached the counter and took a deep breath. My hand trembling, I slowly turned over the first test and opened my eyes. My heart sank.

Positive.

Perhaps the next test was going to be negative. I was sure of it. As I flipped the second test, my shoulders sank in disappointment. Positive again.

Though half of the tests came back confirming a pregnancy, I still held onto the hope that the remaining tests were both negative. I decided not to let myself suffer any longer, and prepared to turn both tests over at once.

"Please be negative," I pleaded to absolutely no one.

Hastily, I slammed them down on the counter, and my heart broke at the results I discovered.

Both read positive. Overcome with grief, I collapsed against the floor in tears as I was forced to accept the truth. I was carrying a child that was the fruit of rape by my husband.

What was I supposed to do? There I was, a prisoner in my own home with a dangerous secret and no way to hide it. It was inevitable that Troy was going to find out. Had I received the news six months before I would have been shedding tears of joy, not sorrow.

I cried because I was angry at everything, especially myself. Just because I had been deprived of freedom and simple luxuries did not mean that I shouldn't have fought for myself and for my daughter. Now that another life was in danger, I knew that I had to escape again. My unborn child was not going to suffer like we had. The decision was obvious. I had to turn my husband over to the police.

Once I was convinced that I had used up all of my tears, I quickly wiped them away and made a beeline towards Leah's bedroom. At that moment, I needed her more than ever.

She turned onto her side and gazed at me in confusion once I shook her awake.

"Mama? What's wrong?" she questioned sleepily.

"We're going to get out of here again. I just can't stay here anymore."

However, my daughter did not quite feel the same way.

"But how? Only Papa knows how to open the bolts from the inside. All the keys are in his den and that's locked, too."

"Just trust me, okay?"

As I extended my palm towards Leah, she gave me a wary glance before taking my hand.

"I trust you."

We were both aware that the risk was great, but we did not care as long as it was going to bring us closer to getting out.

Knowing that Troy was a light sleeper, we tiptoed down the stairs one by one in order to avoid waking him. Although the bolts were on the other side of the door, I figured that I if I could somehow get them unlocked we could run away to the nearest form of rescue.

The back door leading to the garage was also bolted from the outside, and it was far enough so that any noise would not travel into the living room. In the small crack between the door, I saw that we had three thick bolts to contend with.

"How are we going to get through?"

Not entirely sure of myself, I scanned the kitchen looking for any instrument that would provide us with any assistance. After a minute or so, my gaze locked on the blade set resting on top of the cabinets.

"I know… Climb on top of the counter and grab the sharpest knife you can find," I instructed my daughter.

Wasting no time, Leah carefully hopped onto the counter and reached for several knives. To test their sharpness, she ran each edge along the wooden holder and quickly found the sharpest one. My plan was to sever all three bolts so that we could make our escape through the garage without waking Troy.

Since the blade was slim enough to fit through the crack, I was able to easily guide it against the bolt. Hoping for the best, I began the painstaking process of sawing through the first metal bolt.

Though extremely tiring and difficult, I was able to cut through the first bolt after twenty minutes of labor, while Leah stood guard. Occasionally, I froze whenever I heard Troy shifting around in the living room. He never woke up, but it left us wanting to make it out faster for fear of getting caught. Another long period had passed before the blade sliced through the second bolt in the door.

A few centimeters of metal were all that separated me and my daughter from sheer freedom.

"We're really going to make it. Get ready," I whispered to her as I continued slicing.

Soon the blade moved closer and closer towards the end of the lock. The excitement of getting out permanently motivated me to cut faster, and we held our breaths in anticipation once I'd reached the final leg. With one last grunt of effort, I wiggled the knife between the door until the bolt was released. To avoid making the door creak or rattle, my daughter and I slowly stepped into the garage.

The rest was simple, as all we had to do was to open the garage door and run to the nearest neighbor. We were so close.

However, we failed to learn that Troy couldn't be beat.

As I guided Leah throughout the dark area, his menacing figure suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"What are you doing?!" he barked angrily.

That was when she ran straight for the door and attempted to lift it open. Her pained screams pierced the air as he grabbed a handful of curls and yanked them backwards.

Forgetting about my condition at the moment, I grabbed the closest weapon that I could fund and went on the attack. While he knelt on top of my daughter throwing punch after punch, I lifted the aluminum bat into the air and swung with all the strength I had.

I'd hoped to knock him out so that we could continue things as planned, but Troy never went down without a fight. He soon spun around and slammed me to the ground, causing the bat to fall as well.

It did not register that I was putting another life at risk until he pried the instrument from my grasp and struck me right in the stomach.

"Troy, stop! I'm pregnant!" I cried.

Suddenly his actions stopped abruptly as his eyes widened in shock.

"What?"

Even while she lie on the floor in a battered heap, Leah shook her head at me as if to prove that she was right all along.

"I'm pregnant. I-I don't know when it happened or how far along I am, but please don't hurt the baby, whatever you do."

Thinking that I was lying to him, Troy hauled me to my feet and lifted my shirt.

"I don't see anything except your fat stomach," he scoffed before raising his fist above my head. "I swear, if this is another one of your sympathy tricks…"

"It's not. I'm only a few weeks along."

"You, go to bed," he ordered Leah. "I need to have a talk with your mother."

Clearly defeated, my daughter sighed and wandered back into the house, disappointed that my plan had failed to work.

"How the hell did you get pregnant? And don't answer with some wise ass reply."

"You got me pregnant! I was bound to happen since you can't seem to get through a day without having sex with me!" I argued.

"It's your job to take birth control and prevent this kind of thing from happening! Whose fault is that, Gabriella?"

"Yours! God, you have no sense of responsibility whatsoever! What is it going to take for you to stop blaming us for your misery?"

"I don't know. Perhaps if you put a gun to your head and pull the trigger… Or how about you get an abortion? That would really make me happy," he sneered.

On the other hand, I was heartbroken. I knew that my husband was a callous monster, but I never imagined that he would go so far as to reject his unborn child.

"You want me to get an abortion?" I whispered, trying to mask the hurt in my voice.

"Did I stutter? Get rid of it. I don't want another little brat to deal with."

At that moment, I rather would have done anything else he wanted me to do than end a barely existent life. There were many things I vowed to never forgive him for, but knowing that he wanted to kill an innocent baby only showed me who he really cared about.

"I guess it really is all about you."

Disgusted to even be in his presence, I silently stormed back into the house and headed straight to bed.

As I left Troy in the garage to consider his mistakes, I soon heard objects being smashed and hurled throughout the room. He may have been angry, but I was furious. I couldn't believe that he would put his own selfish desires ahead of a child that deserved more love and attention than he ever did. Troy deserved nothing but to spend the rest of his life locked away in prison.

Since it seemed as though my daughter and I were not going to make it out for a very long time, I could only wish that he would realize how quickly he was going to lose us. If my pregnancy was not enough to convince him, I didn't know what would.

I'm not entirely sure how many more chapters I have to add based on all the ideas I kept written down from 2007. It's a lot, I can tell you that much. I have a ton of work to do in order to edit/update them, also I have midterms coming up soon, so please bear with me.

Even though I wanted to keep things under wraps, I am going to tell you that Gabriella and Leah will get out soon and Troy will get help, but as always, I'll make it FULL of drama. Anyway, please leave positive feedback and I'll get back to you hopefully soon. :)