Is the definition of life the same for every person? Could an arranged marriage, a dozen children, and a Bible be all life is? Why did it seem so unfulfilling and dull? I couldn't wrap my mind around it as I contemplated how to cope. Could I pretend to smile everyday, even though inside I was screaming?
It had been ten days since I had slept with Elijah. Diana had told me that the earliest you could know from a pregnancy test was seven days. Elijah could not know that this baby was Damon's. I couldn't risk him complaining to the Prophet who might force me to get an abortion, even though that evil man already knew. The thought made me cringe, but I understood that I had to do whatever it took to be happy in that place. I wanted my child to be raised by a loving father, and Elijah might not have wanted to love another man's baby.
It was just easier to lie. Lying was a sin, but I was already past the point of no return. According to the Prophet, I was going to Hell in a handcart. I rubbed my clammy palms on my dress before finding Elijah in the livingroom, reading the Bible as I expected. Diligently, I walked toward his leather chair.
"Excuse me, Elijah," I spoke softly, kneeling in front of him like a slave.
"Yes, Elena?" He responded, gazing down at me from his seat.
"I'm going to have a baby," I whispered, bowing my head.
He rose from his chair, curling his finger under my chin and pushing up, instructing me to rise from the floor. I stood in front of him, his face emotionless as I had expected. Unexpectedly, I felt his arms wrap around me, his body pressing against my own.
"You'll be an amazing mother, Elena," He whispered in my ear as he stroked my hair, combing it between his fingers.
We stood there like that for a few minutes, just holding each other. Maybe I held him back because I needed the comfort. Maybe I was scared. I'm not sure, but for whatever reason, I returned his embrace. He kissed my hair as he stroked it, lightly swaying us from side to side.
"If you have any questions, Jenna will help you. As you know, she has a baby. You are not alone in this, Elena," He breathed into my ear, his lips brushing it.
It felt nice not to have to hide the fact that I was pregnant anymore. I could stroke my belly and speak softly to it whenever I felt like it. Elijah enjoyed feeling my tummy kissing the small bulge. I don't think he even noticed that I was quite far along; certainly not ten days, like I had told him. I was more like six weeks.
I knew Elijah didn't know enough about pregnancy to notice the five week difference. Men in this place were not bothered with that stuff. Their job was to make babies, not take care of them. I almost felt bad lying about it being his, but Jenna's baby was his, so at least he had one that he could call his own.
I always thought of Damon every time I felt my child. I would imagine him talking to the small baby, holding my belly in his firm hands and kissing the bump. I thought of what names we would have chosen, and what extravagant color the nursery would have been. The Prophet never allowed colored paint, and so the walls were always beige or white. 'The simpler the better' were his exact words, and it made me sad that the baby would grow up surrounded by bland walls. Babies were curious, and like sponges, absorbed the world around them. All that baby would absorb is a room full of nothingness.
On another note, I became obsessed with yearning to talk to Damon. There were many days where I was tempted to sneak out of the house to visit him. If I wasn't carrying a child, I would have. I mean, it would be simple if I tricked Elijah into believing I was going to my parents' house. He would tell me 'yes', and I would happily skip my way toward my parents house before taking a sharp left off to Damon's property. His house was probably rigged with cameras, so my plan would have failed miserably, anyway.
Somehow it was just easier to let go and forget about Damon. I mean, this was my life. We would never be together. Maybe someday I would grow used to the idea. I mean, it couldn't rain forever. I knew one day I would wake up and say 'I love Elijah. I love my family. I love my life'. It was a tempting thought and I tried everyday to make myself happy, but somehow, I just couldn't.
Don't get me wrong, Elijah was a good man, but I didn't love him that way. I forced myself to at least give myself to him. Damon's presence only made that transition harder. Seeing him at church each week made everything worse. How can you forget about someone when they are always there to haunt you-to remind you of what you've lost?
I did wonder if Damon had found out about Elijah marking me. His initials were forever carved into my flesh, proving that I was an object, not a person. Like an animal when it's branded before it's slaughtered for meat. The only question left then: When would I be slaughtered?
What was the Prophet waiting for? Why did he bother to keep me around when he could easily remove me? Every second, I feared they would come for me. Any minute, the Prophet could drag me to his office and slit my throat. I waited, always keeping one eye open...not that I could stop them, though. That was the saddest fact of all.
Damon's POV
The only times I saw Elena were at church on Sundays. I could see as her body slowly changed week to week. I imagined our baby growing inside of her and I could not hold back a smile. I would someday watch that baby grow up in front of my eyes, never getting to hold or kiss or acknowledge him or her. That child would never know that I was their father. They would glance at me and ask Elena why I looked so sad all of time.
Alaric and I worked hard at our plan to annihilate this hellhole. We must have had over fifteen videos, clearly showing abuse and assault and rape. It was hard to film as I watched what they did to these women, and sometimes even men, for disobeying or being too lenient towards their wives. It didn't matter what their story was, the fear that filled their faces was always the same.
Learning that Alaric wanted to avenge his wife's death was an added bonus. I trusted him more. I would meet at his house every few days, enjoying the glass of bourbon he would thrust into my hand. I had found a love for the toxic stuff and it became a staple whenever we met up. He called me his 'drinking buddy', but what a stupid name. He would laugh at me, telling me that as long as he had someone to share his bourbon with, he didn't care what it was called.
"When's the bus coming?" I asked calmly as Alaric leaned against the mantle of the fireplace.
"Another week. I feel so anxious. The finish line is just so close," Alaric breathed, taking a deep breath.
"There is no room for error. That baby is growing fast," I said back.
"We'll get her out of here," Alaric smiled, sipping his drink.
"Whatever it takes, my friend," I smirked, finishing off my glass.
Elena's POV
I had not seen my family in a long time. I refused to acknowledge their presence in fear of seeing my father again. He was dead to me-or so I hoped. I could no longer trust him or even my mother. She had allowed them to marry me off. When I was on my knees begging her not to let Damon rape me, she looked away, ignoring my pleas. It seemed everyone around me was to blame and it would take me a very long time to forgive them all.
"Elena!" A voice called behind me.
I turned to see it was Jenna, holding little Hope in her arms. She smiled at me, walking up close behind me.
"I think we will be fast friends, Elena! Do you have any questions? Don't be afraid to ask, okay?" She rocked the baby softly in her arms.
"I've never had a baby," I whispered, bowing my head.
"I will help you!" She cooed.
"Where will I give birth?" I asked nervously.
"There's a clinic near the church. The women elders run it. They've delivered thousands of baby here," Jenna pulled a blanket over the baby's face as she breastfed.
"Are there any doctors?" I winced at the thought.
"No, but they know what they are doing. You're going to be fine," She confirmed with complete confidence.
I didn't believe her somehow. No doctors or midwives? Just some old women who thought they knew what they are doing? Didn't women die in childbirth without proper medical attention? The thought made my stomach turn, and I thought I would faint right there. I couldn't do this. I was going to give birth in a clinic with only a bunch of women reassuring me that everything was fine. Men in this community did not attend births. It was far too feminine for a man to care. He just saw the result thereafter.
"I'm scared," I spoke quietly.
"The Lord is with you," She responded.
With that, I stopped overthinking it. Maybe He was with me. I still had faith that everything would work out somehow. I remember the quote, "When you come to the edge of all the light you have known, and are about to step out into darkness, Faith is knowing one of two things will happen; There will be something to stand on, or you will be taught to fly". That was the quote that kept my heart full of hope and acceptance as I tried to discover where I truly belonged in this community-not that it would be easy.
Elijah divided his time between Jenna and me. I longed for the attention. I felt so lonely with no one around to speak to except them. He would spent three nights with me and then three nights with Jenna, and then the cycle would start over again. We hadn't had sex since that one night. Because I was pregnant, he didn't expect that from me.
Instead, he would just hold me as I slept, his left arm resting on my small bulge. Sometimes I would put my hand on top of his, comforted by his touch. Just to feel something; anything. Elijah was a good man and I would grow to love him eventually. As days passed in that house, I grew farther from Damon.
Some days, I wouldn't even think about him. I felt bad in some way, but that's what I wanted. I wanted to forget about Damon. I needed to move on and accept my new life. He would one day find a nice wife or two. He would move on from me, too. He would find happiness and that's why I didn't feel guilty when I didn't acknowledge him each day. I cared about Damon Salvatore, but it was time to let him go.