◽ FRACTURED FREEDOM ◽
◽MARIAN'S POV◽
I tried to stay calm despite the friction against my feet. How could they expect me to provide information I didn't know? I barely understood what business went on in that godforsaken house. They made sure to keep me in the dark as much as possible, and the little I knew about their delivery routes and times came from eavesdropping on their hushed conversations.
He picked up the grater again, rubbing it against the sole of my feet this time faster, increasing the pain with every movement. I didn’t want to scream, realizing that any outburst could hurt the baby. Instead, I held in my cries, silently pleading with them as the grater grated through the tender flesh of my foot.
With a loud gasp, I begged, "I swear I really know nothing," but they weren't having it.
After what felt like years, he finally stopped. There was nothing left of the pads of my feet, and the slightest touch sent shockwaves of pain through me. Being pregnant put me at a disadvantage; my breathing was ragged, and I desperately tried to free myself from the bindings using the lesson I had learned during a ten-minute tutorial from Martini on how to escape bondage.
When he had shown me, it felt like some kind of magic.
As night fell, a heavy silence descended over the house, broken only by the distant sounds of muffled laughter. The guards were relaxed, and I took that as my chance. I waited patiently, my heart racing, listening for the rhythm of footsteps to fade into the background. After what felt like hours, I heard the familiar sound of them retreating down the hallway, their voices growing softer.
Finally, I decided to make my move. Gathering every ounce of strength, I managed to slip my hands free from the ropes that bound me. The ropes had bitten into my skin, leaving angry red marks, but I welcomed the pain as a reminder that I was still alive, still capable of fighting back.
I cautiously approached the door, my pulse pounding in my ears, every creak of the floorboards echoing in the stillness of the night. The hallway was dimly lit, every sound eerie. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open slowly, the hinges groaning in protest.
Peering out into the corridor, I saw that it was empty. My heart raced with hope, and I felt adrenaline surging through my veins. I could do this. I had to do this.
Moving swiftly but quietly, I tiptoed down the hall, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure I wasn’t being followed. My bare feet touched the cold floor, sending chills up my spine, but I pressed on, determined to reach freedom.
Suddenly, I heard a noise—a shuffle followed by low voices drifting from a room to my right. I froze, heart pounding, the fear gripping me like ice. I ducked behind a nearby wall, pressing my back against the cool surface, holding my breath as I strained to hear.
“What if she gets out? We need to keep an eye on her,” one voice said.
“She’s not going anywhere. We’ve got her locked down tight,” another replied, accompanied by a harsh laugh that sent shivers down my spine.
Realizing I needed to move before they decided to check the hallway, I edged away from the wall and continued down the corridor. My instincts screamed at me to be quiet, but the need to escape drove me forward.
As I reached the end of the hallway, I spotted a window—my ticket to freedom. I rushed toward it, my heart racing with the prospect of escape.
I climbed onto the window sill, feeling a surge of hope. But just as I was about to leap out, I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Panic flooded my system. I had to move—now.
With one last glance back, I jumped out of the window, landing awkwardly on the grass below. Pain shot through my feet, but I bit back a cry, forcing myself to keep going. I could see a faint outline of trees in the distance, offering the promise of cover.
I sprinted across the yard, the grass brushing against my legs, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Freedom was within reach. I was almost there.
But just as I neared the treeline, I heard a door slam behind me. The guards had discovered my absence. I glanced back, and my heart dropped. They were coming, torches flickering in the darkness, their shouts piercing the night air.
“Get her!” one of them yelled, and I felt my blood run cold.
Desperation fueled my flight. I pushed through the underbrush, branches clawing at my skin as I ducked and weaved, but I could hear them closing in. I burst into the trees, hoping the shadows would hide me.
Suddenly, a figure loomed in front of me, and before I could react, a bat swung through the air, connecting with my head. Pain exploded in my skull, and everything went black.
◽◽◽◽
◽THIRD PERSON'S POV◽
Marian woke up in a familiar room, her eyes drawn to the curtains she had grown used to. For a moment, she thought she was imagining things, recalling how she had blacked out.
A faint smile appeared on her face. It felt strange to be here, thinking about a room she had once considered a prison—a place she had desperately wanted to escape.
The door opened, and the housekeeper entered with a bowl of water. As warm water touched her feet, Marian’s heart raced. This wasn’t a dream.
She sat up abruptly, her mind swarming with questions as she took in her surroundings. She was alive—though her legs were bruised almost beyond recognition.
But she was alive.
Tears filled her eyes as she clung to Mrs. Herbert, sobbing into her shoulder. The events of the last five days felt like a blur, too overwhelming to comprehend.
Once her emotions had subsided, Mrs. Herbert spoke gently to her, offering comfort as she tended to Marian’s aching body. The baby... Marian winced. Sharp, sudden pulls in her lower abdomen made her tense. It felt as if a hook was inside her, tugging at her insides without mercy.
She had feared for the baby’s life.
Finally, exhaustion overtook her, and she drifted into a much-needed sleep. But the relief didn’t last long. The doctor’s diagnosis echoed in her mind: early contractions, likely caused by the stress of her ordeal.
When she woke again, she still couldn’t walk. Her legs refused to cooperate. It was then that she noticed Marco sitting quietly beside her.
“Marian,” he whispered, his voice as soft and comforting as she remembered. The sound filled her with a warmth she hadn’t expected. She didn’t realize how much she had missed it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone heavy with meaning.
She managed a small smile, simply glad to be alive, glad that he had come for her.
Attempting to stand, she winced in pain and gave up. Embarrassed, she looked at Marco. “I need to pee,” she said quietly, avoiding his gaze.
Without a word, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bathroom, setting her down gently. But he didn’t leave.
“Please,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Go.”
“The doctor said someone needs to stay with you,” Marco replied, his voice firm and unyielding.
She shook her head, frustrated. “There’s a line. This crosses it.” she murmured
“No,” he grunted. “You’re having contractions every minute. I’m not leaving you alone.”
Resigned, she sighed. “Fine. Just turn around.”
He obeyed, giving her some privacy. But as soon as she stood, a sharp scream escaped her. Marco whirled around, his face pale with fear
There was blood.
Terror flooded through her. This wasn’t right. She had seen this in movies before—blood always meant one thing. Miscarriage. She began to cry, guilt and fear overwhelming her. She blamed herself for everything: attending Marco’s party, trying to escape, struggling so hard.
Her chest tightened, her breathing quickened, and panic set in. Marco rushed to her side, handing her the inhaler. Her breathing steadied, though the fear still gripped her.
She was on the verge of insanity, everything she never felt before was suddenly creeping in, she doesn't want anything to happen to the baby and she can't help but blame herself.
The pain began slowly, a dull cramp low in her belly. At first, Marian thought it was just more of the contractions. But within minutes, the pain sharpened, tearing through her abdomen like a blade. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before—raw, consuming, and relentless.
She gasped, clutching her stomach as her body curled into itself.
“Marco,” she whispered, but her voice was barely audible.
He was at her side in an instant. “What is it?” Panic was evident in his eyes as he looked at her.
“I think…” Her words were cut off by another wave of pain, this one worse than the last. It felt as though something inside her was being pulled apart, inch by inch, a brutal force she couldn’t control.
She screamed, a guttural sound that seemed to come from the deepest part of her. Her body was betraying her. This wasn’t just pain—this was her body giving up
she cried, gripping Marco’s hand as another contraction wracked her body. "Oh my God, fuck,"
The realization hit her like a blow. The baby was coming, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The pain intensified, a constant, burning ache that made it hard to think, hard to breathe. She could feel her body working against her, forcing the baby out before it was ready.
The hours blurred together in a haze of agony. Every contraction felt like fire spreading through her abdomen, radiating down into her legs and back. It was unrelenting. Each time she thought it couldn’t get worse, the pain would climb to a new peak, a vicious wave that left her gasping for air.
She was drenched in sweat, her body trembling uncontrollably. She wanted it to stop, wanted to push the pain away, but there was no escape. Her mind kept returning to one thought: it was too soon. She wasn’t ready. The baby wasn’t ready.
At some point, she became aware of a pressure, a terrible weight bearing down on her, like her body was trying to push her apart from the inside. Marco was shouting for Mrs. Herbert and the doctor, but all Marian could focus on was the pressure. It was unbearable.
“I can’t,” she sobbed, her body writhing on the bed. “I can’t do this.”
“You have to,” Marco whispered, his demeanor scarily calm “You have to, Marian.”
With a final, agonizing scream, her body gave in. The baby slipped out of her, the motion quick but shattering. Marian collapsed back against the pillows, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
The room fell silent.
For a moment, Marian couldn’t process what had just happened. She was shaking uncontrollably, her body weak and sore from the effort. But then, she heard it
the deafening silence. No cry. No movement.
Her heart stopped.
“Why isn’t it crying?” Her voice was barely a whisper, terror lacing every word.
Mrs. Herbert held the baby, wrapped in a towel, her face pale. “I’m so sorry…”
Marian’s heart shattered in an instant. The silence was unbearable.
She reached for the baby, her arms trembling. The tiny body was so still, so impossibly still. Marian’s heart clenched painfully as she stared at the lifeless child.
“It’s my fault,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “It’s all my fault.”
Marco tried to console her, but nothing he said could touch the emptiness she felt. She had carried this life inside her, felt it move—and now it was gone.
The room spun around her, her grief swallowing her whole. The pain in her body was nothing compared to the void in her heart.
“Hand me the baby,” Dr Larry instructed, his voice leaving no room for hesitation.
Marian, paralyzed by grief, clutched the baby tightly. It took Marco’s gentle coaxing for her to slowly, hesitantly, release the infant. Her body trembled as she watched the doctor work, her mind screaming for some kind of miracle.
He immediately began assessing the child again, his experienced hands moving swiftly. “It’s not too late,” he muttered with new found determination, though his tone carried the weight of what was at stake. He reached into his medical bag and pulled out a small resuscitation mask, placing it carefully over the baby’s face.
The room was silent except for the doctor’s focused breathing as he began to administer CPR. He pressed two fingers gently but firmly on the infant’s chest, applying steady compressions in rhythm with the breaths he gave. His face remained calm, though everyone else seemed to be holding their breath.
“Come on… come on…” Dr. Larry whispered under his breath as he continued his attempts to revive the baby. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and Marco stood frozen by Marian’s side barely showing any emotion on his face.
Just as Marian felt the despair creeping in, a flicker of movement caught her eye. It was small, barely there, but enough to make her gasp.
The doctor stilled his hands for a moment, leaning in closer. Everyone in the room was holding their breath, waiting for a sign, for anything.
Then, the baby’s tiny chest rose—slowly, faintly. The first shallow breath came like a whisper, so soft it was almost missed.
Marian’s heart soared as a fragile cry escaped from the baby’s lips—a weak but unmistakable sound of life. It was faint, but it was there.
“he's breathing,” Dr. Larry said, his voice filled with cautious relief. He continued monitoring the baby, adjusting the oxygen mask as the infant’s small chest continued to rise and fall. The cry grew slightly louder, stronger with each passing second.
Marian’s body shook with sobs, but this time they were tears of disbelief and overwhelming joy. “Oh my God…” she whispered, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch her baby’s face. Her fingers brushed the soft skin, warm now, alive.
The doctor carefully wrapped the baby in a blanket, his face still serious but with a glimmer of relief. “We’ll need to get her to the hospital right away for further observation,” he said, his tone professional but filled with warmth. “he’s not out of danger yet, but he’s fighting.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she looked up at the doctor. She never realized she had become that attached to the baby even though she tried so hard not to.
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