Something nudging me pulls me out of the blissful sleep I had been in. Blinking open my eyes, I look for the source, but am not able to find anything out of place. The room is the same as it has been since I first got here weeks ago, the crib to the side of the bed and the curtains closed tight. Light still manages to filter in through the cracks though, making it possible to see around the room.

A length of solid warmth is against my back. When I try to turn around, the arm around my waist tightens, making it hard to continue the action. This has been Tate's new favorite way to sleep: his chest pressed against my back and his arm around my waist, hand pressing against my bump.

His breath is warm on my neck, a comforting feeling rather than annoying. After being away from him for so long and everything we went through with Zalo, everything has become comforting, especially anything that reminds me that he is still here with me. Tate could have left when things got hard, especially when Zalo started to come on stronger than before. But he didn't. He stuck with me, and that just made me love him even more.

My thoughts are cut short when the nudging from before comes back. This time, though, I am fully awake and able to tell where that nudge is coming from. My breath hitches when I pull back the blankets, revealing my bump that has only seemed to grow over the last few weeks. With shaky hands, I pull away my shirt in order to better feel what's going on.

Another nudge comes from inside me, bumping against my hand this time. My breath catches in my throat, and before I can stop myself, I slip out of bed. Tate's hand tries to pull me against him, but I dodge it, managing to get away without him waking up.

On shaky legs, I walk out of the room, trying to stave off the panic attack that is trying to come over me. The walls start to close in on me and it is becoming harder to breathe. Managing the stairs is a difficult task, and I almost fall multiple times. Somehow, I am able to get to the bottom level without falling and hurting myself, which is a feat in and of itself.

My eyes lock onto the front door, everything else on the edges of my vision becoming blurry or disappearing altogether. Someone calls my name, but I don't listen. The sound of the worry in their voice and their footsteps on the wooden floors spur me to go faster. My arms pull me along the walls, guiding me to my only exit.

"Taylor?" the voice calls again. A hand lands on my arm, but I wrench away. The feeling of their hand on me makes my skin crawl. They call my name again, but I am opening the front door and running out before they can even finish.

A path leads away from the house and into a forest. The trees aren't as numerous as the ones in Washington, making it easy to dodge around them. Time slips away from me as my feet carry me further and further away from the house. Fallen trees try to block my path, but I pull myself over them, not minding the scrapes on my hands that they leave behind.

My lungs get tighter, whether from the running or from my anxiety, I have no clue, but I am forced to stop. Trying to drag in air is difficult, only a little bit of each ragged breath managing to get through my constricted throat and into my lungs. My vision begins to get spotty, and I know that I am about to faint soon.

The ground is hard when I fall against it, my bare knees getting scraped when they meet the ground riddled with rocks. On trembling arms, I am able to hold myself up, but it becomes harder with every second that passes. Before I know it, my arms buckle and I am collapsing onto the damp ground.

Surprisingly, the coolness of the damp dirt is soothing. The heat raging through my body starts to go away with the contact, and slowly, the constriction on my lungs starts to loosen. Noise starts to filter in through the buzzing that was ringing in my ears and my vision clears.

Blinking open weary eyes, I see that I am next to a creek, only a couple of feet away from the water. The trickling of the water over the rocks is calming, almost a reassuring sound. Something so calm even when I feel like everything is trying to collapse in on me.

Another nudge comes from my stomach. Clenching my eyes shut, some of my tears manage to slip through.

"Please stop," I murmur, placing my hands on my stomach. The baby doesn't understand, though and seems to become even more excited when my hands are pressed against it.

Memories from when I was with the Warriors come flashing back in my mind, seeming to grow stronger with every kick.

The baby I lost, the little girl, she used to be so active when she was in my stomach, always kicking and turning. It used to be my one bit of happiness during those dark times. I was able to forget how she came into being and think of how I had to escape to save her.

Then that monster hurt her. When I told them not to touch me, the one time I fought back, they decided to teach me a lesson. By the time they were done with me, I was bloodied and bruised, so sore I could barely move. The feeling of death came over me, and it was only when she didn't move for over two days that I knew something was wrong.

Every minute I could, I would try to talk to her, coax her into the kicking she so loved to do, but it didn't work. Nothing I did would get her to move, and after nearly a week with no success, I knew she was gone. My baby, my one hope in a world so dark and lonely, was gone. Murdered by those bastards in cold blood.

The worst part, though, was that she still had to be delivered. She was still small enough that when I broke my water and the contractions started, she was able to be delivered just like any other baby would. The mental and physical exhaustion was weighing on me, my cries too loud with every push I gave. The thought that I would never get to see my baby breathe, that I was giving birth to a dead one, was traumatizing.

The Warriors heard me, only coming in when she was fully delivered. She was only in my arms for a few seconds, so tiny and still, before the door to my cage was thrown open and the leader stalked in. He had shown no remorse, only a sick sort of delight.

"Now we get to start again, sugar," he had said, a cruel smile making its way onto his face. He had stalked forward and ripped her from my arms, slapping me every time I reached for her. In only a matter of seconds, she was gone from my sight. My precious baby, the one who was going to save me, was gone.

Sniffling, I blink open my eyes, the memory slowly fading away. The anxiety from before is completely gone, replaced instead with the weighing sadness that I thought I had escaped from.

I don't know how long I lay there, my hands pressing against the tumbling baby inside of me and tears dripping from my face and onto the ground below me. I thought I could do this. I thought I was healed enough to try again for another baby but doubt is starting to creep into my mind.

I couldn't protect my previous baby, what made me think I could protect this one? When Liam had commented on how well I was with Matty, I should have ignored the little voice in my head that told me he was right. Tate would be disappointed when this baby didn't survive, just like my other one. He would hate me, and I would lose the last thing that brings me happiness.

But what if you're wrong? The little voice in the back of my mind questions. What if it wasn't your fault?

"Of course if was my fault," I mumble, voice raspy from disuse. "If I would have been stronger, then I could have fought them off, made it so that they didn't hit my stomach."

You were brutalized by them. Your body was beaten and bruised, there was no way she would have been able to survive everything they did to you.

I shake my head, mud streaking across my face at the movement. "I was weak."

You were strong. You survived.

"But she didn't."

This one will. You are both stronger, not starving or beaten like before. Tate loves you and together you made this baby. You are healing, and with that comes some pain. But remember when it didn't hurt so much?

"Yeah," I whisper, mind flashing back to when I was holding Matty, and how happy Tate was when I told him that I am pregnant.

The memory of her will never be gone, but you have to know it was never your fault, it was the fault of those monsters who killed her. You will always be healing, but that is okay. You are strong.

"I am strong." The baby kicks against my hand again, causing me to look down at my belly. "You are strong."

The pain is still there, but it isn't as overwhelming as before. The thought of this baby being a girl, though, sends a tendril of fear down my spine. It would be too similar to everything before. My train of thought is cut off by a sound in the distance before I can think any further on the subject.

A very familiar and panicked voice is calling my name, and the person it belongs to seems to be coming closer. My muscles protest as I drag myself away from the ground and into a sitting position. The weight of everything that happened is still heavy, feeling as if there are a ton of bricks on my shoulders.

I know that I am stronger than I was before, but that doubt is still there. The fear of what might happen next is always going to be on the back of my mind. With half-lidded eyes, I watch as the water flows down the creek, parting around the few particular rocks that break the surface.

The voice is louder now, meaning that Tate is going to see me any minute. Still, I don't turn around. His footsteps are quick as he comes into the small clearing that surrounds the creek, stopping as he steps out of the trees. I know the minute he spots me, because his footsteps pick up again, quicker than before.

He falls down to his knees beside me, arms wrapping around my shoulders. "Taylor? Oh, thank god you're okay. I was so worried. What happened? Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Why did you just run?"

His questions are fast, barely making it out of his mouth before be starts another one. The feeling of someone touching me stills brings the uncomfortableness from before, even if it is Tate.

"I'm fine," I say, voice tired as I shrug out of his hold.

Tate makes a wounded sound when I don't allow him to hold me, shrugging off every touch he tries to give me.

"Taylor," he says, his voice so full of feeling that I can't even begin to decipher it. "You just ran."

"I needed to be away," I tell him, finally dragging my eyes away from the water to look at Tate.

The worry is clear on his face, his brows scrunched together and his usually plump lips are pinched. With a resigned sigh, he moves so that he is sitting instead of kneeling. He is courteous enough to not touch me, leaving a few inches between the two of us, despite the fact that he looks like he just wants to hold me tight.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he questions, eyes flickering over to me before fixating on the creek. "What caused you to panic so badly that you ran around in the forest in nothing but some briefs and a t-shirt."

Looking down, I see that he is right. In my panic, I did not even realize that I am wearing barely anything. The scraped up nature of my knees and feet cause me to wince. Those are going to hurt for a while.

"Taylor?" he asks again when I don't say anything for a few minutes.

My shoulders slump as I let out my own heavy sigh. Panic attacks have always made me feel ashamed, and having to tell Tate about it makes the weight from before even stronger.

"The baby moved," I whisper.

Tate's mouth falls open slightly, and it looks like he is torn between happiness and confusion. "I-I don't understand?" he says, the statement coming out more like a question. "Isn't the baby moving a good thing?"

"Yes, it is," I say, my voice still low, "but it also brought back some not very good memories."

Understanding comes over Tate's face and I can tell by the way his hands are twitching that he wants to try and comfort me again. The itchiness in my skin isn't as strong as before, so tentatively, I lean against him. He looks a little surprised at first but doesn't hesitate for long before wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me tight against his side.

"Oh, lovely, I'm so sorry." His hand rubs against my side soothingly, and it causes the rest of my tension to go away. Before I can stop them, the tears from before are back, flowing down my face again. Tate pulls me tighter against his side, not saying anything as I sob into his side.

We stay there for hours, the once clear sky now covered with dark clouds. It is only when a clap of thunder comes from the distance that Tate begins to pull us to our feet.

"Let's go back to the house. I don't want you out here during a thunderstorm." I nod my head against his side, not bothering to pull away from him as he guides us back to the house. Now that the panic from before is gone, I feel every leaf and rock beneath my feet as I walk. Tomorrow is going to be very sore.

We walk in silence the rest of the way back to the house, and when we finally make it inside, nobody says a word when we pass by them. Tate walks us past the bedroom and into the large bathroom that is at the end of the hall.

It has a large tub that is separate from the shower, placed right in front of the large window that looks over the forest. Tate seats me on top of the small stool that is next to the tub as he fills it up with hot water, the steam rising off the surface as it starts to fill the bottom. Thank goodness Alpha Seren decided to switch to solar panels and wind mills.

Once it is completely full, Tate turns off the faucet and then turns to me. With gentle hands, he strips me of my mud covered clothes, throwing them into a pile in the corner of the room. He holds out his hand for me to use to steady myself as I step into the water, happy to feel that it isn't too warm for the baby.

My muscles start to unwind once I am submerged up to my shoulders, and my eyes flutter closed. A hand brushes back my hair from my face, and I feel Tate press a soft kiss against my forehead.

"I love you, Taylor, and this baby will love you too," he whispers, his fingers running through my hair. "I know that this is stressful for you, so please let me help you in any way that I can."

"Okay," I say, voice low. When Tate stands up to walk away, I grab onto his hand, giving it a squeeze. "I love you too, Tate."

A small smile finds its way onto his face, but he looks just as tired as I feel. He returns the squeeze to my hand before letting go and walking out of the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

The rumbling of thunder is louder than before, and looking outside, I see that it has started to rain. If Tate wouldn't have come out and found me, then me and baby would be out in that downpour, vulnerable to anything that may happen. My hands find their way back to my stomach, and I rub over the skin, a hesitant smile spreading across my lips when I feel the baby kick.

"Please don't be a girl," I whisper down to my stomach, pressing back again the foot kicking my hand. "I don't know if I could survive that." The baby kicks my hand again, and I don't know if it is one of reassurance or warning.