MATTIE BRACED HER BACK against one wall, placed her feet against the other wall, and pushed. Counted the seconds until her legs were quivering and sweat beaded her face. Come on, five more seconds. Ten. She went limp, panting, her calves and thighs tingling with a pleasant burn. She had scarcely used them in this box, had spent too many hours curled up and wallowing in self-pity as her muscles degenerated to mush. She remembered the time she’d caught the flu, a bad flu that had laid her flat on her back, feverish and shaking. A few days later she had climbed out of bed and felt so weak she had to crawl to the bathroom. That’s what lying around too long did to you: It robbed you of your strength. Soon she’d need those muscles; she had to be ready when he came back.
Because he would come back.
That’s enough rest. Feet against the wall again. Push!
She grunted, sweat blooming on her forehead. She thought of the movie GI Jane, and how sleek and toned Demi Moore had looked as she’d lifted weights. Mattie held that image in her head as she pushed against her prison walls. Visualize muscles. And fighting back. And beating the bastard.
With a gasp, she once again relaxed against the wall and rested there, breathing deep as the ache in her legs subsided. She was about to repeat the exercise when she felt the tightening in her belly.
Another contraction.
She waited, holding her breath, hoping it would pass quickly. Already it was easing off. Just the womb trying out its muscles, as she was trying out hers. It wasn’t painful, but it was a sign that her time was coming.
Wait, baby. You have to wait a little longer.