Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I don’t want him to be with me for his kid. Do I even want to be with him? The thoughts run crazy in my mind. While I hesitate to admit this even to myself … yes, I want Justin. I never stopped wanting him. It sucks. It makes me a horrible person. I loved Benji and always will but nothing will ever touch the love and passion Justin and I shared. I never wanted the high of his embrace to leave me. Even after he left I would have done anything to have him back. He’s my person.
He's my partner. The one who sees I can’t carry the load alone and steps in. He listens without judgment and advises me when I ask for it, but otherwise he allows me to use him as a sounding board to simply release all the things pent up inside me.
Benji loved me. He cherished me. But he didn’t silently understand me. I don’t think I ever honestly allowed him the space to do that. It’s this part of me that somehow always belongs to Justin.
The part of me, the ability in me to be me, good, bad, ugly, and beautiful.
Back in the condo, I sit on the edge of the tub, the box shaking in my grip. The cup of pee sitting on the counter taunting me. Maritza kneels in front of me.
“You want me to wait out here?”
I nod.
I don’t want her to see my face when the truth lands. Although, she is my best friend, I don’t know how to tell anyone that I’ve slept with Justin. The shame washes over me once again. But it’s not shame for sleeping with him. It’s more like guilt for not having respect for Benji.
“I just needed to feel something,” I mutter to the space around me. “It doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
Five minutes later, I’m staring at the stick on the bathroom counter.
Two lines.
Two very clear, no-mistaking-it lines.
My mouth goes dry. My body goes still.
I don’t feel joy. Or hope. I feel...fear.
This isn’t a blessing. Not right now. Not like this. I flush the toilet though I didn’t use it a second time. I wash my hands three times. I walk out holding the stick in a paper towel like it might bite me.
Maritza’s standing by the kitchen island, arms crossed, face tight. When she sees me, her expression softens. “So?”
I set it down between us. She doesn’t say “congrats” or “oh my God.” Just nods once, lips pressed together. “You want me to stay? Or do you need time to process alone?”
“I need to breathe.”
She gives me the all-knowing look, the one her mother is a master at giving all of us as kids. “I know you find peace in solitude but this is huge. You sure?”
I hesitate. Then nod. “Yeah. I just... I need to think.”
She hugs me—tight, grounding me—and whispers, “You’re not alone in this.”
Logically, I know this. But emotionally, I don’t know how to do this. Maritza knowing me well, leaves with a gentle hug.
I pace the condo for almost an hour, talking to my dog like she’s going to fix everything. “How did this happen?” I ask Skye. She tilts her head.
“You know how,” I answer myself bitterly. “But still. I was careful. Mostly.”
The word echoes. Mostly.
It could be Benji’s. My cycle has been off since losing him. Or because I wanted to be a whore in the midst of my grief, it could be Justin's.
The thought makes me sit on the floor, arms around my knees, back pressed against the cabinet beneath the sink. I don’t cry. Not yet. I think I’m too scared to cry.
Instead, I grab my phone and text Toon.
Can you come get me?
The reply is fast.
Where to?
I can’t talk. I just... need to feel.
Another pause. Be outside in 10.
The wind slaps against my skin like a baptism. Like always Justin doesn’t ask questions. He simply passes me the helmet, waits while I climb on the back of his bike, then revs the engine and pulls away.
I press my forehead to his back, gripping his cut tight between my fingers like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth.
We ride.
Through town. Out past the city limits. Down roads flanked by fields and nothing at all.
The engine roars. The world blurs. And for a little while, I’m not pregnant. I’m not broken. I’m not anyone except the girl holding on to someone who makes it easier to breathe.
After about an hour, he slows and pulls into the gravel lot of a small roadside diner lit by neon and desperation.
He kills the engine. Turns to look at me.
“You hungry?”
I nod. “Starving.”
Inside, it smells like fries and old vinyl booths and something that reminds me of my childhood—maybe grease or grits or comfort.
We order burgers and sweet tea. I pick at the straw wrapper with shaky fingers.