Doc (Ruthless Kings MC #7) - K.L. Savage Page 0,10

be erased, and I can’t take away or fix the decision I made to accept the drink Brody handed me.

I can’t do this.

I can barely pass my classes. I haven’t been getting As. I’ve been lying to everyone. This entire process has been a struggle. I’ve put on a brave front, but I want to go home. I want to go to the club, where I feel safe.

I’m a safety hazard for myself. I don’t trust I won’t hurt myself to the point of no return.

I have to go to therapy for what happened to me in Jersey, and I wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats, gasping for air. I’m not cut out to be a mother. I place my hands on the ground and push myself up while grabbing my sweatpants. My vision is blurry as I walk out of the bathroom. I sway, slamming my shoulder against the door from my equilibrium being off.

My hip hits the edge of the plain gray countertop where the sink is, and I barely feel it. I grip the counter, staring at myself in the large mirror hanging on the wall. My brown hair is messy and hangs in my face, my eyes are swollen from crying, and my green eyes look neon and the whites are red. I lift my shirt up and turn to the side, my chin wobbling when I see how flat my stomach is. I lay my hand against it. It won’t be long before my belly is round. These damn tears! Goddamn it, I can’t fucking stop them.

Am I able to be scared of being a young mom and be afraid and disgusted that I was raped while unconscious? A horrible thought enters my mind; what if I wasn’t drugged? What if I can’t remember because I was drunk?

I can’t say I’d be surprised. I’ve barely recognized myself lately. Darkness is closing in on me more every day. I’ve never felt more alone. No one understands what I’m going through. Well, that isn’t true. There is one person that I can confide in, the one person who helped me the most when I came to Vegas. Leaving him was like leaving my sanctuary. He was the only person who would listen without offering to fix it because he knew nothing could erase the nightmares besides time.

Eric, or Doc as the club calls him, a man who is so kind and considerate of others. He has a heart of pure gold, someone I will never be good enough for. What doctor is going to want a woman that they feel like they have to fix? And him being a doctor, he would feel obligated. I don’t want to be an obligation to someone.

I’m not worth the effort for someone to pour into. This is who I am now. A shell of who I used to be.

Lowering my shirt, I have the urge to throw up again when the voice in the back of my head tells me that I’m pregnant. I’m not in the position to raise a child. Can I go to the Ruthless Kings? Will they take care of me?

Yes, without a doubt. Reaper will never let a woman struggle. I’m so tired of being a problem someone needs to take care of. I want to take care of myself, but I’m doing a piss poor job at it.

My fist slams against the countertop, and I let out an ear-piercing scream. I continue to pummel the sink with my bare fists until they ache. I’m running out of breath. My chest heaves. My eyes water. The scream helped, but the fear is deep-seated.

Fear doesn’t leave. It’s a parasite, a life-sucking, blood-draining, promise of death. Once it’s there, the only way it can leave is if you conquer it before it takes ownership of your soul.

I think I’m too far gone.

With a shaky hand, I reach for the gold handle of the drawer and slide it open, revealing my stash of razors.

I hate myself.

I know how self-deprecating I am, and I’m sick of feeling that way. I don’t know how to get better, and now I have to worry about a baby?

Maybe I can give him or her up for adoption. That’s a decent option. I can live with myself knowing my child is alive instead of aborted.

But then I’ll have to go my entire life knowing my kid is out there living a life without me. I slam the drawer