body repels what’s happening inside of me. My chest stops heaving and the riot in my stomach settles, allowing me to catch my breath.
Three weeks. For three week’s I’ve been sick, morning, noon and night. It’s been eleven weeks since I last saw Roamyn and once my breasts started feeling lumpy and sore, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on. A scared phone call to Cassidy. A trip to the doctor. And five positive pregnancy tests later my suspicions were confirmed.
I’m pregnant.
A human being is growing inside of me and still weeks later it feels surreal. Exhaustion sucks all the energy left in me. My eyes roll shut as my head flops to the side, coming to rest on my arm. A light knock on the bathroom door startles me and I sit up straighter, stretching out my aching body.
Cassidy’s small concerned voice sounds from the other side. “Ali, you okay in there?”
I wipe my mouth and push up from the floor. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Splashing some water on my face at the basin, I then brush my teeth, catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes automatically drifting to my scars. Disgust ripples through a demon I can’t get rid of. Months of being clean and still the dirt won’t wash away. It’s stuck in pores, buried in my skin so deep that no matter how hard I scrub, how many times I tell myself I can do this—I have to do this—the filth remains like a constant reminder of every mistake I’ve ever made, and a past I’ll never be able to erase. I thought I was beating it. I am beating it. But every day the urge to relapse becomes stronger because I’m sick, twenty-four fucking hours a day. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I have no energy. This baby is slowly sucking the life out of me. I’m fighting it. I always will. I’d never go back. But each day the urge reminds me I can’t ever be cured. I just have to find a way to live with the fact I’ll be in recovery for the rest of my life.
I twist the handle on the bathroom door and Cassidy’s way too bright, fresh face for this time of the morning greets me. She’s stayed over the past few nights to look out for me. She’s the only one I’ve talked to about the pregnancy.
“You want me to come to the doctor with you?”
I wipe my clammy forehead and walk out. Cassidy follows me up the hallway of the loft that I no longer share with Lindsey since she’s moved in with Mason and Charlotte a few weeks ago. After the kidnapping, the two of them sorted everything out and now the three of them are one big happy family.
I smile, grateful. “No. I’ll be okay. But thanks.”
Opening the pantry in the kitchen I search for some plain crackers to hopefully settle my stomach for at least five minutes.
Cass’s worried voice seeps through the loft. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you because I really don’t mind. Maybe I should come along just in case you get sick again or—”
My head pounds harder as her voice gets louder. I spin around, my hands in the praying position. “Cass, I love you, but if you don’t stop fussing over me I’m going to go hormonal pregnant momma on your ass and I can’t guarantee it will be pretty.”
She raises her hands in a surrender. “Okay. Okay. I just worry. You’ve been so sick. You’re losing weight again. I thought morning sickness was supposed to only be in the morning?”
I pull the crackers from the cupboard and spin around. “Yeah, well, apparently baby T never got the memo.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Baby T?”
I shrug. “Well, it’s better than calling the baby an ‘it’ considering we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. Plus. It’s baby Tate. I just shortened it.” She continues staring at me and my eyes grow wide. “What? It’s cute.”
“Yes, it’s very cute. I’m just surprised to hear you mention anything Roamyn related. So… now that you’ve brought him up.” She pops the p and gives me a sweet smile full of mischief and I groan, waiting for what’s going to come from her next.
She leans forward, leaning her elbow on the counter and her chin in her hand. “When are you going to break the news to your baby