Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“You’re healed. You’re recovered.”
She is. Her mind fucking isn’t, though. She was never the same, and I get it, fuck, do I get it, but she is putting her entire life on hold obsessing over getting pregnant again. The only time she comes near me is when she’s ovulating. I can’t remember the last time we had sex and it actually meant a single fucking thing.
“I’m struggling, why can’t you see that? I can’t get pregnant, I’m suffering, Bohdi.”
I’m not going to argue with her. I can’t be bothered. “I’m going to work.”
“Why do you do this to me?” she cries as I walk out the door. “Why do you treat me like this?”
Anger bubbles in my chest, and I spin around. “How the fuck do I treat you, Isla? I fucking do everything for you. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have none of this. I let you live this free fucking life, and I don’t get a god damned thing in return. Go fuck yourself.”
I turn and storm out.
I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, I know it, but I don’t fucking care.
I’m so done with caring about someone who couldn’t give a crap about me in return.
Maybe we should get a divorce, but if we do that now, I’m going to lose everything.
That shack, it’s the only thing I have left.
Literally the only fucking thing.
Without it, I’m left with nothing.
I’m not letting her take everything from me.
No fucking way.
“I’M PREGNANT,” ISLA says, walking into the kitchen, white stick in hand.
I look up from my bowl of spaghetti, and my heart jumps into my throat. What did she just fucking say? Pregnant?
No.
Sure we’ve been trying, but we’ve been trying for over three fucking years and, quite honestly, I thought it was never going to happen. I do want a family, but I’m not sure we’re in a position to be giving children the life they deserve. I can barely afford to feed us.
“What?” I ask, swallowing the thick lump in my throat.
“I’m pregnant. Look.”
She hands me the test, a clear plus sign on the screen.
She’s pregnant.
Fuck.
“When did this happen?” I ask, my voice tight.
“I missed my period, and thought I’d test. I can’t believe it, I’m so happy. Are you happy, Bohdi? This is what we’ve wanted.”
This is what she has wanted.
Nobody ever asks me what I want.
“It is what it is, doesn’t matter what I want.”
Her face drops.
“That’s it? That’s your reaction? I’m giving you a child and that’s how you treat me?”
“It’s great,” I lie. “I’m happy.”
“You’re a liar!” she screeches, picking up the television remote and tossing it at me. “All I do is listen to your lies. If you don’t want to be here, Bohdi, then why are you?”
Fucks me.
I close my eyes and listen to her rant and rave, until finally she gets angry enough to storm out the door, slamming it on her way. Memories of my mother doing the same thing flood my mind, and I think about tossing her body over that boat, in the dead of the night, after I killed her.
The thought still makes me sick.
I’m not fit to be a father—I couldn’t even be a decent son.
Nobody ever found her body, they still believe she just left me alone and ran off with some man.
Nobody cared enough to look into it further.
How fucking tragic is that?
Is that how my life is going to end? Without a single person even realizing I’m gone?
Isla is having a baby. A child. Something that is going to rely on me, that is going to need me and want me.
Something I have to take care of, and make sure I do right by.
The thought is terrifying, but maybe it’s what we need.
Maybe, just maybe, it’s the answer to our problems.
I stand and walk out of the shack and down to the beach where Isla is sitting in the sand, sobbing. It wasn’t fair, my reaction. I know that, but I struggle sometimes to give her the emotions she wants. I barely feel a fucking thing, let alone show it to someone else.
I sit beside her and reach out, taking her hand. “I’m sorry. I am happy, it was just a shock. But I’m happy, Isla. I want a baby with you.”
The words feel forced, but I say them anyway.
I say them because she needs me to say them.
It has nothing to do with wanting to say them.
God knows, I don’t know what I want anymore.
“Really?” she asks, wiping away her tears.
“Yeah, really.”
“I’m so happy, Bohdi. It has been so long, I thought you’d be as excited as I was.”
“I am.”
She turns and nestles into me. I stiffen, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
I close my eyes and pray for this emptiness to fade so I can feel again.
I can’t live the rest of my life like this.