I wallowed in my misery until the phone rang. Somehow, I knew it'd be him, and that there would be bad news. I reached for the phone and checked the display. McCaskill, Jonas and Macy. I let the phone fall to the bed beside me, ringing away. I just wasn't ready.
I brushed the tears from my eyes, trying to pretend they didn't exist. Fruitless gesture, but a girl can try, right? My hand strayed to rest on my belly, reminding me all over again why I'd called Jonas for the first time in over two years.
Yeah. Sucks, don't it?
And before I can break the news to him, for better or for worse, he's forced to run back to her side, just like the trained dog that he is. I bet he even falls at her feet, begging forgiveness.
Ah, hell. That's not fair. Despite their rocky marriage and her indifference to him lately, he did love her at one time. I'm jealous and I'm bitter because he doesn't love me like that. And I know that he never really will.
Pregnant or not, I had to make my own way. I'd learned the hard way that you can't depend on a man to help you get what you need. Having one around was nice and handy, but certainly wasn't on my need list. Geez, look where this one got me. And he's not even mine! Not really.
Closing my eyes, I tried to push thoughts of Jonas and what the bad news might be out of my head. I hadn't been sleeping well the last few months. See, once upon a time I'd been pregnant and it hadn't worked out too well, so naturally, the paranoia set in the moment I saw those two pink lines. Granted, I don't have an abusive father or a psychopathic boyfriend to deal with this time around, but still. Things stick.
Then, those three weeks I went without Jonas, without his smile, or his touch, they were pure hell. Cannot count the nights I spent blaming myself and wishing I could change things. Oh, yeah, I can. Twenty-three. Twenty-three long, lonely, horrid days passed before he returned to me. Sorrowful, repentant, and hornier than a sixteen-year-old high school boy. But, um, well, that's something else all together.
And to make things worse, I'd meant to tell him about the baby that night, the night I chased him away by being too needy, by clinging too tightly. But that instinct had kicked in, that need had overcome me. And I could not stop myself.
He never gave me a chance to tell him either. From my first proclamation of, "Stay with me!" he grew angry, surly, and just nasty. Threw things like commitment and obligation at me, reminded me of his duty to her and the vows that he'd made. Things that seemed to vanish into the mist when he was cock-deep between my thighs. It was then, that night that I came to understand I wasn't good enough to be on his arm for the world to see. I was only good for the things he came to me for late in the night. Lucky me. Despite all that, I can't help but be in love with him. I can't help but need him as much as he seems to need her.
And I hate myself for it.
But now, now that part of him is growing deep within me, I know there'll never be a cure.
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