I pull back up at the house, body covered in sweat, every muscle aching. I’m pregnant sent every damn childhood memory flooding my mind one after the other like a hit to the head. I couldn’t think, I could barely breathe, and the chill running down my spine almost paralyzed me. It was as if reliving them all over again, from the first time the state worker led me to that house to the day I left and never went back.
That Godforsaken room was there. I could smell the urine filled plastic bottles. I could see the dingy carpet and the messy bed. That spot on the floor I sat day after day staring at the wall, plotting, and wishing like hell I would die came back to me as if I never left. I blacked out, and I’m not one hundred percent sure what all was said from that point forward.
Fear does that to me. My mind forces me to block out everything until I’m able to get my memories under control. Everything becomes physical reflex.
My emotions were stunted at a young age. I’ve only ever been able to work things out internally in the mindset of a child. Normal people learn through experience, feeling, and watching others, through interaction—all things I never had until it was too late.
I spent most of my adolescence locked in a small room, only the necessities at reach, and the only window boarded up from the outside. It was at the back of the house, easily hidden when needed, like to pretend we were a happy fucking family every time a visit from the state occurred.
When everything came back to me, I was sitting in the parking lot of the gym, my trainer already waiting from my call when I walked in the door. Who the fuck knows what all I did when I was out of it.
After knocking him on his ass during hitting practice, I knew I had lost it. I was in a place that’s hard to come back from. Usually only one way, and that’s almost always when I’m getting rid of a body. Somehow control over a life snaps me out of it. I’ve never understood why.
I park in the garage and sit, trying to calm myself down. Pregnant. Fucking Christ.
It can’t exist. There is no other way. I know I’m fucked up. It’s no secret. Kids need things to avoid becoming like me; things that I can’t give. Things that I’ll never understand. The world doesn’t need any more screwed up kids. That’s why I donate so much damn money to help the ones already here, born into this fucked up place—the tormented, the abused, the addicted, the victims. Suicide, drug abuse, sexual abuse, physical abuse, and homeless . . . If there is a fund for it, I’ve donated. That’s as far as I can handle.
Being active physically and emotionally is impossible for me. I don’t understand what people view as good and happy in the world. I only comprehend the bad and the ugly, the pain.
I can barely stomach to be touched by anyone other than Delta, and even that still takes work. I would never damn a child to becoming part of my Hell.
I have Delta. Delta is enough. She’s mine. All mine. In some fucked-up way she gets me. She knows when to push and when to stop. She smothers the solitude without forcing me to wade into a sea of people. I can’t lose her.
Kids require attention. They’re unpredictable. They’re hard to control. They change people. She can’t change. I have no business being a father. Replicating my DNA is a mistake. I know this. It would barely survive, certainly never thrive. I’m willing to put it out of its misery before it’s too late. Before there is no way to back out. Before everything is different, ruined. She’ll understand. She always does.
I run my fingers through my hair before finally getting out of the truck, making my way inside. The house is eerily quiet. Every light is off. I search every room, no visible sight of her. Nothing is out of place. Everything is the way it was when I left.
I run upstairs. Still nothing. The door to her old room is open when usually it’s closed. I walk inside and halt. Drawers are cracked open and empty. The closet is bare. Everything else of hers is still here, but her suitcase is missing.
I run to my room, pulling open the drawer she keeps a few of her most used things in so that she doesn’t have to go upstairs for everything. It too has been cleaned out except for a small piece of paper. I grab it and unfold the two sides.
I choose more.
What the fuck is more? She’s gone? But she chose to stay . . .
I don’t fucking understand! I grip my hair and pull, a roar tearing from my chest. My head is spinning. My heart is pounding. My nerves are on edge. I shove over the dresser, slinging everything to the floor. A punch to the wall follows with enough force that my fist surges through it, Sheetrock crumbling. Then I do it again, and again, until a section of the wall resembles Swiss cheese.
I grab the mattress and shove if off the box spring, looking for the handgun I keep between. When my nerves are overworked, taking apart and cleaning guns is the quickest thing to calm them.
Resting on top of the solid black piece is a small white square, the center dark. I grab it and turn on the light, the sun already setting. I look it over, trying to figure out what the hell it is. Her name is in the top left corner, other information that makes no sense across the top. The date stands out. Then something she said comes back to me. “I’m eight weeks now. I was six at the ultrasound.”
I stare at the middle, my eyes lingering on the small gray center in the midst of blackness. That’s it? That’s what it looks like? That’s our kid?
My knees buckle, forcing me to sit. My eyes won’t move, but my hand finds my phone and without looking, I attempt to call. As it tries to connect against my ear, I continue to stare, zoned out enough that it doesn’t immediately register as the automated message plays in my ear.
The mobile number you are attempting to reach is currently unavailable. Please try your call again later.
What? I hang up and try again. Same message. I try Kaston. He answers on the second ring. “I figured I’d hear from you.”
“Delta there?”
“Yeah, but Kross—”
“I’ll be right there.”
I disconnect the call before he can finish what he was going to say. I need answers and I need them now.
I barely put the truck in park before jumping out, storming up to the door. I beat on it, not letting up until finally, it opens.
It swings open with so much force that I have to re-balance myself to avoid falling forward. Kaston is not the one on the other side. Instead, it’s a pissed off female. Anger I understand. “Where’s Delta?”
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You’ve done enough.”
“Send her out here or I’m coming in.”
“Look here, asshole. You may scare a lot of people, but you don’t scare me. You come knocking on my door and making demands, your ass can go right back to where it came from. She’s my friend. I’ve been in her life a lot longer than you. She’s upset. She needs a break. You can see her at work, but not today.”
“I’m not in the mood for your shit, Lux. I’m being respectful, but you’re inserting yourself into my business. Send her out here.”
She stands taller. “No.”
I step forward, closing in on her. “Unless you plan on assuming legal and financial responsibility for the thing she’s carrying, stay out of it and let me handle my shit,” I grit.
Her palm makes contact with my cheek. The tingling skin sends rage shooting through my veins in a way I haven’t felt in a long time, and before I can control my feet, they move closer, crossing the threshold, my hands clenched into tight fists.
Red begins blurring my vision. A hand clenches around my neck and shoves me back. “Outside, Kross. Take a walk,” Kaston spits, pulling Lux out of the way. “Get inside, Lux, fuck.”
He slams the door, stomping toward me. My vision starts to clear with her out of sight. “Your old lady has a set of balls, Kaston.”
“Her temper is about as short as yours. Calm the fuck down,” he barks, pointing toward my truck. “Over there, because if you hurt mine, we’re going to have problems.”
I crack my neck side-to-side, my angry eyes locked with his sending a warning my way; the same one I’d be giving if the situation were in reverse.
I turn and march to my truck, placing my palms gripped over the side of the bed, leaning over until I’m seething toward the ground. “I’m losing my shit.”
“You need to give her space, Kross.”
I bang my head against the panel of the truck, trying to make sense of everything. “I need to talk to her. Her shit is gone. It’s supposed to be there. I’m used to it being there. I will fucking kill someone, Kaston, and that cocksucker at the strip club is first on my list. You know I will.”
“She’s here where you know nothing will happen to her. Breathe. Then you can tell me what the fuck you said or did to her to cause her to look like she did when she got here. She hasn’t left her room since Lux showed her to the guesthouse out back. She asked me for a job. Delta asked me for a job. It could be just me, but I don’t see a girl like Delta wanting to answer phones and do busy work as a career when she is apprenticing under you, unless it’s a damn good reason.”
My head snaps up. “Like hell she is. Kaston, I swear to God!”
He holds his hands up. “Don’t threaten me. What the fuck did you do?”
I run both hands through my hair, frustrated. “I told her to abort it.”
“Fuck, Kross, you can’t take a woman’s options away and expect her to stay.”
“A man deserves to know when she’s not on birth control. I was nutting blind.”
He turns around, leaning his back against my truck. “But you’re the asshole that assumes birth control never fails?”
“At least I would have had the option to decide!” He crosses his arms over his chest, seeming at ease and pissing me off more. “What? You should be on my side. What if Lux did that shit? I don’t need a kid, Kaston. I wouldn’t even know what to do with one. Guys like us don’t have families. We’re thieves, murderers, and monsters. We’re criminals for fuck’s sake. We go against moral code. We don’t go to birthday parties and parent-teacher conferences. I’m emotionally retarded,” I admit aloud for the first time. “I can’t connect with people. She told me she loved me and I felt nothing.”
The stress is wearing on me, becoming too much for me to handle.
He breathes out. “For one, I’d be pretty damn happy if Lux got pregnant. I’m obsessed enough to marry her, why not mark her in every way by knocking her up? But it’s impossible. She took away my choice before I was in the picture. And who said guys like us don’t have families? My dad raised me just fine. I never knew what kind of shit he was doing on the side until I was older. The key is keeping it separate. Just because we do bad shit doesn’t mean we’ll be bad at parenting.”
He turns, propping his forearms on the bed of my truck and looks at me. “Let me ask you something. How many women have you nut inside of, aside from Delta?”
My jaw locks. I look away, every muscle in my arms tense. The revulsion sets in. “Kross, I can’t help you—”
“One, and not by choice.”
I look back at him, waiting for the fucking question to come that I don’t want to hear, let alone answer. He’s staring at me. I don’t like this whole confession shit. It’s not me. Pity pisses me off. “Did wrapping it up or pulling out ever cross your mind when you were with her? Before, during, or after? With Delta. I’m not going to ask you questions about the other. It’s none of my fucking business, but if you need a hit, I’ll gladly take it. On the house . . .”
“It’s already done.”
“Understood. Moving on.”
“No.”
“Then I think it’s pretty obvious you feel something. I don’t know much of your backstory. My dad taught me a long time ago not to go digging in someone’s closet without cause, but I’ve sensed for a while you were dealt a shitty hand. We’ve known each other a while. I’d like to think we’re friends where business isn’t concerned. That entitles me to a little personal honesty every once in a while. Just because you don’t understand how you feel doesn’t mean you feel nothing. We both know if she was nothing you wouldn’t be here in a psychotic rage trying to beat down my door.”
He pushes off the truck, taking a few steps back. “Love is only obvious if you’ve experienced it before.”
He turns and begins walking toward the house and the panic starts back up again. “I need to see her, Kaston. She’s not answering her phone.”
He doesn’t stop or turn around. “Give her time, Kross. Go home. Get your shit together. The thing you need to decide is do you want both or neither, because she’s made it clear it’s a package deal.”
Home? Alone? I don’t want to go home alone. “Kaston!”
“I’ll watch her, Kross.”
Then he disappears inside. Back at square one. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
