by Jaci J
“Lil.” She jumps and spins around, an arm covering her naked tits. Her eyes are huge when she looks at me. I want to look into her eyes, but I can’t. Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit. Breathe. Breathe. I remind myself to breathe. In and out, deep breathes.
It’s been months since I’ve seen her naked body. It’s been so goddamn long. I can’t stop staring. I’m stuck. So fucking stuck.
“Tank,” she clips. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I feel fucking dizzy. I need to sit down. Yeah sitting down might be good. Backing up a few steps my legs find the bed and my ass finds a seat.
No fucking way. No fucking way. She catches my eyes and turns around quickly hiding herself from me. For a long moment I try to put shit together. I try to make sense of it all.
“Turn back around Lil.” She doesn’t say anything and she sure the fuck doesn’t turn around.
“Look at me.” I demand harshly. She sighs deeply and with an annoyed groan and an arm securely covering her tits, she turns back around slowly. Her eyes are narrowed now, her mouth tight and pissed. In those eyes, she’s nervous and unsure. Her other hand is rested on her stomach protectively, shielding it. A tiny rounded stomach.
“You’re …. Fuck … You’re fuckin’ pregnant?” I choke out. I choke on the fucking words. I choke and forget to breathe.
****
I’m now sitting on a stool in her kitchen, staring at her stomach. I’m not even fucking sure how I got down here in the first place. So I stare, because I’ve no fucking clue what else to do. I asked if she was pregnant and she gave me an obvious eye roll and marched that ass right on past me. Now I’m stuck here in a house that does not, in any way, say Lil, while sitting on an uncomfortable ass stool, trying figure this shit out. A million questions fly around in my head, but nothing is coming out of my mouth. Pretty sure I’ve opened and closed it six or seven times, but each time I choke.
Nothing makes sense. I watch her move. I watch her body, her face and those fucking eyes for something to point me in the right direction, but she avoids me. She’s fucking pregnant. My girl is going to have a baby. She’s gonna be a fucking mom. I’m finding this all fucking crazy and hard to swallow. Opening up a cabinet, I see a row of neatly lined bottles. Bottles. Not beer bottle or wine bottles. Fucking baby bottles. Suddenly I find my voice. All my shit just starts flowing out.
“Why didn’t you fuckin’ tell me?”
Turning around slowly, she looks at me like I’ve just asked her that shit in Spanish.
“Why?” She repeats slowly her mouth turned down.
“You heard me. You tryin’ to keep that shit from me?” A look of utter hatred flashes across her face as soon as the words leave my mouth. She visibly flinches. Too late, it was the wrong thing to say. With a quick jerk of her hand, she slams a plate down on the kitchen counter, and she comes out swinging. The plate crashes on the counter, breaking into pieces all around her, but she’s clutching that broken plate in her shaky hands like it’s her last hope, as if her life depends on it.
“I fuckin’ tried! How the fuck would I have told you? You were gone.” She yells at me. Her eyes are wild and her face so goddamn hurt and angry it burns all the way to my soul.
Taking a ragged breath, she shakes her head and I watch her reel it back in. She stands there silent, pulling herself together.
“I tried. You wouldn’t see me or talk to me.” Her voice cracks and she chokes on a sob. I have to take a deep breath to calm down. I’m watching her heart break and that shit breaks me, but I need to know. I need to know what the fuck she was gonna do about this baby.
“Shoulda told a brother. They would have got the message to me. I shoulda known this shit, baby.”
She scoffs, snorting a humorless laugh. Her eyes are so goddamn sad and broken, that full of life look to them is gone.
“You don’t fuckin’ get it.”
“Wanna try me Lil? If I never showed up here, were you ever gonna tell me?”
“You really think I wouldn’t tell you? Fuck. You really think that little of me? I didn’t want everyone to know before you. I wanted to be the one to tell you. I wanted to share that shit with you. Not one of guys while you were sittin’ in a fuckin’ cell. It’s our baby, not theirs. I wanted you to hear this from me. Jesus Christ!”
“Lil, is that my baby?” I ask the one fucking question eating away at me. I know she said our baby, but it doesn’t register with me.
She looks fucking shocked. Another choked sob escapes her lips and tears well up in her eyes. Again, wrong fucking question. I’m a dumb motherfucker.
I know it’s my baby. I just need to hear here her say it. I want to hear her say it.
“It’s my baby.” she forces out. Picking up another plate, she smashes that one too. All of her hate for me is evident in her body, in the way she looks at me, and in how she talks to me. I broke her. I fucking broke the only person I have ever loved. I broke my girl.
“Get out.” She whispers.
“Lil, baby.” I can’t leave here with her looking at me like that. We’ve got shit to figure out.
“Out!” She points to the door. Her chest is heaving and her finger’s shaking.
“Fuck that shit Lil. Not leavin’.”
“Get the fuck out!” She screams at me with tears running down her face. Picking up a cup, she hurls it right past my head. Hitting the wall it explodes, pieces of glass flying everywhere. I fucked shit up so goddamn bad …
****
Space. Lots and lots of fucking space, that’s what I’m giving her. If that’s what she needs, she’s getting it. She wants that shit, she can have it. I’ll give it to her in spades. She wants support, fine. She wants some money, okay. She needs me, I’m right here. I’ll do whatever the fuck she wants. I’m just trying my fucking hardest to get shit back to right with her. I have to fix shit for her and this baby.
That baby. My baby. Our baby. It’s the craziest notion. We’re going to be parents. The moment you hear it, or in my case, see that your girl is pregnant, an array of emotions goes through you. From one end to the spectrum to the other, there isn’t a fucking emotion you don’t feel. And it’s a fucking shit show. I’m living the fucking shit show.
The first act of the emotional shit show is Denial. There is no fucking way I’m going to be a dad. I have twelve plus years of fucking various women under my belt and not once in that time have I heard the words, “I’m pregnant.” I can’t get anyone pregnant. That shit doesn’t happen to me. That baby isn’t mine, but you keep that shit to yourself. Of course nine times out of ten, she’s not lying and that baby is sure as shit yours. I spent that twenty-four hours high as a kite, locked in my room.
The second emotion is probably Blame. Something along the lines of “the bitch is lying” probably crosses your mind. The bitch did this on purpose to trap me. She didn’t take her pill, poked holes in the condom, or seduced me. Either way, it’s your goddamn fault ‘cause you didn’t ask or do shit to stop it. You fucked that girl and you remember every amazing fucking second of it. Of course you usually don’t verbalize these thoughts either, unless you’re looking to have your dick removed, then maybe you’re stupid enough to say it out loud. In my case, she wasn’t lying, she had clear proof.
The third emotion is pure unadulterated Fear. It’s the scared shitless kind of fear. Damn near want to cry, fear, pack your shit run for the hills fear. I can’t be a dad. I’ve got too much other shit to do, to see. How can I fit a baby into my life? I’ve got too much partying going on for this shit, too many beers to drink, too many blunts to smoke, and too much riding to do, in my case. Basically, a baby will cramp the fuck out of your style, and your life will never be the same.
The fourth emotion in your shit show is Guilt. This is a big one. This is when you’ve finally accepted that you’re going to be a dad. Your baby is coming one way or another, and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it now. This usually happens when you see that positive test, when you hear the doctor
confirm it, see an ultrasound, hear a heartbeat, or in my case, see the physical evidence on your girl. You start feeling guilty for all the bad shit you were thinking before you knew for sure. You feel bad for thinking the girl that’s having your baby is dirty enough to cheat. You feel like shit for blaming her when you were right there fucking her, condom be damned. You feel bad for wishing the baby away. You feel like shit for the bad things you did before she said baby.
All the drugs and alcohol you’ve consumed, worried you’ll pass that shit on to your baby. You’re feeling bad for all the nasty bitches before his or her mom. All your bad habits start to weigh heavy on you. You feel guilty that you’re a shit guy and how in the fuck am I supposed to raise a productive member of society when I’m one of the biggest fuck ups in it? I know nothing about kids, let alone little crying babies. You worry about how you’ll support a child, and not just financially, but emotionally. You worry about your parenting abilities. That’s a pretty scary step on the shit show line up.
So far, I’ve gone through them all. Right now, I’m finally able to say and think the word baby without wanting a drink. I’m going to be fucking dad …
****
It’s been two weeks and shit’s running smoothly with my brothers. A few lines on some blow secured, also got some other shit locked down. In talks with patching in some new brothers and I got a better lawyer for Low. Shit is finally falling into place with my club. I’ve just gotta get my baby back.
****
Walking into the kitchen at the club, I walk in on something that makes me smile and it also hits a spot in me that hurts so fucking bad it makes it hard to see straight. Lil finally started coming back around. Shit makes me happy to see her, even if she won’t look at me or talk to me. At least I know she’s okay and I get to be around her. I don’t deserve it, but at the very least, I get to see her.
Walking in, she’s leaning against the counter, smiling and laughing softly. She’s wearing a tight pink tee that shows off that tiny ass stomach of hers. If I hadn’t spent endless hours all over that body, I wouldn’t have noticed that stomach. But I have and I see it. Her face is lit up and happy, just like I like it. Miss that shit. Miss it so fucking much.
Peaches is leaning into her, touching her stomach while they both talk quietly to each other. That shit should be me. That’s my girl and my baby. I should be the one loving the both of them.
Looking up at me, they both stop smiling. Those happy faces slip into ones of scathing hate. Lil hates me and Peaches definitely still hates me. I hate that she looks at me like that now. I hate that she still doesn’t want anything to do with me.
14
Confessions
Lil
How did we get here? How the fuck did I let things go this far? He went from being my best friend and the most important person in my life to a fuckin’ stranger. He’s turned into someone I want out of my life and at the same time I want to throw myself at. How did we end up standing in a room together staring like we don’t know each other? It hurts to be this distant. This is the second time I’ve seen Tank since the night I lost my shit. I pretty much had an emotional melt down in my kitchen. Everything had just built up, and seeing him had made it all boil over, especially asking such a dumb fucking question. I went crazy pregnant girl on his ass. I feel good and bad about it.
Walking into the kitchen, he leans himself against the counter and stares at me. Those beautiful blue eyes are sad and haunted. Part of me wants to ignore him, tell him to get the fuck out of here and leave me the hell alone. A bigger, sadder, part of me wants to throw myself at him and cry like a giant ass baby.
“Can we talk?” He asks cautiously. There’s an emotion on his face that I’ve never seen before; uncertainty. He’s always been confident and sure of himself. Always bossy to the point of cocky. The man in front of me is anything but.
“Yeah.”
Sitting at the butcher block island, he leans against it across from me, careful to keep a safe distance. I’m not sure if I should be thankful for that or heartbroken that he’s finally understanding that as much as I want him near me, I don’t need it.
“Gotta tell ya some shit baby.”
“I thought we were gonna be talkin’?”
He asks can we talk, yet he says he’s got to tell me shit. Figures it’ll be him doing the talking. Giving me that smirk I loved to hate, he shrugs.
“Okay so imma talk, you’re gonna listen, then you can talk if ya want to.” Bossy fucking asshole. Some things never change.
Waving my hand for him to go on, he sighs heavily. Straightening his shoulders, he looks me in the eyes, takes a deep breath and prepares for war.
Giving me a look he says, “Please let me say this shit. I gotta get it out.”
“Fine. Talk.”
“I’m sorry baby. So fuckin’ sorry. I fucked shit up n’ I let you down babe. I broke somethin’ in you I can never fix n’ I hate myself for that shit. I did some shit I’m not proud of. I hurt you n’ I’m not gonna say I didn’t mean to, because that’s exactly what I was tryin’ to do. I was hurtin’ n’ wanted everyone around me to be as miserable as I was. I just never meant for this shit to get here though. I let shit go too far. I broke your trust n’ your heart, that wasn’t something I was tryin’ to do. For that shit, I am sorry.” I listen to him talk. His deep, rough voice is softer then I have ever heard it. It makes my heart hurt for him. He looks lost.
“I love you Lil. I really fuckin’ do. I’ll always fuckin’ love you.” When he says he loves me the tears start to well up.
“Shit just ain’t the same without you baby. Treatin’ you the way I did was fucked up. I shoulda never taken my shit out on you. If I could, I’d take all that shit back.”
God I wish it could all be taken back, but it can’t and we both have to live with it.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to take me back. I just hope you’ll let me be a part of you n’ the baby’s lives somehow. I just wanna know you both. Whatever time you’ll give me, I’ll take it. So please don’t shut me out of that little part of your life. Please. I don’t wanna miss anything.”
Oh God, my heart cracks. That painfully raw spot aches and burns with his words.
“I’ll leave you alone babe. As much as it’ll kill me, I’ll let you live your life. I really will. You need me, I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. Whatever, whenever baby.”
“Okay.” Is all I can manage to choke out before it turns into a full blown sob. My eyes sting with unshed tears as my heart aches and beats wildly in my chest. Giving me a soft smile he nods down at my stomach, his eyes are on my hand. My hand is rested there on my small bump. Something I’ve noticed I do often now that’s just become habit. I don’t even think about it anymore. I guess it helps me to feel close to my baby.
Before I can answer him, Tank takes three large steps toward me and reaches his large rough hand out towards me. Placing it lightly on my stomach he smiles and laughs softly. This is the first time he’s touched the baby. It’s a painful thing for me to watch; A sad moment. This should be a happy time. This should be out of love and not guilt. For a moment he just stares with a smile on those lips and an easiness in his eyes. He looks me over and takes it all in. Looking up at me nods approvingly.
“Shit looks good on you baby. You make it look fuckin’ perfect.”
****
There are four of them here this time. Last time I came, there was only one. I could handle one. I can’t do four of them right now. Holding hands, smiling, rubbing bellies, I can’t fucking handle the cute couples. The sweet families, they make me sick. The guy directly in front of me won’t keep his hands off his wife. Want to know how I know it’s his wife? Because she’s wearing a three carat ring, while he’s got a gold band on. Oh, and when she says jump, he asks, “How high?” Pussy. Instantly I hate them.
I want that. That should be me. I don’t want to be alone here. I want Tank here with me. After our “li
ttle talk”, I miss Tank more than ever. It fucking sucks because I’m not ready to let him back in or forgive him. He can’t have my heart back ‘cause the fucking asshole doesn’t deserve it. I want to hang on to that hate. I need it.
I desperately want to go back. Back before that night fucked up everything. Every once in a while, I catch myself feeling bad for killing Josh, but not anymore. I won’t allow myself to feel sorry for that piece of shit. He fucking ruined my life, twice. He fucked everything up for me. He took away Tank, my chance at a fucking family, something I deserve. I just want my life back.
The office door opens and the receptionist with the overly painted pouty lips calls me back. I stuff my sad ass thoughts down and stand up.
“Miss. Cruz, come on back.”
****
I see Tank almost every day now. These past few weeks I’ve noticed a change in him. I haven’t seen him drink. He’s been completely focused on the club and work. He checks in on me daily, but gives me my space. It’s always a quick and kind, “You alright? You need anything?” I see the old Tank coming back and I so desperately want that. Since our talk, I’m creeping up on eighteen weeks now, and things are slowly going back to normal. My heart still hurts every night when I go home alone to a place that doesn’t feel like home and crawl into that bed that’s missing Tank. I hate waking up alone and cold. Nothing feels right without him, yet slowly life is going back to normal, even if it’s alone.
Two nights ago, I felt my baby move for the first time and it was amazing. It was just a small flutter, but I felt it right where my hand was resting while lying in bed. I cried myself to sleep that night. I cried because I was so fucking mad and hurt that Tank wasn’t there to share it with me. Mad that he pushed me so much that we ended up here. It was only a little kick I could feel on the inside, but it would have been nice to have him there to tell him about it. I wanted to share that kind of stuff with him. I cried because I was excited and happy too. I cried for the whole fucking situation.
