Hate is the only thing you know.
And pretty soon your days stretch on and on and are never ending decades of nothingness. You forget what it’s like to feel. You forget what it’s like to love. And more than anything you feel like you’ll never deserve the kind of love you once had.
I’ve been there.
I’ve been full of hate.
I have had my heart ripped from my chest, feeling like it was hidden somewhere with malicious intent and I was on the biggest scavenger hunt of my life trying to find it again.
I felt the emptiness spread through me like venom.
I beat myself up over the fact that Damien gave up his life for mine. I wished and hoped and prayed that I could have taken his place. I wished and hoped and prayed that I was living the worst nightmare of my life.
But I wasn’t.
What happened was real.
I watched the boy I loved hit his knees and die, thanks to the blast of a gun from my brutal and tyrannical Daddy. I slipped through my loves’ blood and insides and held him in my arms until he took his last breath. Until the warmth seeped out of him and his body turned cold.
It took me awhile to nurse my broken heart back to health after that. Part of me is convinced that I’ll never be the same. But I have been fortunate that I’ve been able to find love twice in my life and I’ll be damned if I let my heart break a second time.
There’s been something going on with Elijah.
He’s been detached, distant.
Ever since I told him I’m expecting his child, with every passing day I feel him pulling farther and farther away.
And I feel like there’s nothing I can do to keep it from happening.
“What’s wrong?” I’ll ask him.
“Nothing,” he’ll answer with a soft smile. Then he’ll kiss my temple and leave the room. And I’ll be left alone in our room with heightened emotions wondered why he’s retreated into his cold, blocked self.
He works a lot too. Stays over after his shift ends. My head suspects the worst, a possible affair, but my heart refuses to let me believe that. After all, I know better than anyone that it’s much easier to live in denial. To live a fantasy world where everything is so so perfect and beautiful when deep down inside I know it isn’t. And it’s all of these thoughts, these feelings, these hormones inside of me that finally make me break. I snap, losing the logical part of myself that tells me I need to trust this man, my husband, the father of my child.
The hospital is quiet when I arrive. The halls are deserted. Fluorescent lights flicker over my head and dance along the cream colored ceramic floors. I start walking down the narrow space and stop twice, talking myself out of acting crazy. I trust him. I trust him. I trust him. I hear the words inside my head, but can’t believe them until I see for myself exactly what is going on. So I walk again. I walk until I come to a fork in the hall and stop in front of the nurse’s station. No one is sitting behind the desk, but standing at the end is Elijah.
And her.
Gretchen, with her curvaceous figure, illustrious blonde hair tucked beneath her white cap, and her ruby red lips.
Gretchen has always had a thing for Elijah. I’m not sure if it began before or after me, but every time I’ve been around her she’s thrown herself at him.
In front of me.
For everyone to see.
And doesn’t hide how bad she wants him. How she secretly wishes that she was in my place, I’m sure.
She’s giggling. She slaps Elijah’s shoulder and I hear him let out a low throaty laugh. The exchange sickens me. I’ve been cooped up all alone carrying his child and this is what he’s doing while he’s at work? I don’t know if it’s the hormones or not, but right now I want to claw her eyes out first and his not too long after. I watch their flirtations continue for another minute before I clear my throat. Gretchen notices me first, her hazel eyes widening as she stares at me before turning back to face Elijah. Then he glances over his shoulder. “Adelaide?”
I can’t even move from my spot. My emotions are scattered all over the place.
I want to scream.
Want to cry.
I want to punch him a million times in the chest.