I grab the mail as I walk through my front door, weariness overcoming me. It isn’t so much a physically demanding job—although I do find it hard to be on my feet all day with this baby in my belly—but it’s emotionally pretty demanding on me. I really don’t feel like looking at demanding letters.
“Medical bills.” I shake my head sadly. “I need better fucking insurance, that’s for sure. Who knew that having a baby would turn out to be so damn expensive? Fucking hell, and rent demands as well. I paid my rent!”
But one quick check on my online account shows me that the payment was rejected because I didn’t have enough in the bank on that specific day. Which means I now need to find that money plus the bank fee.
It isn’t just that letter. There are lots of them. I’m sinking. It feels like I’m in quicksand, and it’s rising higher and higher with every passing moment. It creeps up to my neck, and I can almost taste it in my mouth already, filling my lungs, blocking off my air, killing me slowly. I try to gasp in some air, but that just fills me up more with the sand. There’s no escaping it, no way to get out, no solution.
“I need to call him.” My voice is shaky as I admit this to myself. “I’m going to have to. I don’t have a choice.”
But as I pick up my cell phone, I don’t think I can do it. That blockage is still there, the knowledge that he won’t want to speak to me anyway. I’m sure the last thing he wants is to now give me money.
I don’t know what I’m going to do, how I’ll get out of this. It’s a mess. I can’t keep living here in this apartment. It’s costing me too much. I can’t go back to Millie’s now because she doesn’t live there alone anymore, plus I can’t invade her space with a baby, and I can’t go back to New York no matter what. Even if I’m sure Thomas is done with me now, I can’t risk it. I’ll never feel safe, especially not with a baby in tow.
I don’t belong anywhere, I don’t have any options anymore, I’m lost.
I hit the dial button without giving myself another moment to think about it. I barely even understand what I’m doing. I just need something to clear this quicksand away. I tried doing it alone, and it didn’t work.
“Pick up.” I squeeze my stray fist tight. “Please, please pick up.”
But as always, he doesn’t. He never does. Disappointment floods me as I drop the phone to the floor with a thump. However, as it hits the ground, it blasts out its ringtone, and I grab it quickly. I hit answer and press it to my ear without even thinking about. It has to be him. He’s finally given up ignoring me.
“Brock? Oh God, thank you so much for calling me back.”
“No, it isn’t Brock. Actually, it’s . . . um . . . it’s Lucas.”
My heart stops dead in my chest, I have to be suffering through the worst nightmare ever. “L-Lucas?”
“Yeah, I have some stuff I want to talk to you about.”
“How are you calling me? I thought you were in jail.”
“I am in jail. They let me use the phone, you know.”
“And you’re calling me? I don’t understand.”
I slump to the ground, desperately praying this isn’t about to all kick off again. I thought it was over. I assumed we were done. With him locked up, I didn’t think he would be able to contact me again. I don’t want to go through the rigamarole of getting a restraining order again. That was horrible when it came to Thomas.
“I wanted to apologize to you. I was a real asshole.” I’m silent, agreeing with him without words. “I can’t stop thinking about how badly I treated you on that night. It was really fucked up of me. Especially after everything you’ve done. You’ve always been there when no one else was.”
I melt a little, liking that he’s reached out to me to apologize. “Well, that’s nice, Lucas.”
“I really do mean it. You’ve always been so good to me. I appreciate you so much, Jodi.”
I cradle the phone to my ear, needing these comforting words today. “How are you doing in there, Lucas?”
His whole voice changes. “Oh well, not great really. Prison is horrible.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure it isn’t pleasant. But maybe that’s where you need to be right now. To get you off all the drugs and stuff. A detox, that sort of thing. Then you can get your life back on track.”
“Drugs? What the fuck are you talking about, drugs?”
“That’s what you got arrested for, isn’t it? Drugs possession?”
“I was carrying it, not taking it. God, you think so little of me, Jodi.”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue with you. That isn’t what this is about.”
“I actually called you for help, Jodi, but it seems like you’re still wanting to be a little bitch.”