“Fuck it,” I finally mutter, hitting send.
What’s the worst that can happen?
26
BEATRICE
Unable to ignore my alarm any longer, I roll to the edge of the bed and force myself to my feet.
My entire body protests at the movement.
I’ve barely slept. The music from my neighbors boomed long into the night.
I put earplugs in, but it didn’t help. I’m pretty sure it was vibrating through the walls.
I shuffle through to the bathroom and put the light on. I wince, my eyes slits as I fight to adjust.
“Fucking hell,” I groan as I lower my ass to the toilet.
I’ve got a full day of clients who will be expecting me to be awake and chirpy.
I need to get it together.
I need…coffee. Real coffee.
A pathetic sob rips from my throat as I mourn the fact that I’m destined to live on decaf for the next few months.
I move in slow motion as I get ready for work. I don’t have the energy to do anything with my hair, so it’s pulled up into a messy bun, which I hope my clients see as a style choice, not pure desperation. The only thing I spend any real time on is my makeup, because that is the only thing that could save my day.The last thing I need is everyone looking at me with sympathy. Questions will follow, and I’m not ready to give any answers yet.
I need to. I can already feel my body changing, and it’s only going to become more obvious.
My bras are barely coping, and my tunics are tighter than they’ve ever been. The only thing I’m safe with are my leggings. Those things are my best friends.
I need to go shopping, but that means spending money, and that isn’t a priority right now. I need to save if I’m going to provide a home where my baby can sleep.
I glare at my glass of OJ as I pour it, irritated with it for being so healthy and caffeine-free. I want to do all the right things and ensure I’m giving my baby the best start. But it’s hard. Really fucking hard.
Emotion clogs my throat and tears burn my eyes.
I hate being so emotional when I’m usually pretty stable. But I can’t stop it.
I’m annoying myself, and we’re only a few weeks in.
“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” I whisper, my hand on my stomach. “I promise to do my best to sort myself out by the time you get here.”
I catch the sob that wants to follow that promise. As much as I might say the words, I don’t believe them. I can’t see a way out of this right now.
Forcing my thoughts from my head, I take my prenatal vitamins before throwing some snacks into my purse. I slip my shoes on, another thing I need to replace. My feet throb just like when I took them off last night.
I sink my hand in my tunic pocket for my cell to call a ride, but it’s empty.
“Fucking hell,” I groan before marching back to my bedroom.
I find it in the middle of my bed, where I threw it after finally cancelling my alarm.
“Right. Car. I need a c—” I mutter to myself, but my words dry up when I see the message waiting for me.
Baby Daddy: Good morning. I figured you needed a ride to work. I’m outside.
