Shattered and Shaken Read online

  After I eat lunch, I fall asleep the rest of the day. My body’s officially taking control. When I open my eyes, it's morning, and my bladder is about ready to rupture. Going into the bathroom, I reach under the vanity and remove one of the pregnancy tests, guiding it into my stream as I release my bladder. I place the test on to the counter and grab another one. I piss enough to fill a creek. I decide it's better to take two, just for confirmation. These two tests are different from the first one I took. These tests don't outright tell you “pregnant” or “not pregnant”, they give you lines. One line represents negative results, and two lines confirm your unexpected surprise.

  This time instead of pacing the floor and counting, I set the alarm and put in my ear buds and play “Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke. Once the song's over, it's time to check the sticks. Nervously walking to the bathroom, I peek at the test expecting them to be negative, and then I quickly do a double-take as bile rises into my throat and all air escapes my lungs. My knees collide with the tile as my eyes take in four bright pink lines. I'm fucking pregnant.

  This is terrible! I haven't got a job, nor did I have any intentions on finding one anytime soon. Blake's still a resident, and my mother's going to flip out, and Wyatt, he's going to hate me. If there was any chance of Wyatt and me ever having a future, we don't anymore. I refuse to terminate the pregnancy. I can’t do that, especially when I enjoyed the conception part. And I can't grow a human inside my womb and give it away for someone else to raise. Again, I'm screwed.

  I consider calling Blake and telling him the news, but, hell, I’m too chicken-shit. I'll wait until I have my first appointment; that'll be my final confirmation. Then I'll tell him. He will make a great father and a magnificent husband, but is that really what he wants? The thought of having children has never crossed my mind. I've always pictured myself being a single successful psychologist, but Blake changed my outlook on life. Deep down, I smile at the thought of us being a family, but is it unrealistic to believe in happy endings?

  Happy endings don't exist for me; never have. I convinced myself of that a long time ago. I need to tell someone; the news is eating me up, but I have no idea who I can confide in. I'm not ready for Blake to find out because I can’t bear to see disappointment cross his face, and Sophie can't keep secrets. I'm not ready to be lectured by Mom, and Wyatt, well, obviously, I can't tell him, but I need to tell someone. Sheesh, I just saw the lines not even ten minutes ago and I'm acting as if my stomach’s going to balloon up by tomorrow. I can hide it for a few months, at least until Wyatt finds a place to live; that way I don't have to stare at his broken-hearted baby blues. What I'm going to do right now is get dressed, put on some make-up, and pretend I never took a pregnancy test. This baby doesn't exist, yet.

  “Hey Butterfly,” Wyatt's walking through the front door holding brown paper bags. “You goin' somewhere?”

  Trying to avoid eye contact, I pretend to look for something deep within my purse. “Yeah, my bestie just got back from vacation, so I'm headed to her apartment to catch up,” I inform him.

  He reaches under my chin and tilts my head back. “Oh,” he frowns, “that's a shame, really. I bought ice cream, and not any kind of ice cream, cookie dough.” His gaze is filled with pride. After all of these years, he still remembers my favorite flavor.

  “C'mon, you know you can't turn it away. It'd be sinful of you did,” he tries to convince me as he pulls the carton from the bag.

  He's right; it would be a sin for me to deny it. Plus, this is the first time anything has been appealing to me, everything else makes me nauseous. “Okay, but you can't have any. Well, maybe a scoop, but that's it,” I say, pointing my finger at his face.

  He throws his head back in laughter. “Got it,” he acknowledges, pinching my ass as he stalks past me towards the kitchen. I wait for him on the couch, kicking off my shoes and pulling my hair up into a loose bun, ready to dig in. He returns moments later with the carton and two spoons. “I figured since you're going to eat it all, there's no need to dirty any dishes.” He sits on the end table in front of me and holds the carton in his hands. “Dig in beautiful,” he instructs, his voice soft and husky.

  He doesn't have to tell me twice. I spoon a scoop-size bite and lick it from the spoon. “Thank you.”

  He looks at me confused, scrunching his eyebrows. “For what?” he asks. He's so considerate of me that he doesn't realize what he's done. “For taking care of me while I'm sick. For listening to me, for protecting Kyle, and for living… for me.” The last words are difficult to get out. I will not cry.

  He sucks in a breath and sets the ice cream on the table. He takes the spoon from my hand and eats the ice cream. He swallows, leans forward, and places his hands on my knees. “You don't have to thank me for loving you. I live for you, Allie. I always will. I've already told you that I'll fight for you until you are no more, or until I'm no more. I'll never give up, and I'll never stop loving you, no matter what happens,” he declares. He drops to his knees in front of me and takes my hands in his. “Forgive me, please,” he pleads.

  Forgive him? I forgave him when he explained to me why he left, how he tried to protect me from losing Kyle. “I already have,” I breathe. He brings my hands to his lips and kisses each knuckle individually.

  “I'm going to ask you this once, and be sure to answer honestly because I won't ask you again; there'll be no going back, okay?” He's beginning to frighten me. Wyatt's a strong independent man, but as I look at him, that man has vanished. Looking into his eyes, I see a desperate, guilt-filled terrified man. My eyes sting as I nod, assuring him I'll be honest. He inhales before he continues. “You still love me, I know that much without asking... but have you truly given up on me, Allie?” His voice breaks at the end as he swallows hard.

  I can't answer him. I climb over the back of the couch and pace the floor, but he captures me from behind. His fingers travel up my arm until he reaches my neck. He bends so our faces are side-by-side; his other hand's wrapped around my waist, his thumb tracing back and forth beneath my navel. “Answer me, please,” he pleads, his voice still shaky. He pulls his face back and rests his mouth below my ear. “Please, tell me you haven't given up on me, on us,” he whispers.

  His touch has my brain paralyzed, and I can't tell him I've given up on him. Even though I love Blake, and want to start this family with him, I can't help but want the same with Wyatt, with our little girl; however, it'll never happen. Deep down, I know we're destined to be together. “I'm pregnant, Wyatt,” I announce. I hear his breath catch next to my ear, like he's been kicked in the throat. His arms fall from me as he turns his back on me and storms across the room.

  He stills and places his hands on his hips, letting out hurtful chuckles. “You're what? No, no you're not...” he denies, tears leaking from the ocean beneath his eyelids.

  My throat constricts and prevents me from swallowing. “I am,” I squeak, wetness covering my entire face. His head drops, and he begins to sob. The sobs I hear coming from him resemble the one my mother let out when we found out about Kyle. It tears me apart little by little with each gasp and sniffle that comes from him.

  Running to him, I attempt to comfort him, wrap myself around him, but he pushes me away. “Fuck! No, just stop,” he sobs. He brings his fists up to either side of his head and squeezes his eyes shut as if he's lost in a nightmare. I know the feeling all too well.

  “I'm sorry.” I didn't want him to find out, not now.

  “How could you? After what I did, what I went through to return to you. Why?” he screams. Wow, low blow. My eyes narrow and my fists clinch as he questions me, my nails digging into my palms. He’s screaming at me as if it’s my fault; he fucking left me, left us! Running to him I rear back and bitch-slap him so hard his teeth chatter.

  “Really? You're asking me, how could I? How could you? This would've never have happened if you would've just told me where you were going! I loved you, Wyatt, I still love you! I would've waited...” I ass
ure him, sobbing uncontrollably. I would have waited for him. I never wanted him to leave.

  He falls to his knees. "It was supposed to be me, Allie. You're supposed to have a family with me, with me, dammit!" His sobs almost muffle his words.

  I go over and kneel in front of him. "It was you, Wyatt," I whisper.

  He lifts his eyes to mine. "What? What do you mean, Allie?" How can I tell him what I did without hating him again, without hating myself? "Fuck Allie, tell me what you mean!" he shouts.

  "We had a baby, Wyatt! I had a baby, by myself, as in without you! You left me!" I feel sick, but my anger pushes aside the need to vomit.

  “How? I've been gone for over four years. How? Kyle never mentioned anything about you being pregnant," he heaves.

  "The night you used me, filled me with your… seed- that's how, Wyatt. And Kyle didn't know. Mom and I kept it a secret from him, from everyone." The past always comes back to haunt you, no matter what you do or why you do it, it haunts you.

  He stands to his feet. "Where's the baby, is it okay?" Oh, now, he's concerned.

  "I don't know! I gave her away, Wyatt. I gave her away," I sob.

  His face turns beet red, and the veins in his forearms and neck bulge. "What the fuck for? You can't just have my baby and then give it away! How could you be so fucking selfish? How do I get her back?" he asks seriously. What in the fuck makes him think he can tell me what I can and cannot do? I did the only thing I knew to do. I was getting ready to attend college; I had no job, no money. She’s a spitting image of Wyatt, with her baby blue eyes and dark hair. There’s no way I could’ve raised her on my own. I was terrified I would have resented her by staring into the face of her father every day of my life. I didn’t see me when I looked at her; I only saw him. Memories of that beautiful little girl haunt me every time I close my fucking eyes.

  “You can't. It was a closed adoption."

  He takes my face between his hands, brings his forehead to mine. His teeth grind and he hisses through them, “You know what I said about not giving up on you? Fuck that, I'm done.” He stalks to the front door, slings it open, and slams it behind him as he leaves. I snort between the sob that’s threatening to escape. He’s done it again, and I’m not surprised; it's what he's best at, leaving me behind.

  What I need is for someone to hold me and tell me that everything’s going to be okay, but that will never be Wyatt; he isn't capable of comforting anyone. How could I have let myself be fooled!

  When I hear Wyatt pull out of the driveway, I run to my room and jump into bed. I put in my earphones and go through my playlists on my iPod. I pick one without looking. As soon as I hear Ron Pope's voice sing “A drop in the ocean”, an ocean leaks from my eyes. This is not the song I need to hear right now. The words are like salt to an open wound. Can someone slice me in two and give half of me to Wyatt and the other to Blake? Can the two of them be combined into one? My decision should be easy because I'm having Blake's baby, right? And I love him. But it's not as easy as that. God, I wish it was. It’s so hard to let Wyatt go; I don’t know if I can. They both offer things I can't live without, but I can't toy with their hearts. It’s wrong on so many levels. I know this, and I feel like shit about it, yet I can't see my life without either one of them in it. How in the hell do I move on if my heart’s divided?

  When you're born, the hospital should provide you with a manual, an instruction guide, something. Life would be a hell of a lot easier. My mind flashes back to the other night as I helped Wyatt up the steps and he muttered, “You can be with who you want, but he'll never be who you need.” Is he right? More than likely, yes. My heart aches at the thought of hurting Blake; he’s an innocent by stander in the middle of a gun fight. He’s done nothing wrong, yet he’s the one who may get harmed. God help me. I can’t hurt him, I love him, but do I love him more than Wyatt? Fuck! What do I do? I've never asked so many questions in my entire twenty-two and a half years. I’m so tired, tired of it all.

  It's early in the evening and I'm physically and emotionally exhausted. I'm ready for bed. I lie here and stare at the ceiling as music flows through my ears. I try to focus on singing along with the bands, but my mind won't shut off. Question after question arises, and there's nothing I can do to prevent them! I'll be damned if I start crying again, this emotional shit must be part of the pregnancy. All I seem to do is cry; it's played out. From here on out, water is my enemy. I refuse to fuel my tears.

  I've tossed and turned for hours. Getting out of bed, I walk to my window to see if Wyatt's returned, but he hasn't. The clock reads 11:45pm and he should be back already. He must have gone to Willie's; that's where he went the night he came home drunk. I only hope he doesn't decide to drive home. Now, I’m concerned; I punch his number into my phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. I wait a few minutes and try again, voicemail again. Okay, now, I'm panicking; he always answers for me on the first ring, every time. Not that I call him often, but when I do, he answers immediately.

  I'm still dressed in the clothes I put on earlier, so I tighten my hair tie, slip on some flip-flops, grab my keys and sprint to my car. Hopping in I fumble with my seatbelt in urgency, but I can’t get the damn thing buckled - fuck it. I start the engine and speed out of the driveway.

  The entire way to Willie's, I skim the road for any sign of him, praying I don't see his Jeep wrapped around a telephone pole. Finally, I pull into Willie's, but his Jeep isn't in the parking lot. Leaving my car running, I run inside to scan the bar, just to make sure I’m not missing his car; he isn't here. Shit. I hop back in the car and call him one last time. “Hey, you've reached Wyatt. Leave a message and I'll call you back,” followed by a beep. Stammering, I decide to leave a message. “Hey, it's me. I'm really sorry our argument ended the way it did, but I'm really worried about you.” I pause to catch my tears. “It's late and I haven't heard from you... Will you call me if you get this, please?” I hang up.

  There's nothing open in Jacksonville, and outside of Jacksonville, there's numerous places he could be. I could search for him, but if he wanted to be found, he'd answer his phone, or at least have it powered on. My vision’s blurred and my eyes are heavy with tears; it's challenging trying to focus on the road. Sophie’s apartment is close, so I'll stop there and calm down, maybe spend the night. It's now one in the morning, but it's a Friday night and I'm positive my party girl is awake. I have to tell her everything that's happening. Even though I'm concerned about her telling Blake before I have the chance, if I hold it in any longer, I’m going to burst. Plus, Sophie's the friend that comforts me; she'll give me what I need. She's an amazing liar. She'll hold me, pat my hair, and tell me that everything's going to be just fine, even when we know it isn't.

  Chapter Nineteen

  PULLING INTO THE COMPLEX’S parking lot, I search for a parking space. Once I spot one in front of her building, I pull in, put the car in park, and silence the engine. I'm not ready. What if she gets angry with me for loving Wyatt and Blake? Blake's the brother she never had, and she's protective of him. Maybe I shouldn't tell her? She's a conflict of interest. I still feel utterly tired, so even if I don't drop my “P” bomb on her, I can crash on her couch.

  I can hardly hold my head up. I can't make it an additional ten minutes home. Looking in the rearview mirror, I put myself together the best I can. I left my purse behind so I have no make-up. Pulling my hair tie out, I run my fingers through the ends and try to make it presentable. Using a napkin from the console, I dry my face and pinch my cheeks to give them color. All the vomiting has made me pale; it must be lack of nutrients since everything I consume never stays down. Taking in a few breaths, I step out of the car, and take my time up the concrete steps that lead to her apartment. The air is muggy and I don't want to look like a pig in heat when I make it to her door; I can't go any faster even if I wanted to. I'm weak. Jesus, that statement’s far too true on so many levels at the moment. My legs shake from the work it takes to climb two flights. When I make it to her lev
el, I have to take a moment to catch my breath and stabilize my stance.

  As I make my way to her front door, I see that it's ajar. I knock softly as a warning that I'm entering her space. I do not want to deal with her kung fu moves. Entering inside slowly, I call for her, “Soph, where are you?” She doesn't answer. Her clothes are scattered throughout her apartment. I check the kitchen. “Sophieee,” I sing. She isn't in the kitchen either. There are only two more rooms she could be in, either the bathroom or her bedroom. I eliminate the bathroom because the door's wide open with the light off. Her bedroom door’s ajar just as the front door was, and there's a candle-like flicker shining through the crack.

  Before I open her door, I listen to be sure she's alone. I don't hear anything so I assume she's just drunk and forgot to close her door completely. Her clothes being scattered everywhere isn't a sign she's with someone; it's normally a sign that she's had one too many tequila shots. Slowly, I open the door. The Earth crumbles beneath me as my eyes rest on a man with a tattoo covering his back. It's a picture of a cross that travels down his spine, surrounded by uneven angel wings; where the cross meets, there hangs military tags. They represent my brother.

  Wyatt stands with his back towards me, completely naked. His glut muscles contract with each thrust as he pounds my best friend doggy style. Sophie moans softly as Wyatt's balls slap against her; it's sickening and I gag. They don't even realize I'm here. He pounds her harder, faster. “Ah Cooper,” she moans. What. The. Fuck. Cooper? Oh God. Oh my God! Why didn't I put two and two together? The dark hair, eyes so blue you can see straight through them, the tattoos, and Cooper - his last name. In the military, they approach you by your last name; Wyatt Cooper is Sophie's Cooper. This can't be happening. No, no, no, no...

  God please, please let this be a dream. But it can't be, because dreams don't hurt. My heart has shattered against the floor of my stomach, the floor beneath me shakes as if there's an earthquake, and my body feels as if it's being sawed in half, and not by an electric chainsaw. No, it's the kind of handsaw that tortures you, slowly cutting you into tiny jigsaw-puzzle pieces. Wyatt pulls his hand back and slaps her ass, leaving behind a handprint. “Ahhh, yes! Yes!” she exclaims.