Chapter Eight
Anastacia
Grizz comes by every day. We have meals together. Watch TV together. Nap together.
Sometimes we fall asleep on the couch after the sun goes down, but every morning I wake up in my bed with him gone.
Snapper stays out late, but there are times he comes home and sees us together.
He scowls. Curses under his breath. But he never tells Grizz to leave.
I’m not sure what he’s mad about, but I’m starting to feel bad about it.
When I ask him what’s wrong, he says nothing.
I can’t fix it if he won’t tell me how. All it does is make me realize how much I don’t belong here.
Yet, I see the way Snapper’s face softens at times, and I think he doesn’t want to be so grouchy toward me, but maybe he can’t help it. Like he doesn’t know how else to be.
“Let’s go sit outside,” Grizz says after loading the dishwasher.
No matter how much I try to clean up after we eat, he never lets me. He tells me to relax, that I’m doing enough by making the baby.
Every time he says that, I laugh and tell him the baby is already made—I’m just cooking it.
Then he laughs.
It’s a cute joke, and I love that we can joke together at all. I’ve never had that before. Not once in all my life. But that’s what happens when you’ve never had a normal relationship with someone I suppose.
Is what I have with Grizz normal? I’m not sure I know what normal looks like, and that’s probably why I have all these fantasies floating around in my head.
I didn’t have friends growing up. In school, I was the kid everyone stood away from because I smelled weird and didn’t have new clothes.
Half the time there wasn’t hot water at home, and the other half it wasn’t running at all.
“Hey, you okay?”
I blink a few times to clear my vision. Grizz is standing in front of me. I look up to see a concerned look on his face.
I put on a smile. “I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow. “If you’re not fine, you can tell me. Or not tell me, if that’s easier, but you don’t have to lie and say you are.”
The smile slowly falls from my face.
His large hands come up to cup my cheeks. Gently, he holds my head in place to keep looking at him. “You don’t have to pretend with me. That shit is exhausting.”
Emotion seizes my chest, but I manage to nod.
“Come on. Fresh air will be good.”
His arm goes around my shoulder, and it all feels so good.
We walk to the door, and he pulls it open, allowing me to go first. I step onto the wooden porch; the heat hitting me like a wave.
I walk to the swing and sit on it, letting it gently swing back and forth. Grizz sits in the chair across from me.
“Afraid I’ll break that thing.”
I huff a laugh, looking up at the hooks holding it.
“I could sit over there,” I say, moving to get up.
“No,” he says quickly. I raise a brow. “I like looking at you like this.”
I smile, ducking my head as I sit back down and get comfortable.
I’m unable to push these melancholic feelings away and hate it. I was just having fun moments ago, enjoying our joke. Now I can’t get rid of this dark cloud. Maybe it’s just part of being pregnant. My hormones must be going crazy.
“You don’t have to talk to me,” he says. “But you can, if you want to. I know you talk to the doctor sometimes. Not that I’m trying to listen or anything, but I hear him ask you and know that you respond.”
I nod, staring down at my hands and ringing them together. “He doesn’t judge me.”
“I would never judge you.”
I look up at him, giving him a small smile. “Not purposefully.”
He looks as if someone has slapped him, the utmost pain and offense on his face.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“No. You’re right. In a way.” He pauses for a moment, gets up from his chair and comes to kneel in front of me. “It wouldn’t be judgment, it would be… sympathy, maybe. I don’t know; I’m not good with words, but I also know sympathy isn’t any better.”
“I just don’t want you to think differently of me.”
“Now that would never happen. Not up here.” He points to his temple. “I’d feel for you here, though.” He presses his palm to his chest. “Because I can only imagine what you’ve been through, and I’ll tell you, it makes me really fucking sad.”
The emotion is back, this time crawling up my throat.
“You shouldn’t feel sad for me,” I say, my voice cracking. “I don’t.”
“You’re not sad?” he asks, seemingly utterly confused.
“I stopped being sad a long time ago.” I look past him, out at the yard, and take a moment to breathe and settle myself.
“I realized that if I kept being sad all the time, I wasn’t living my life.
That if I wanted any chance at truly being happy, I had to let go.
And so… I take one day at a time. I move forward.
I focus on the future and don’t allow my past, as horrific as it is, to hold me down.
” My hand goes to my stomach, and both of us look at it.
“I can’t be sad when I have a baby to take care of.
I’ll always remember what’s happened to me.
It’ll always be there as a reminder to protect my child and never allow anything to happen to them like what happened to me.
But I need to move forward for my baby, and that sort of leaves me hanging in the middle somewhere. ”
He exhales a long, deep breath, his hands resting on the bench beside my legs.
“This… was their intention,” I say carefully. “And at first, I knew how terrible it would be to allow them a baby to do… whatever it is they do. But now I realize how much of a blessing it is because this is my reason for living now.”
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “That’s beautiful.”
“It’s just the truth. But it’s not all beautiful, Grizz. This child? They think it’s their property. Eventually, someone will realize, and they’ll want to take what’s theirs.”
“I will never let that fucking happen,” he growls.
I put my hand on his cheek and give him a soft smile. The anger in his eyes is… a relief. Anger that isn’t aimed toward me, but instead on my behalf.
“And I could never thank you enough for that.”