Chapter Four
With little cooking experience, I really don’t want to mess this up for Reece, so I purchased oven-ready noodles as the base.
Once I think the beef and onion are cooked enough, I add the marinara sauce and minced garlic.
Following the recipe, I remember forgetting some of the seasonings on my shopping list. I don’t have salt, pepper, or Italian seasoning.
Shit… it should taste good, right? It’s noodles, meat, and sauce.
What could go wrong? I layer the beef and sauce over the oven-ready noodles.
And to my next mistake, I didn’t get Ricotta.
I grabbed sour cream. This is turning into a disaster. And quickly.
The door opens, and in comes a smiling Reece.
His face falls to the scene in front of him.
“Pretty Girl! What the fuck? Are you okay? Don’t move.
I’m coming!” Reece says with urgency. His boots are gliding over the glass shards and the food spread across the kitchen floor.
He shuts off the oven and picks me up. Carrying me to the couch.
His face falters a little as he notices what dish is now shattered all over the floor.
Now he’s seeming more angry than concerned.
“Is that my great-grandmother's dish now in pieces on the fucking floor, Juniper?” He asks angrily. His anger is shocking to me.
“Baby, I’m so sorry. I was trying to make your favorite dinner as a surprise.” I say as the guilt sets in. Reece shoots up from the couch and grabs his coat.
“Clean this shit up. I’m going out to eat,“ he says as he leaves, slamming the door behind him. What. What was that? I’ve never seen him angry like that before.
My hands are in so much pain. But I do as he asks; this is my mess after all.
I spent an hour cleaning the kitchen spotlessly.
I hear his truck pull up next to our trailer.
The nervousness I’ve felt since he left has increased.
He walks in carrying a pizza box from my favorite pizzeria and a brown paper bag.
“Hey, Pretty Girl, I’m back! I got us a large pizza and some mozzarella sticks. ”
It’s been a few days since the night I broke the glass pan that I made the lasagna in.
Reece apologized for his temper with me that night and explained that it was his great-grandmother's dish. I don’t have much of a family background or anything sentimental, so it’s not something I ever considered.
My mother was in and out of my life. It always depended on the man she was dating at the time, how long or how often I’d even see her.
It could go months, and I wouldn’t even get a phone call to know if she was alive or not.
My father was an emotionless drunk. He gave me a roof over my head, but that was it.
The only thing he could care about was his next drink.
I tried so hard to be the perfect daughter.
But in his eyes, I was just another one of my mother’s mistakes he had to take care of.
Our relationship got even more strained when I came to him in tears, confessing that I needed him to save me from his best friend, Eugene.
On nights, they’d sit outside in the garage drinking late into the night.
Eugene would wait until my father passed out, then make his way to my room.
It wouldn’t matter if I locked it or not.
He always found a way in. Piece by piece, he annihilated the little girl I once was.
All of my innocence is gone. If I were even just a little bit worthy of my mother's love, maybe she could have saved me and helped me prevent the event that almost killed me. That night still haunts me. That night, I woke in the dark to a pain so excruciating that it took any voice that I may have had. I’ve never felt anything like this before.
I just wish I could call out for my mom.
At fourteen, I still wished I believed nightmares ended when you opened your eyes.
But when you are dealt a life such as mine, a mistake. Your everyday life is a nightmare.
The blood was proof of everything I’ve tried to ignore since the first time he touched me.
My body had been taken, that childhood had ended months ago, and as a result, a little life was growing inside.
Possibly my only chance to know what love was supposed to look like.
It wasn’t mine to keep. He’s not going to give me sympathy.
He’s not going to take care of me as a father should.
I strip my bed and take the sheets to the washer.
I need to get rid of the evidence. And fast. After the washer is started, I go back to bed and scrub what I can off the mattress.
After that, I go to the bathroom and turn on the shower.
The hottest setting possible. Which to anyone else would be lukewarm.
As I get in and settle under the spray, the cramping is getting so intense it’s hard to keep silent.
As it feels like there is no end in sight, what can only be described as a pulling sensation, followed by a Plop.
All the pain stops. My mind starts to clear.
I look down at my feet, and I see a little blob.
I bend down, pick it up, and hold it in my hands.
My baby. I whisper so softly, “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m sorry I wasn’t worthy enough to love you,” I say as tears run down my face.
Holding what was supposed to be my child. The water has since gone ice cold.
“Pretty Girl, are you alright? You spaced out on me. Have you taken any of that Advil I got you?” He asks with concern.
“Come here, let's redress your hands. Hopefully, they will be healed up soon.” He sits me down on the couch.
“I’ll be right back, Pretty Girl. I'm going to get the first aid stuff out of the bathroom closet.” A few minutes later, Reece returns and sits next to me.
“This might hurt, but we need to keep these clean, so they heal properly,” he says as he unwraps my hands.
Both of my palms are covered in giant fluid-filled bubbles. Carefully, he spreads my palms and begins to smear lidocaine-infused cream onto the gauze pads. Slowly, he begins to wrap up both of my hands so they can heal. Once they are all bandaged, we curl up in bed, exhaustion setting in.
We wake up the next morning, and both of my palms feel wet.
Every time I wake up and feel anything but dry panic starts to set in.
Shhh, Juni. It’s okay, please calm down.
The blisters popped. There is no blood, shh, it’s OK.
I tell myself. “Baby… Reece? I think my blisters popped. Can you please help me?” I ask weakly. Reece rolls over.
“Of course, Pretty Girl, let me go get all the stuff out of the bathroom. We will get you all cleaned up,” he says sweetly as he jumps up out of bed and goes down the hall to the bathroom.
Once he returns, he helps me bandage my hands again, and we start our morning.
He has to help me with most of my morning routine, since I can’t quite use my hands yet.
Now that the blisters have popped, I’m able to do a little more around the house.
I’ve been slacking, and I feel like it’s starting to affect Reece.