Chapter Twenty-One
The last few mornings, waking up has felt worse than going to bed.
Sleep doesn’t touch this kind of tiredness.
It sits deep in my bones, slow and heavy, like my body’s been quietly eating itself from the inside out.
For a few more minutes, I stay flat on my back and stare at the trailer’s water-stained ceiling, waiting for the world to stop spinning,
Reece’s side of the bed is cold. The old mattress typically sags where he lies.
From the kitchen comes the slam of a cupboard door, the one that never latches right, the ‘ting’ of his travel mug getting set on the counter.
The groan of the coffee maker as it begins to choke to life—no pan rattling.
No breakfast. “Shit, I’m late,” I hear Reece yell down the narrow hall, voice bouncing off the plastered walls. Keys rattled in his hand.
I push myself up slowly, carefully. The trailer shifts under me with a faint creak, and nausea slams into me. I grip the edge of the mattress until the wave passes, swallowing the sourness clawing up my throat. “Move,” I whisper. “I just need to move.”
My eyes zoom in on the wall. A fragile crack has formed from the windowpane down to the baseboards.
From repeatedly getting wet, it is so much darker than the rest of the wall.
I can’t help but think Gavin wouldn’t have let it sit that long.
He would’ve traced it with his finger and laughed quietly, making some stupid joke about how he can even get a wall wet.
I finally make my way down the hallway. Reece is in the entry, halfway out of the door. He’s in his normal dusty work hoodie, with a yellow safety vest unzipped over a company t-shirt. “You’re awake,” he says.
“Yeah.” My voice is low. “You’re going to be late.”
“I know, Ricky is going to be pissed at me this morning,” he snaps, “We are doing a total gut job today in an old apartment building.”
Stopping, he really looks at where the camera was mounted. Wires hanging loosely. Rust is starting to form from last week’s rain. “Maybe post around our local freebie sites and ask for a new camera,” he says, too casually. “I still can’t believe the wind really ripped it loose.”
Does he really think I’m that stupid? The wind doesn’t snap screws out of door frames. It can’t twist metal mounts like that. But sure, the wind did it… and not Gavin. “Yeah...I guess so.” He nods like he's satisfied with my lie to cover his lie.
He leans in quickly, stubble scraping the side of my face. Feeling the calluses on fingertips as he grips my arm too tightly for only a second. Then he's out the door. Gravel crunches as he makes his way to his truck, engine groaning to life.
The smell of coffee wafts in from the kitchen. I try to straighten my spine, but my stomach revolts hard. I barely made it to the bathroom. Yellow stomach acid comes up and burns my throat. Tears are falling down my face.
Sitting back on my feet, I try to get my bearings. My hands shake as I place them on my thighs. Something is wrong with me. I haven’t eaten anything bad, and I don’t have the flu. It has to be something else.
Getting up, I turn to the sink and splash water on my face. My eyes are red-rimmed and sore-looking, and my skin is flushed and splotchy. Concern flashes across my face. My period’s late. Fuckkk.
Walking back into my bedroom, I sit on the edge of the bed, phone in hand.
I am not doing this alone or in public. DoorDash has a pharmacy delivery service.
No contact. With shaking fingers, I type in the search bar…
pregnancy test. The words glare back too brightly on the screen, the cheapest option.
Add to cart. Checkout. Leave at the door.
No knock, no contact. Absurd. Vital. A little car icon crawls toward our lot on the map.
Fresh tears start running down my face at the realization. The night Reece “punished me” is the night I’m still losing sleep over. That night changed us forever. His violence plays repeatedly inside my head.
The horrible names he called me. Accusing me of cheating on him with Gavin. The pain he caused me. I didn’t fight hard enough. I didn’t try hard enough to get him off me. I just surrendered and waited for it to end.
A notification pops up on my phone screen.
Order approaching. My heart feels like it’s in my stomach.
I make my way to the front door, attempting to stand on my tippy toes to see through the glass.
A delivery woman’s back is heading in the direction of her car.
I wait until she’s in her car, pulling away.
Once I see her pull out of the trailer park, I quickly unlock the door and snatch the white plastic bag on the porch.
I relock the door, including the deadbolt and the extra chain Reece half-ass put on.
The box feels like lead in my hands. After all, this is now my fate. How am I going to look at this baby with love when all I can see is Reece's face as he degraded me… ruined me.
Wading slowly to the bathroom, I grab the box and open it.
Inside are two white and pink sticks. I grab a small disposable cup I keep by the sink and set it down, my mind spacing out.
Once the cup is about half full, I grab one of the sticks and tear off the corner.
Pulling the stick free, I remove the pink lid and dip the tip for five seconds.
Recapping it, I set it on the wrapper it came in.
Putting the toilet seat down, I just sit and set a timer for five minutes.
My mind is just running, and I can’t breathe as the little window starts to fill. I feel like I’m suffocating. My anxiety is gripping me in a chokehold.
I move to the floor, the cool tile against my skin. I fold into myself, holding the test as close as I can. There is no what if. The test is positive. How am I going to tell Reece? Would he be excited? Or will he feel the same way? Struggling to love a baby made by jealousy and hate.
Pulling my phone out, I instantly pass Reece’s contact and go right to Gavin’s.
Thumb hovering as it shakes. He would answer the phone, wouldn’t he?
Tell me it’s going to be okay. His voice will soothe my nerves and help me calm down.
Hitting the green call button, I hear the ringing start to fill my ears.
But… it just keeps ringing. “Your call has been forwarded to the voicemail of Gavin Petrov. He can’t come to the phone right now.
” The robotic voice is speaking as if I can respond.
He didn’t answer…Because I told him to leave, I really am on my own.
The sun had started to set. Darkness covers everything like a blanket.
I hear Reece’s truck pull into the driveway, the odd sound of him revving the engine on accident…
fear starting to consume me. I quickly head to the sink and start washing the dishes that have accumulated throughout the day.
The trailer begins to shake as his boots approach.
I can tell right away he’s stumbling, his balance nonexistent.
The front door smacks against the wall with a force strong enough to rattle the flimsy door frame.
Reece enters the doorway. Eyes red-rimmed.
Pupils blown wide. I haven’t seen him this way often in our relationship, but it has become more frequent recently.
Stumbling to the kitchen counter, he drops his lunchbox and his work bag.
“Lock the fucking door, Juniper,” he slurs.
But I’m not fast enough. I guess, because he’s slamming the door shut hard enough that the frame cracks.
His eyes are scanning the trailer as much as he can get his eyes to cooperate.
“Baby. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” I ask him pleadingly.
“I’m being stalked,” he says in a fast, jittery voice.
“STALKED? What do you mean, Reece?”
“Some asshole on a Harley, I’ve seen the same motorcycle parked across my job site, a bunch of times. Not talking to me, but just staring at me.”
I swallow. “Reece, who?”
“I think he’s some kind of collector," he growls and turns to me, his breath hot and sour-smelling. Knuckles curled tight. “I think he works for the guy I owe money to. But after you got hurt, I had to take time off work. So really this is your fault.”
“Reece. I’m...”
The back of his hand cuts me off. It cracks against the right side of my face.
He hit me hard enough to snap my head to the side, cheekbone feeling hot, the angry red skin stinging.
I stumble, trying to catch my balance on the counter, the edge digging into my hip, and I instantly taste the blood running from where my teeth cut my lip.
“This is your fault. If you weren’t so accident-prone, I wouldn’t be behind on these payments. "
“Baby...I’m sorry…” I rest my hand on my pounding cheek. I step back until the fridge is pressing cold against my spine. Everything feels like it’s shrinking in.
He grabs my casted wrist, pulling me until I am entirely in front of him. Picking me up by the neck, and slamming me against the table. His weight is making it impossible for me to move.
One hand tightly grips my neck, holding me in place. His other hand comes crashing down on my hairline… gripping my hair so tight that it radiates through my entire head.
“This… this.. is your fault. You set this up, didn’t you?” His rotten breath inches from my face.
I don’t see it coming… A fist drives into my ribs. I can hear them crack—another fist into my side, a kidney shot. I try to gasp for air. But he punches me again. He’s aggravating all my previous injuries.
“Baby.. please,” just like last time, I rip my nails down his forearms, causing them to bleed.
“You. Are. A. Weak. Mindless. Bitch,” he snarls.
Using his knee to get my legs open involuntarily.
The hits keep coming and coming. Each blow is calculated.
Each one is deliberate, heavy, and cracking ribs that have yet to heal from last time.
My body lit up with fresh bruises layering old yellow ones, every hit reopening the damage.
Suddenly, a familiar tearing feeling low inside my abdomen.
Followed by something thick and heavy running down my legs.
It’s blood. There is so much blood. It’s dripping to the floor.
The special secret that I found out about this morning was being ripped away from me in agony.
“Reece… please… something’s wrong.” Vision blurred.
He punches my belly once more, hard enough that the trailer seems to shake, then shoves off, staggering back.
Chest heaving, eyes still jumping shadows.
“Clean up your mess,” he mutters, grabbing a beer from the fridge like it was nothing.
“I can’t stay here,” he says as he walks out the door.
Slamming it behind him, making both the trailer and me flinch.
I curl up into a ball on the linoleum, hands pressing to the flood between my thighs, and suddenly, I’m that young, scared fourteen-year-old again.