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I can’t even take care of a plant.
How does someone who’s never had roots give roots to a child?
A little bitty, tiny little baby human that needs human baby things.
Lots of things.
Like a warm safe place.
And food.
And love.
My heart squeezes and flips itself inside out. Love.
I suck at love. If I didn’t get the hives every time I think about the concept, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be facing the man who so handily supplied the sperm which created our child. I’d be telling him how happy I am. How much I love the idea of having a family with him.
But no. Here I am. Hiding. Running. Unsure of everything.
How do you love a baby when you didn’t even know what love was? Not like I have a lot of friends to emulate. Hell, the only person I even know who’s been pregnant is Sierra.
Tears spring to my eyes. Oh god. Sierra is amazing.
I’m nothing like her. We’re from different planets.
And Scotch… Well, he’s a lot of things, but he’s nothing like Cole or the Strong brothers. They have roots. And I can’t see Scotch chasing the standard American dream—house, wife, kids & dog.
If he was, he’d have done that a long time ago.
Nope, we’re nothing like those people. We’re birds of a feather. Wandering on curiosity and adrenaline.
The tears come. And come. And come. God.
How will I tell him?
He trusted me. I told him I had an implant.
If I were in his shoes, I’d be furious.
Swiping at my tears, I fight the wave of guilt and uncertainty that is clawing at my lungs. I have to tell him. I just don’t know how.
The weight of responsibility is so heavy it nearly crushes me into the hundred-year-old wooden flooring.
I don’t know what to do for the first time since I was thirteen.
When I walked out that door of the school the day my mother died, I knew it was me for me.
That was it. No one else. Nothing else mattered.
I had to eat. I had to survive, no matter how many crimes or what terrible things I had to do.
And now… now this little tiny baby is going to depend on me.
Scotch is going to expect things from me. Even if it’s just to share custody or do whatever people who have babies together do.
All of it is a great big fat yawning black hole of unknowns.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I pray for guidance. “I could use some help down here. If there is a god, or goddess, or whatever, I need a pick-me up right about now because my already screwed up life just got really crazy.”