I promise to explain more about Chase and how he fits into all of this later haha. And I also promise you will hate my mother a lot less by the end of this.
Bad Girls Need Love Too
Chapter 3
Present Day.
I cradled my body with my arms as I waited for the familiar sound of Chase’s Chevy pulling into my driveway. I felt a small smile cross my face as he opened my front door for himself. He found me in the living room where I always was and pulled me into his arms.
I sighed in contentment as we settled down into the couch. He rubbed my belly lightly and kissed the back of my neck. I felt the ring in his lip rub against my sensitive skin and a shiver went through me.
“Mmm, how was work?” I asked.
“Good, how was your day?”
“Ok, I was reminiscing.” I told him as I started to play with his hands.
“Is that a good idea, love?” His voice was so calming to me.
“Maybe it’s good for me to think about stuff.” I nodded my head to confirm. “I think I repress too much stuff.”
He laughed and trailed his tongue across my neck. “No more reminiscing tonight. Time for bed.” He told me as he scooped me into his arms. We headed to my bedroom and snuggled down; flipping on the TV he gathered me into his arms and held me close.
“How are you doing?” He asked.
“I’m ok. Did you know I had an abortion?” I blurted. I never was good at saying things subtly.
He blinked a few times. “No, I didn’t.”
“I was 11. After—you know.” I told him.
“You never told me.” He whispered as he pressed a kiss to my cheek.
“I thought you’d hate me.” I said honestly.
“Why? Because some prick got you pregnant? I could never hate you, baby. Not for something like that.”
I smiled and curled myself further into his body, getting as close to his warmth as I possibly could.
“Thank you.” I whispered.
May 31, 2002
(12 years old)
Two days after my 12th birthday had passed; one day had passed since I had gotten my abortion. I don’t remember much from the procedure, just that I cried a lot. I remember feeling very guilty for killing my own child, even if it had been created by the boogeyman himself. I didn’t get a birthday party that year; I convinced myself my mother had simply forgotten. That she didn’t really hate me.
She still wouldn’t talk to me, or even look at me for that matter. I wanted so badly to talk to her, to tell her what happened. Whenever I tried she shushed me and sent me to bed. She made me promise not to tell anyone, I realized later that it was because I was an embarrassment. She didn’t want anyone to know her precious daughter was a whore, as she so delicately put it.
I hid from my mother and my stepfather in my room, reading every day to keep myself occupied. For months I kept myself hidden from the world, isolating myself from everything I once knew. I quit horseback riding, which had been my favorite pastime. I quit going to church, there was no place for God in my life any longer.
June 19, 2002.
There was once a time when I looked forward to summer time and spending time with my friends. Slowly through the past months they had given up on me though. I shouldn’t have blamed them, but a part of me did. I wanted so badly to pretend that nothing had happened, but every time I looked in the mirror I saw my face covered in dirt.
I started covering myself with make-up, trying to erase the image from my mind. Thick black eye liner coated my eyes, and deep red lipstick was always in place. My clothes turned from happy yellows and pinks to black. So everything about me would match my dark mood. I watched the changes within myself silently, hoping that no one else would mention anything to me about them.
And no one did.
I sat in my room, picking through the worn covers of my small collection of books. I heard a knock on my door and glanced up quickly, dropping the book I held in my hand. My mother stood in my doorway, a stern look across her face. It was almost as if I shrunk in front of her as she stared at me like this. I felt like a small child again, about to be punished.
“I need to talk to you.” She told me. She never called me by my name anymore, I had been renamed ‘you’.
“What is it, mom?” I asked quietly. I thought I might have seen her cringe when I called her that.
“You are going to be staying with your grandmother this summer. Henry and I no longer know what to do with you. Pack your bags, you leave tomorrow.” She told me before closing the door with a loud thud.
I collapsed back onto my bed, silently thankful for being sent away. Maybe grandma could actually look me in the face.
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