Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“We had a house, jobs, school, I can’t do it on my own.” I admit, my tears spilling over. “I need you.”
“I warned you. You swore you wouldn’t get pregnant. We worked our arses off, we worked day and night to get you into University.”
I look into her cold cruel eyes, “This wasn’t my fault. I can still go back I just need help.”
“I never wanted this for you,” she says with a frown. “I can’t help you Gwen. This is your mess, I dealt with my mess now you need to deal with yours. I’m disappointed in you.”
“I can’t help what happened!” I shout, my hand pressed to my swollen belly. “Please mum, I don’t have anywhere to stay.”
She takes a step back and just as I think she’s going to invite me inside she shakes her head and says, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
I bang on the door and I keep banging until my fists hurt. She doesn’t answer, she doesn’t even glance. How can she be so cruel? None of this is my fault.
“Mum! Please! Please!” I sink to the ground and bury my face in my hands. My sobs tear through me like a chainsaw through paper.
I’ve lost everything. I have no home, no family and no Caleb.
After a few more minutes of accepting my fate I head to my car and drive until I can’t anymore.
Even Sasha can’t have me, she’s lives in a hall of residence. I’d be allowed there for one night. Just one.
I’m stuck, completely stuck.
I have to drop out of university, it’s already paid so I can go back and finish my course in the future, that’s a relief. What’s not a relief is the fact I have to quit my placement that I worked so hard to get, but the café I used to work at have given me my job back. The problem is, I’m huge.
I’m pregnant and I have nowhere to live and no money. There are no spaces at the closest women’s refuge shelters, plus I don’t want to go to one of those.
So here I sit, a sob story, in the front of my car outside my old house, photos and clothes and other bits and pieces sit on the back seat in huge boxes.
At least I still have the car… for now.
I rest my head on the steering wheel and cry. It’s been a while since I’ve cried. But now I’ve started I can’t stop. It hurts… it hurts so bad.
I’m never going to see him again.
I’ll never get to feel him again.
Why did you leave me Caleb?
I should move but I can’t bring myself to do it. My hands won’t move to the ignition and gear stick. If I leave I can’t come back. This house will no longer be mine. The last few memories I have of Caleb will be just that… memories. I won’t be able to walk into the hall and recall on the time he put his bare foot straight onto the paint tray by mistake, when we decorated the hall. And then painted the wall with his foot, making me laugh so hard I ended up choking on my own saliva.
I won’t be able to lie on the bed and remember him resting his head on my flat stomach and promising me and our baby an eternity of love and loyalty.
I won’t be able to look in the bathroom and recall on the time he had a bad curry and ended up sitting there all day. Seriously. I brought him his laptop and put on YouTube so he could watch funny videos of cats. Every time he laughed he’d fart and follow through. It was so funny.
Sob.
My life is over.
It’s over and I’m scared.
There’s a knock on the window, great, it better not be the police.
It’s not. What the fuck?
I wipe my eyes and slowly roll it down, “Nathan?”
“Gwen,” He says in a clipped tone.
My hands tremble on the steering wheel, why’s he here? “Y… yes?”
“Why aren’t you inside? You shouldn’t be sat out here crying,” he bites out, his jaw clenched.
It hurts to look at him, he looks like an older, sterner version of Caleb but he’s just as handsome. His eyes are the same shape and colour, his hair too. Although Nathan’s jaw is wider and stronger and his cheekbones more pronounced. He also doesn’t have a hint of stubble, not like Caleb used to fashion on a daily basis because he couldn’t be arsed to shave.
I miss that stubble.
“We don’t live there anymore,” I murmur.
He sighs, “I can’t hear you if you don’t speak properly.” What an arsehole.
“I don’t live there anymore okay?” I say louder this time, the words make me cry again.
“So maybe you should go to where you do live,” he snaps.
Why is he here? “You’re looking at it.”