Leader Of The Mafia {h.s}

90

Bree Tyler

Silence.

Captivating, alarming, and most of all frustrating. It's something that indicates fear other than blaring screams. A silent night, a silent kill, a silent cry. I felt like I was getting shot in the chest over and over again, the pain in my stomach being inflicting. I wasn't pregnant, it was just a bad, nauseated, feeling. But Dr. McConay said that the pregnancy test are one hundred percent accurate. So what do we do from there?

Harry was flooring the gas of the car in an urge to get home, I had reoccurring sniffles and so did he. We haven't talked since we left the doctors office after the fake news.

I'm not pregnant, there's no way in hell.

I felt broken, why on earth did me and Harry have to go through this? It was all so confusing, we can never catch a break and it's aggravating. I was aggravated, and so was he.

But finally, I broke the silence with one word.

"Harry?" I rubbed my swollen eyes, and he peered over at me sitting in the drivers seat. He didn't respond, but gestured for me to reply back.

"You still love me, right?" I asked, and his eyebrows furrowed and he almost hit a car as he swerved his way through oncoming traffic.

"What do you mean?" He croaked, and I sighed heavily. Why did I have to connect all the dots like this was a constellation in the sky? It would've been so much easier if he just understood me and my particular ways with words.

"If I was supposedly pregnant, you'd still love me?" I bit my brittle nails, and he pulled the car into the driveway. He never parks in the garage, he hasn't from the first day I met him and I don't think he ever will till the day he dies.

"Don't do that." He shook his head to the side, opening the door of the car and stepping out of it. The minute his feet hit the sidewalk, he slammed the door shut leaving me alone in the car. He paced back inside, and he didn't look back.

My head hung low and I twiddled with my thumbs. My lips pushed far off to the side, and my eyes started to gather tears. I didn't want to go back inside, maybe we needed some time away from each other? I can't be pregnant, it's fine. I'll wait two months, and see if I notice any signs. If I see a bump, I'm dreaming. And if I don't, I've been right the whole time and hadn't actually been pregnant.

I turned up the speakers on the radio, causing it to blare a song that I didn't know. I just wanted to tune out my sadness. I wasn't going inside with Harry, not right now at least. It's still noon, I'll go back inside when I'm ready and wanted.

I bit my lip, gnawing down on it as my knee hopped up and down against the floorboards of the car. My elbows dug into my thighs, and my hands knitted through my hair. I was stressed, I needed a pill or something to calm me down. A pill, Harry must have some of those in one of the compartments. I remember that day we went to go shopping somewhere and I think it was the lingerie store, and he was taking a pill and swallowing them dry. The prescription pill bottle must be in here... somewhere.

I flicked up the top of the glovebox and it popped open. I grabbed the orange bottle of pills, and took the bottle in my hands. The pills rattled in the bottle when I shook them slightly, I needed to maneuver my way around them to read the white printed label.

I read over it, and I was surprised at what I saw, and it made me a little upset and dimmed my mood down more than it had been.

Post - Traumatic - Stress - Disorder

PTSD.

I had an idea of what he had this disorder from. It could've been from his abusive father, and what he had done to him all those years. All because of his father Harry burns himself with cigarettes, hates scary movies, can only take cold showers. There's only so much a person can take, before they break.