Fine Line (revamp)

Chapter 12 (Val)

It's Sunday, which means that it's the worst day of the week.

Both of my parents are home and even though our house is huge, they always find a way to cross my path.

I stare at the ceiling in an attempt to collect my thoughts. Last night was...different.

I feel so weird. Genevieve consumes my thoughts and it feels like she's sunk her claws into the deepest recesses of my mind.

She's all I can think about. And the worst part is, I'm not thinking about ways I can annoy her or hurt her. I'm wondering if she's okay.

I let her cuddle me in my sleep.

I mean yeah I've cuddled with girls after sex, I'm not a monster. Plus, it helps soften the blow when they figure out I don't want anything serious.

But I didn't have sex with Genevieve. Not really.

My eyes widen as I make a disgusting realization.

She saw me puke my guts out into a stranger's toilet.

I feel my face warm and I bury my head into my pillow.

Not only that, but I begged her to stay in bed with me.

Begged.

I exhale.

When did I begin to need her? When did I become addicted to her touch, her kiss? 

I hate her. I hate her. Right?

Before I can think about it too much, my bedroom door swings open.

"Valentine! It's almost noon! What are you still doing in bed?"

I cringe at the sound of my mother's voice.

"I'm sleeping. Obviously. I'm tired."

She scoffs.

"If you weren't always going out you wouldn't be so tired all the fucking time."

"I don't wanna fight with you right now Mother."

"Fine. Anyways I came in here to tell you some news."

I tense and get up, sitting on the edge of my bed. The last time my mother had news for me it was that we were moving here. If we move again I don't know what I'll do...

"What news?" I say tentatively.

"I'm pregnant again." She beams.

My heart clenches and I feel like not enough air is coming into my lungs.

I take a deep breath and realize my mother is staring at me expectantly.

"That's...wow. Wow. How far along are you?"

"Two and a half months."

She waited two and a half months to tell me?

"Does he know?" My father.

"Yes. Of course."

She still looks like she's waiting for something.

"Congratulations." I say after a beat.

She smiles and walks out of the room.

I slide to the floor and clutch the edge of the bed as my heart pounds erratically. I try to focus on my breathing but I still feel like I can't.

I haven't had a panic attack in a while. At least this time it's not that bad.

I should probably explain why my parents having another child on the way is so terrifying to me.

When my mother was first pregnant with me she was young and naive, in an affair with an older rich man. My father.

She was 22 and he was 51.

Fresh out of college, she struggled to find a job and jumped at the attention of an rich man. She fell in love, somehow.

I used to fault her, when I was younger. For loving him. It felt impossible to me.

But I guess I realized later that my father is an excellent liar. He can tell anyone exactly what they want to hear. That's why he makes such a good lawyer. He's a master manipulator.

When they were having their affair, he would shower her with presents.

I remember, once when I was a kid, probably seven, I asked her..

"Mom, did you know he was married?"

"Of course Valentine. Of course I did. Love makes you crazy."

When she became pregnant with me, my father was angry. She used to tell me he would scream and yell and lock her in her room in their appartement and call her horrible things. But she insisted that he still cared.

My mother, despite being the cruel person she is, is stupid when it comes to her husband.

I gave up on trying to convince her that what she suffered through was abuse.

Mother says that when she threatened to leave, he made a dramatic shift. More presents, a promise of marriage and a real family. She brags about this as if it's a proof of love and not gaslighting and a last resort so she wouldn't leave him like his actual wife was threatening to.

Before all of his sweet promises she had considered aborting me. I don't blame her honestly. Sometimes I wish she had.

My childhood was hell. I would never wish that upon any other child.

Certainly not when I'm leaving for college in a few short months and I can't protect them.

I take another deep breath and my heart rate slows. I get up and drink some water from the bathroom sink tap.

I wish I could purge myself of this godforsaken family. But this child means another string. I can't let them be alone like I was.

I brush my teeth and take a long shower.

As I sit down at my desk my mind wanders to Genevieve again.

I wish I could know what goes on behind those beautiful eyes.

I wonder if she ever thinks about me like I think about her. I wonder if she imagines the things she wants to do with me.

I know she hates me. She's made that clear on several occasions.

What scares me is that my own hatred is slowly chipping away, like old wallpaper. I'm starting to wonder if I even do. Hate her, I mean.

I've grown too attached. Too dependent on her quick retorts to feel something.

I might have feelings for Genevieve, if I'm being completely honest with myself.

What kind of feelings, I don't know.

One thing I do know is that if I was to have anyone break my heart, I would want it to be her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vote and comment!! 🛌🧺☁️🧼