Turning A New Leaf

Twenty-Six

Brad had managed to keep his drug usage low-key after his "confession" to Brooke. Their marriage was still less than ideal, and he was still dropping in to see Holly, but his home life was slightly better.

Brooke had left for work, and Brad spent the morning working out in the garage, taking a quick shower, followed by a bump of Crystal before he dressed and left to see Holly for the day.

She answered the door, looking sloppy. Her hair was in a messy bun. She had a white tank top with no bra and a size too large of sweatpants.
Brad greeted her with a kiss and followed her into the living room.

"When are you going to rehab?" Holly asked, falling back on the the sectional and wrapping herself with a blanket.

"I haven't even begun looking for one yet," Brad told her, pulling a small plastic bag from his jacket pocket. "You want a bump?" He offered.

Holly shook her head, "No," she began, pulling her knees to her chest, "Look, we need to have a serious talk."

Brad glanced up from the dope he was chopping on her glass end table, "About what? You leaving me?"

Holly exhaled, "No, I don't think so."

He stopped crushing the shards, staring at her, his grey eyes intense, "You don't think so?"

"Brad, I'm pregnant. I'm already fifteen weeks along," she blurted out.

Brad let out a loud, shaky breath and stood, pacing the room angrily. "And you were getting high? When did you find out?"

"I found out a few days ago. I took a test, and it came back positive, so I went to that Options 360 place, and they did an ultrasound on me. I have my first appointment next Monday."

He shook his head in disbelief, "No, we can't do this. Holly, you can't keep it."

Tears filled Holly's eyes, spilling onto her cheeks, "Brad, no. I'm not getting rid of it. Especially this far along," she protested.

"Holly, I have a wife. I can't be having a kid with you. We talked about this!" Brad told her.

"You didn't care about having a wife when you started sleeping with me or when you came in me!" Holly argued.

"Because you told me that you were on birth control!" He countered. "Fuck," Brad muttered to himself, covering his face with his hands as he paced. "How did you not know you not know you were pregnant for nearly four months? That doesn't make any sense to me."

"I never have my period! Maybe once or twice a year! I didn't even have any symptoms."

Brad glared at his mistress with burning rage. "I'll pay for the abortion, just schedule an appointment and get rid of it," he demanded.

Holly threw the blanket to the side, standing, "You need to leave. I'm not getting an abortion," she told him firmly.

"Well, if you keep it, don't expect me to be involved or give you money," he retorted, storming out of her apartment. The door slammed loudly behind him.

He sat in his car for a few minutes, his whole body shaking angrily. Brad patted his pocket. Empty. He'd forgotten his shit in Holly's apartment. God fucking damn it. He needed that but also did not want to go back up to face her.

Brad picked up his cell phone, texting Fernando to ask if he could come through quickly.

"I got you. What do you need?" He replied almost instantly.

"Just the usual ," Brad texted back.

Fernando replied with a meeting spot, telling him to be there in twenty minutes. Holly called several times as Brad drove to meet his plug, but he blocked her number outright.

It seemed highly unlikely, to him, that Holly had gotten pregnant despite being on birth control. Brad was nearly certain that this was a planned thing. And claiming she had no clue until she found out at fifteen weeks. Bullshit.

Trifling whore, that's what she was. He recalled several instances when she casually mentioned him leaving Brooke for her. He'd flat-out told her no. He was content with his financial situation, like he was married to Brooke and fine with his arrangement with Holly. And now there was a baby involved? There was no way she did not plan it to trap him.

****

"What's up, dawg?" Fernando asked, sliding into the passenger seat of Brad's Tesla.

Brad nonchalantly swapped two twenty dollars for a small bag of dope, "Found out my girl is fucking pregnant," he mumbled.

"Which one? The wife or the other one?" Fernando asked.

"The other one," Brad replied, loading a bowl, "I told her to get rid of it."

"Damn, bro, she gonna do it?" Fernando asked.

He shook his head, "She's not trying to. I told her if she keeps it, don't expect me to be around," Brad informed him, cracking the dope back in the pipe.

"Shit, been there myself. A few times, I'm a slow learner," Fernando chuckled.

"Your wife find out?" Brad asked, getting ready to take his first hit.

"Ohohohoooo yeah," he laughed, "She had no idea 'bout my first kid with Adriana until Adriana was pregnant with our boy."

Brad passed the pipe to Fernando, "She didn't leave you?"

"She kicked me out for a while, and I had to stay with my girl, but I ended up coming home. Angelina still mad as hell, though, told me our kids are not going to know my bastard kids. It's whatever. Adriana don't even have custody of 'em no more. Her mom does." Fernando laughed to himself.

"How did she lose custody?"

Fernando shrugged. It was apparent that he knew but wasn't going to say anything. He hit the pipe, blowing a plume of smoke out. "How's your brother and his hot Lil wife doing?"

"Fuck if I know, I haven't talked to him since his wedding," Brad stated.

Fernando passed the pipe back to Brad, looking at his phone, "I got to go make a couple stops. Hit me up if you need something."

Brad nodded, giving Fernando an awkward wave, "Thanks, man."

****

Going home was the last thing Brad wanted to do, not with a half-t on him and the weight of this pregnancy on his mind. He hopped on i205, taking the Sandy Boulevard exit to go to 82nd.

It had been a long while since he'd hit up one of the jack shacks, and he thought it would be a pleasant way to destress. He stopped at an ATM and pulled out $500 cash.

Brad pulled up to a rundown-looking house with a large sign that read "The Playhouse" and exited his car with a wad of money and a bag of dope in his pocket.

It was barely noon, so the Jack shack was pretty much dead. Two girls were working that afternoon, one petite blond with fake tits who called herself Nevada and a brunette with a rail-thin build called Molly. Neither of them were pretty in the face, so Brad went with fake tits.

She led him into a room where he undressed, setting $300 on an end table, hoping he'd get the most bang for his buck without having to fork out the remaining cash.

Nevada glanced at the three one-hundred dollar bills, "I take it you want a taste of everything," she purred, turning on low music.

"I do," Brad replied, caressing her thighs as she straddled him, moving slowly to the music.