Charlie's Angel

47 [TW]

I'll admit my first thought should have been to call my lawyer and request a restraining order, but honestly it had slipped my mind.

I had to have been dreaming. It was a sick, twisted dream, right? This baby had to be Chris'.

And no I probably shouldn't have given Aaron the idea that the baby was his, especially when I didn't know. That was a huge mistake on my part. But if I had told him that there was a possibility that it was in fact Chris' baby, I'm not so sure I would have been able to walk away at that moment.

So either way, I was fucked.

I guess I was trying to make him feel guilty, but that idea backfired horribly.

"What? What do you mean he's back?"

I panted, desperately trying to breathe properly. "I don't know, but I saw him at Walmart with his–his kid. Someone bailed him out." She helped me over to the kitchen table to sit down so I wouldn't collapse on the spot. "H-he found out I'm pregnant and he said... he said..." I shook my head.

"Mommy?" Paris dashed into the kitchen, confused. "What's wrong, Mommy? Baby here?" She craned her neck to look at my belly.

"No, sweetie," Sam answered for me. "Baby's not here yet. Go play, okay? Dinner will be ready soon." She nudged her away gently and Paris obliged reluctantly. Sam's palm rubbed down my back soothingly. "What did he say?"

Letting out a breath, I chewed my lip. "He said he wants me to check in with him every week, so he knows the baby is okay. He said he doesn't give a fuck about me but he won't let me keep his baby from him."

Sam shook her head disapprovingly. "How the hell did he find out?"

I traced over the scars on my thighs slowly under the table so she couldn't see, "He saw me holding my stomach. I didn't mean to, I swear!"

"Shhh," she cooed, bringing me into her arms. "I know, honey. It's okay. It was an accident."

"Can you, um, take care of dinner? I'm feeling kinda... sick." I got up, she nodded, and I walked into the bedroom slowly. I was so weak and overwhelmed that all I wanted to do was lay down and sleep. But sleep was far away from my mind; I hadn't had a good sleep in a few days.

I closed the bedroom door, crept into the bathroom that was attached to it and searched through the little cabinets around the sink for Sam's razors.

I had to do it.

I found one and set it on the ground. It broke into pieces when I smashed it with my foot and I cleaned up the broken plastic pieces. There were three extra blades, so I stored them in a safe place so they wouldn't be found.

As I ran my fingertip over the edge of the blade, my arms were overcome with goosebumps. It had been at least a year or two since I had done this but it felt all too familiar.

I changed into some pajama shorts and sat down on the tiled floor. The scars were still apparent, and I remember exactly what happened when I made them. The memories were vivid in my mind, but I shook them away the best I could.

For a few minutes I just stared at the scars. I remembered how they made me feel. The immediate strong sting, then it dulled down and the wounds began to pulse.

I sliced through my skin once, quickly, and hissed out loud, squeezing my eyes shut. The initial cut was the worst of it all, and I almost forgot what it felt like. It was something that was bittersweet to me. It hurt like hell, yeah, but I needed to feel it. I needed to remind myself that things were shit right now; my life was crashing and burning and I had to remember that. Maybe there was no light at the end of my tunnel? Maybe there was only a brick wall at the end and all I could do was wait for the final blow.