[39]♡state of shock pt.II♡[39]

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Misty

A year and a half earlier.

I stared at the test between my fingertips, and caught myself in time before I fell from shock.

My initial reaction was to call my brother, Frankie, who was the whole reason I decided to come to New York in the first place.

He came running into the bathroom after hearing my shriek, though stopped dead in his tracks when he recognised the stick.

"Angelica..."

"I don't know what to do, Frankie," I sobbed, "It was your fault I left him now I'm going to be raising this child alone because of stupid Arthur Doe and his devotion to kill his own daughter all because you told him I was alive!"

He placed a hand on my shoulder, "Come on, you know I didn't intend for any of this to happen-"

"But It did! It all happened now I'm pregnant and he isn't even going to know because of you," I screeched through gritted teeth.

"Look, I'll make you some chamomile and you can calm down a little, I'm really sorry, okay? Give me a hug, I'll help you with this."

I fell into his arms and cried and cried for however long I needed to, then Frankie kept his word and, for once, I managed to fall asleep.

The pregnancy went by quickly, though I did spend an uncountable amount of nights sobbing, just wishing he was here to hold my hand or kiss my stomach every-so-often, because I knew he was like that.

It killed me knowing that he wouldn't be able to hold his own son or daughter once they were born, even more so because of what happened with Jessica.

I felt just as much as a horrible person as her.

He didn't even know I was pregnant.

Once Frankie helped me find an apartment and I turned down his preposition to stay with me, I was all alone. All alone with my growing stomach. He came by regularly, though less when he found a partner of his own.

He must've forgotten about his pregnant little sister who had to leave her partner because of his mouth.

Six months along and I was ready to either have a breakdown or hibernate forever, but I continued going strong despite the constant aches, pains and almost overwhelming sadness that hovered over me like a cloud.

I cried throughout the entire labour. Of course it hurt, but what hurt if not more was the emptiness of the room.

Nobody whose words could actually make me feel better.

When he first looked into my eyes, all I could see was Michael. His eyes were a deep brown like his – he had the same curls, the same slight, faint eyebrow arch.

I was forced to look at a spitting image of Michael every day.

It was instant love, though every time our eyes met I had the urge to cry.

There was one day I remembered – a day I was going to risk it all.

My baby was laying on my chest; we were enjoying the breeze together on the loveseat on the balcony. But beside me was a pen and paper which said simply;

Dear Michael.

I began to write more, but Frankie burst through the apartment, warning me that Doe was furious and would stop at nothing to get to me. So I didn't write it.

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