Bad Things

27. Devastation

And I've always lived like this
Keeping a comfortable distance.
And up until now I have sworn to myself
That I'm content with loneliness.
Because none of it was ever worth the risk.
Well you are the only exception. 

- Paramore.

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Pre-Author's Note:

Before we begin I'd like to take a moment to thank all of you who have stuck with me throughout this story (and to all of you who are new to it). I know it's an emotionally tough journey, and I know that some of you have had a hard time reading so much angst and hurt. So, I just want to let you know how much I appreciate you all, and how much I appreciate your comments and encouragements as I try to churn this out. We're getting there.

Pregnancy progression as of this chapter: approx. 26 weeks

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"This shirt is totally adorable," Hailee said, plucking a black, form-fitting t-shirt from the shopping bag near the foot of her bed.

Camila raised her brow and stared at her friend. "It's a t-shirt."

"Yeah, but it looks like a regular t-shirt. Not one of those poufy tent shirts preggos usually wear." She dug in the bag a little further, her dark hair falling forward and hiding her face. "Oooh, and this!" She pulled out a white, full-length tiered skirt. "I love this."

Camila sighed and leaned back against the headboard of Hailee's bed. "Yeah, well, when you get knocked up someday I'll give it to you."

Hailee ignored her and thrust the skirt at her. "Put it on. I wanna see."

Camila groaned and tipped her head back, staring up at the ceiling. "Why? It's just a skirt."

"Just do it," Hailee said. "I'm sick of seeing you in my brother's sweatpants. Sweatpants are not fashionable, Mila. Ever. They're for ... sweating."

Camila rolled her eyes and heaved herself off the bed—a feat that was growing harder and harder with each passing day. Turning her back to her friend, she slipped out of her sweatpants and pulled the skirt over her legs, the band resting just under her belly. She had to admit, the elastic in the skirt was infinitely more comfortable than the one in the sweatpants, but the fact that they were maternity wear did not help her floundering self-image at all.

Neither did the fact that her father had bought them for her.

It had been the strangest thing, finding him standing on the Steinfeld's porch with three shopping bags in his hands. He'd cleared his throat and held them out to her. "I asked my assitance to pick up some things for you."