Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
The dress was pretty enough, but it wasn’t really what I wanted. Neither were the flowers, which we got at a discount florist. As for the cake, we bought it at Wal-Mart. The DJ was a guy Dirk knew and so was the photographer—neither of them charged hardly anything because they owed him favors, or so he said. And sadly, the service we got from them reflected the price. The music was awful, and half of our wedding pictures were out of focus and blurry.
I wasn’t happy with any of these cost-cutting measures, but Dirk assured me over and over I’d be glad once we went to buy our house. He even drove me around town to look over several properties for sale—big, grand Colonial mansions with front porch columns that he said would be perfect for our new life together and all the kids we were going to have.
And I believed all of it—because of his love-bombing and because I’ve always been a sucker for a guy with a pretty face.
I have to admit, Dirk was nice to look at. He had sandy brown hair, a shade darker than my own dark blonde, and bright blue eyes with long lashes. He had straight, white teeth and this way of laughing out of only half of his mouth that was snarky and charming at the same time. Also, he was almost six feet tall with nice arms and fairly broad shoulders.
When he first came up to me and started flirting, I was sure he couldn’t be serious. I’m not the kind of girl who gets that kind of guy. I have nice hair and a pretty face but I’m not thin—quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve always been “curvy” for as long as I can remember. I’m what they call a “pear shape,” meaning I carry most of my weight in my hips and ass. I have pretty thick thighs too—I don’t know any man who goes looking for those qualities in a girl—let alone big, handsome guys like Dirk.
“Don’t you worry about it, honey—some men like a girl with meat on her bones and a big caboose,” my Grandma used to say. But I never actually met one until Dirk came along and started raving about how much he loved my curves. Later, I came across his Instagram and saw how many thin, perfect models he was following, but at the time I believed him. I believed everything—because I so desperately wanted to.
So we got married and he flushed my birth control, saying he wanted to start a family right away. A month later, he was gone.
“Shit…shit…shit!” I mutter as I stare at the dreaded second line on the pregnancy test. I’m pregnant—I’m really pregnant.
Just the thought of it makes me nauseous. Or maybe it’s morning sickness. Whatever it is, the dry slice of toast I had for breakfast this morning is coming up.
I hop off the toilet, push back the lid, and fall to my knees just in time. What comes up is a brown mush that floats on the surface of the water. The sight makes me sick again and I puke until there’s nothing left but acid in my stomach.
When I’m sure I’m done, I get off the floor and flush. I wash my mouth out in the sink and splash water in my face, trying to think what the hell I’m going to do.
Most people would probably tell me to get an abortion but that’s not an option. Dirk left a month after our wedding and I missed my period a few days after that. But at the time, I was so upset I didn’t even notice. That was right around the time I’d found out that our joint bank account had been completely cleaned out, leaving me without even enough money to pay the next month’s rent or buy groceries.
Needless to say, I don’t have money for medical care either.
I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about the rent situation because it’s the end of the month. I approached my landlord—a sleazy guy with a lazy eye who always smells like he just smoked about a pound of weed—and asked for an extension. His response was succinct—“Pay up or get out. I don’t give extensions, second chances, or warnings, girly.”
So that was a no-go.
I wish I had some money coming in but I don’t, mainly because I don’t have a job. Dirk wanted me to stay at home, “Just at first, babe. Until after we buy the house,” he told me. So I’d been playing housewife for him, doing all the cleaning and cooking and of course, having unprotected sex with him whenever he asked for it. Which makes it hard to know exactly when I got pregnant.
I look at the stick again and then I look in the mirror. A woman with wavy, dark blonde hair and green eyes looks back at me. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying—I’ve been a mess ever since I realized Dirk isn’t coming back. He didn’t even leave me a note. He just said he was going to work one day and never came home.