Page 17 of Unbound
My heart squeezed in my chest; he was talking about me. I realized in that moment that I wasn’t there for Rawley, but for me. I was weak and foolish and was risking both of us being hurt more.
The crowd screamed, women reached out to touch him but he remained two feet back swaying to a steady drum beat, his head down.
His lips pressed to the microphone, a half-muffled sound when he said, “I have… this is for the fucking bitch who destroyed it.” Rocking from side to side, his head remained down as he began to sing, his head moving to the thick beat. And then came the words.
Fuck your pain. You did this.
You took all I gave and left me this way
Still here you are questioning why
Fuck your truths
It’s poison and I don’t give a fuck about you
You suck me dry so fuck your lies
Yeah, I fucked your lies
I’m bruised, broken, bitter… isn’t that what you wanted?
Face it, you wanted this and this is the me you’re getting’
Choke on this, you lying bitch
Shit adds up now
I’m on my knees and burning, swallowing poisons you feed
Your weakness became my need
I know you, you’ll destroy me if I let you
To survive… nah, fuck you, survive me
I won’t forgive you
So fuck your pain
Any false hope I may have had—that time away would have calmed the raging storm running through his body—was gone. I lost. I lost all hope. He was never going to get past my betrayal. He was never going to forgive me.
It breaks my heart because at one time this was our dream and I wanted to share this with him, but I couldn’t. Once again the monster I created wouldn’t let me.
While I was scared, I truly believed I could do it on my own and I was making the right decision by not telling him. I was doing the right thing for this baby. I knew very well the consequences of raising a child on my own and the sacrifices I was going to have to make. My mother raised me on her own, but the day I turned eighteen, she moved to Las Vegas and left my ass. I swore I’d always put my son first, no matter what, and his best interest would always be number one.
So I didn’t tell Rawley.
In late January, Rawley’s band, Torque, came out with their first EP. I bought it and listened to it for a week straight. It was obvious those four songs on his EP were about us, our love and the destruction in which we ended.
In some ways it offered me the smallest sliver of closure because I thought, no, I guess I hoped maybe it did the same for him.
I might never know.
So now here I am, at the end of February, working for Walker Automotive and counting the days until I get to meet my son. My stomach is huge and the only clothes that fit me are sweatpants I stole from Rawley when we were still together and Old Navy tank tops.
I can’t say I’m completely comfortable at Mia’s house, because I’m not. I sleep in Raven’s old room, which is right next to Rawley’s, a door closed for the last eight months. Somedays I want to open it and lie in his bed just to be near him. But most days I want to take a bat to it and destroy everything that reminds me of him. Maybe it’s the hormones.
I DON’T DO much other than work, mostly I lie around reading. At almost eight-months pregnant, I’ve officially reached the stage where I’m constantly tired. I’m on the couch readingWhat To Expect When You’re Expectingwhen I feel a pain in my side.
