Page 118 of Rules

There is so much girly shit on the counter, I don’t even know where to begin. I run my fingers through my hair in frustration.

Deodorant, shampoo, toothpaste…

I start opening the drawers. More make-up, all the girly shit, wipes… Where the fuck does she keep unopened toothbrushes? I squat down to open the last drawer and there they are.

I throw one in the bag.

“I think that’s it.”

I start to get up when something in the trash bin underneath the sink catches my attention.

There is a carton, wipes and other garbage, and between it all, a white stick.

Two white sticks.

Motherfucker.

Blood turns to ice in my veins, my whole body giving up on me.

I stand up so fast I almost stumble over my own feet and fall on my ass in surprise, but not once do I look away from the trash can.

This can’t be real.

I refuse to believe it, but no amount of blinking makes it go away. The plastic stick is still there. Still very much positively there.

Gritting my teeth, I dig my hand inside, my insides cringing as the bile rises in my throat—when I get to Jeanette, I’m so going to strangle her for doing this to me—and snatch them out.

Looking down at them, I confirm what I already know, although I don’t want to believe it’s true. The test is positive.

At least one of them.

My hand grips around the plastic tightly, so tightly I’m surprised I don’t hear it snap in half, my gaze turning red as the realization sets in. Jeanette is most likely pregnant, and the father… I swallow hard.

Motherfucker.

Barely remembering to take the bag with me, I storm down the stairs and out the front door, my loud footsteps echoing in the otherwise utterly silent house.

“You fucking piece of shit,” I roar as soon as I see him.

Andrew turns around, and I can see the confusion on his face, but I don’t have it in me to care. Not stopping for a second, I get in his face. Drawing my hand back, I punch him in the cheek. A sharp pain radiates through my hand, but I know it has to be ten times worse for him.

He stumbles on his feet from the force of the impact, his hand covering his face, which has already started bruising.

“What the…” he starts, but I’m in no mood to listen.

I knew he was an idiot, but this… This I didn’t expect.

“You stupid…” I punch him again, and this time my fist scrapes his jaw. But it’s not enough. I want to see the fucker bleed. “…fucking…” Another punch to the side. “…son-of-a-bitch.”

I lift my knee, striking him in the gut. Andrew doubles over, his hands wrapping around his stomach as he struggles to breathe.

“…t-the f-fuck?” he hisses.

He lifts his head from the bent position, throwing daggers at me.

I’m panting, but it has more to do with my anger than actual physical exertion.

“This is all your fault!” I throw the damn sticks I still hold clasped in my fist at him, but the fucker manages to dodge them. “I knew it! I told her you’re not good enough, but did she listen to me? No! Of-fucking-course not. She never listens to anybody.”

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