Page 99 of Interference
What the fuck.
No. No. No.
I need to know what happens next.
“What did you do?” I ask Ashley, trying to keep the tears at bay.
“Aw, you really thought he wanted to be with you, didn’t you?” she coos.
“Why? What did I ever do to you?”
“You exist,” she spews. “You came here on your high horse thinking you were better than all of us. You demanded all the coaches’ and trainers’ time and fooled them into thinking you were their golden ticket. The one who would bring honor to our school. Then you treated one of the best hockey players to come here as if he was beneath you. You used him as a fuck buddy. Then when you got pregnant, you expected him to settle down and play family? News flash, bitch, that’s not how it works, and you are a nobody. You aren’t going to the Olympics, and you sure as hell don’t deserve someone like Brett.”
Standing, I let the blanket fall to the floor. “Fuck you, Ashley. Fuck you.”
“That’s right, run away like a little bitch!” She cackles as I head down the hall.
I walk into my room, and instead of slamming the door like I really want to, I shut it softly. As I walk toward my bed, the tears start to fall down my cheeks. I start sobbing when I crawl into a ball on top of my blankets.
How could this happen?
How could he do this to me?
We were just talking about the future, picking what school he wants to work for, and then this happens a few hours later? I was supposed to be at that party, but stayed behind because I wanted to rest. I told him to go. This is what he does? Is this some kind of sick joke?
If this wasn’t what he wanted, he should have said something sooner. He could have told me when I told him I was expecting. He could have walked after my first appointment. Instead he played me like a fool.
I cover my mouth as I sob.
For crying out loud, we spent Thanksgiving with my family and Christmas at the James’ house. When I told him he could go alone, he was adamant that I went home with him to Mama James’s house.
It was all a lie.
God, what am I going to do?
I look back at our earlier conversation.
Brett
I miss you. Are you sure you don’t want to come over?
Me
No. I need to rest. You have fun.
Brett
It won’t be fun without you, but I will try. I love you, buttercup. See you tomorrow. Call me if you change your mind.
Love me? What a fucking joke.
I fight the urge to pick up my phone and confront him. I know I need to, but I can’t. Not right now. He doesn’t deserve my tears.
No, I’ll take tonight to cry and mourn what I thought I knew, then tomorrow, I’ll tell him I know.
My hand moves to my stomach, and I run it over my bump. Thirty-two weeks pregnant and alone.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry,” I cry.
