32
Alana
Wakingup isn’t shitty this time around. I’m not sinking down into the mattress; I’m comfortable for the first time in a while, and it doesn’t feel like gravity has a personal vendetta against me. I roll over with minimal effort, and the smooth ceiling above me makes me crack a smile, then I let out a deep breath. I’m free, no more locked up in a room, no more Mexico, no more fuckingKameron.My head is groggy, but still, I feel more rested than I have in days.
I don’t feel Megan. Veronica’s there, but faintly. After blocking her out, I imagine she’s probably pissed at me, but I don’t really care that she is. We’re out of there, and that’s all that matters.
I do, however, feel like an ass for Megan having to hear Kam admitting he wanted to fuck me. That had to be the ultimate betrayal. The entire trip to Cancun did the opposite of what it was supposed to. Instead of rest and relaxation, it turned into a nightmare for Megan; they didn’t spend much time together in comparison to the wonderful fun he and I had. He proved that he can’t be trusted to do what’s right for Megan. He was so confident he’d be able to keep her stable by controlling every aspect of her environment and wouldn’t listen to what she wanted. I hope she can see him for what he is now.
She’ll bounce back from it; she always does. But I have a feeling this might take a while.
I look down at my protruding belly, and suddenly, I become damn proud of myself. I’m surprised I held it together for as long as I did. I guess if it’s for someone else, I can control my temper. It’s not like I was actively trying before, but now that I’m going to be someone's mother, I need to wrangle it.
I rub my hand over my bump, and as I do, a deep warmth spreads through me while I stare at my stomach.
“Thanks, baby, for keeping me together through that shit. You were good for me,” I praise gratefully.
I’ve always heard babies can hear their mothers from inside the womb. I needed to say all of what was said while I was in Cancun, but from now on, I’m going to make a conscious effort to make sure my words are chosen more carefully, and my anger is kept in check. I don’t want this little person coming out mad at the world, and I don’t want this baby to learn from me either.
I want to be better for this child. I will be better.
When I sit up, that’s when I notice the clothes on the other side of the room and a phone on the nightstand beside me. My first instinct upon seeing it is to call Ian. After being trapped by Kam for almost two fucking weeks, I just need to hear that gentle bass in Ian’s voice, but the only thing I can do is stare at the phone.
After all the shit I’ve caused him, does he even want to hear from me? I walked out on him; there’s no way he’s gotten over that. And how would I even begin to talk about the shit that went down in Cancun? How do I bring it up? Do I tell him everything that happened? Bits and pieces? Would he want to know?
I have no idea. All I know is that hearing his voice will make me weak, and I have some shit I need to figure out before I drag him back into this. I want to be what he deserves this time around, if he’ll take me back.
But I need to deal with these others in my head first.
The three of us are long overdue for a talk, and I’m going to figure out how to do that just as soon as I’ve found a place. I’m pretty sure right now I’m at Cal’s. I have very vague memories of Lauren putting me to bed, but they feel like a fever dream.
I’m not in the same clothing, and if I had to bet between the two, I’d say Veronica showed up. I have to acknowledge that she shows up a lot for us, and having her there with me in Mexico helped me keep it together.
The echo of Helen’s talking about integration passes through my thoughts. The thing I’ve been against and dreaded has me just a tad curious. Wondering how it’d really work if all of us magically were on the same page for once, but that seems like a pipe dream. Even if Veronica and I got along for a few days, there’s no way that Megan would even think about it. I’m waiting for her to make all of this my fault like she always does.
Thinking about that possibility burns me up inside. Everything’s always my fault.
With all these questions flying around in my head, I get off the bed and grab some clothes off the chair to find a bathroom.
After a long, scalding hot shower that has my skin red and my fingertips pruned, I head downstairs to find something to eat. But as I’m looking for the kitchen, an irritated voice coming from somewhere nearby makes me change my course. I walk into the living room, and there’s Cal, already facing the door, his arm folded across his chest, chewing someone out on the phone about what a shitty job they’ve done. When he sees me, he cuts off the next insult and tells whoever it is he has to go and that the problem had better be fixed before he calls back.
“You hear much of that?” he asks, going back over to the couch where a laptop sits.
“Just the last part.” I plop down in one of the armchairs across the room. “Who were you yelling at?”
“A shitty P.I that doesn’t seem to know how to do his own fucking job?”
“P.I? Who are you tracking down?”
Some of the annoyance dissolves from his face as he searches mine.
“Alana,” he states. I nod, and he bobs his head as it comes together for him. “Well, we’re trying to figure out where Kameron is and wanted to know if you wanted to press charges on him when we do.”
“I would love to,” I confirm. “But I highly doubt that wouldn’t cause a shit storm with Megan.”
“You don’t think she’s going to want to press charges against him for kidnapping her?” he asks in disbelief.
I shake my head. “I’m trying not to think about it. Right now, I’m putting all my energy into working on staying calm in case she ends up wanting to go back to him. I’m trying not to get pissed off anymore, and I need to focus all of my efforts towards not going off if she does.”