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It’s weird, this new predicament we are in.
He’s always been the one in charge. And now I am not giving him that power.
Though, I am missing his bed.
“You hardly even see Whiskey, I remind her.
“Well, I do, and I’m still on the train of I hate him for you.”
“That’s so sweet, but not necessary. I’m getting off that train and learning to try to trust him.”
“You think he can be trusted?” she asks me.
“Barry, you think he can be trusted?” I ask her.
“Yes, he never blackmailed me.” She goes really quiet. “You know he’s into some real dark people, I mean he provides security for some of the worse and covers their tracks.” I have never once thought of Whiskey as an angel.
Never.
And I know he has a temper. Especially when it comes to men around me.
And that should bother me more, but lately. It doesn’t.
I start making myself a sandwich as the door opens, and in walks Barry and Whiskey, Whiskey holds a bag, and I can smell the food automatically. My morning sickness has eased off a bit if I’m careful with what I eat.
Picking up the bread I put it to my mouth.
“Should you be eating that?” I pause confused at Whiskeys words.
“Did you just question what Lottie is eating, who are you?” Emma says to him, but he ignores her.
“It’s processed meats,” he says directly to me. I give my best what the fuck stare.
“What would you care? Oh, gosh. Please don’t tell me he is some clean-eating freak nut. I can’t deal! I eat chocolate way too much to deal with that.”
I put the sandwich down and wipe my hands on my shorts.
“Ok.”
Emma’s eyes go wild as she looks at me.
“Did you just agree? Are you in there?” Emma waves a hand in front of my face. “Don’t let him control you like your father does.”
“He doesn’t,” I tell her.
She points to the sandwich. “So, eat it.”
“I can’t,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“Emma, let’s go to bed.” Barry walks over, and when he does, I look up and know he knows straight away. Whiskey walks over and starts pulling the food out of the bag. I instantly gag and turn to the sink and throw up what I ate earlier.
“I’m not going to bed, what is wrong with you Lottie, you are acting crazy, like some pregnant….” Her words end. I turn the water on and wipe my face. “Are you pregnant?”
“She can’t eat processed meats,” Whiskey clarifies.
“And why is that?” Emma asks.
