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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Joanie
It’s been a quiet three months. I’ve been holed up in Karen’s dorm when she’s at class, and when she comes home, I head to the library. Hudson is a great university, but her room’s so small that it’s impossible for us both to be in it at once.
But that’s okay. Because I don’t want to talk about my situation, not really. Of course, it’s been unavoidable with my best friend, but at the same time, I’m talked out. At this point, there isn’t that much more to say.
Because I’m pregnant.
I’m not sure who the father is, and it really doesn’t matter. All I know was that this baby was conceived in a mix of love and pleasure, and I’m not giving the child up.
No way, no how.
This baby is mine, and I’m going to raise her with memories of her fathers. All six of them, swirling in my mind again and again, a sweet yet sorrowful remembrance of days past.
Because I never went back to Nick’s penthouse after the shocking fight, nor did the billionaires come looking for me. Of course not. They were already interviewing replacements the next morning, me just a faded shadow.
But even if I’m a memory, I still have my thoughts, crystal clear and sharp. The smells of the men. The feel of their hands. Those hard bodies and deep voices.
And yes, their cocks.
Those massive ten inch monsters, taking me again and again, sixty inches total.
Sometimes while I doze, I’ll cry out.
“Tom! Charlie! Damien!” is my anguished voice. “Andrew! Aaron! Nick!”
Karen will shake me awake.
“Joanie, you’ve had another nightmare,” she’ll say firmly, lips pressed in a line. “Another bad dream.”
Because my eyes are filled with tears most times. But how can I tell her that these aren’t nightmares, they’re memories of good times that are now gone? The best experiences of my life in the hands of these charismatic, dominating men?
Because they’re ruthless for sure. I was tossed out like the dirty laundry just a couple hours after I left. They gave no quarter. No mercy. There’s no forgiveness.
But it’s all done now, and I don’t want to fixate on the bad. I have a child to think of, and it does no good to speak ill of her fathers. It’s better to remember the good times, and how much I loved them. How much I adored being with them, becoming my one true self in their presence.
These memories will have to last me a lifetime.
Because that’s all I have left.
No more.
Never again.
But I’ll focus on the future. I’ll make sure my daughter wants for nothing, and that she needs for nothing. So gone are my dreams of being a chemist. There’s no way I can go to school while heavily pregnant, or even taking care of a child.
But I haven’t given up. Instead, I’ve turned to freelance writing because it has a flexible schedule. I can take jobs when they come, or turn them down if I’m too busy. Plus, I should be able to put the baby in daycare a few hours a day while scribbling my thoughts onto paper. Actually, it’s the only real option on the table.
“How is this going to work? How are you going to survive?” asked Karen worriedly one day. “Do your folks even know?”
I took a deep breath.
“I’ll be out of your hair when my delivery date comes around,” was my soft voice. “I promise.”
But Karen shook her head.
“It’s not that Joanie. It’s that life is tough for single moms. Don’t you think you should tell the dads? Don’t they deserve to know?”
