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18
MAYA
Ican hardly see through the tears that blur my vision as the harsh words Hunter had flung at me echo in my mind.
I push through the revolving doors of the building, the cool city air hitting me like an icy shock. I stumble toward the parking lot.
With trembling hands, I fumble for my keys, my sobs coming in uncontrollable waves now. I unlock my car, falling into the driver's seat. I slump against the steering wheel, letting the turmoil within me spill out.
What a fucking asshole.
I should have known better.
My body shakes with each sob, my heartache is so intense it feels like physical pain. The leather steering wheel is cool under my forehead. At least that is somewhat relieving.
I cry for what feels like forever, releasing everything that I've been bottling up.
Stupid, stupid girl.
You thought he would love you?
He just wanted to get you in bed.
All you were was excitement to him.
Now you're going to be a single, broke mom.
My phone vibrates, breaking me from my self-imposed misery. I wipe my tears away, before answering the call.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is this Maya?" a kind woman asks from the other end.
"Yes, speaking."
"This is Doctor Harper's office. We're calling to schedule your first ultrasound appointment. Does three weeks from today work for you?"
I clamp a hand over my stomach, the reality of my situation washing over me. "Yes, that would be great."
"Wonderful, Maya," she says cheerfully. "And how have you been feeling? Any irregularity?"
I stop and think about the shit show my life has been.
Irregularity?
You mean like the fact that I am pregnant with my best friend's dad's baby?
That's pretty fucking irregular.
Or how about that I quit my job because my boss — aka my baby daddy — was being a complete fucking jerk?
Or the fact that my morning sickness seems to be all-day sickness?
Or the way my clothes already don't fit right?
Or that my emotions are a roller coaster ride to hell?
Is all that considered 'irregular' enough?
