😣😰🤢

💁🏽💁🏽

Home was the last place I wanted to be. Everything took me back to that day. The day I was shot. The day I lost my child. The day it was made impossible for me to have children. The day I finally broke.

If anything I would have preferred to be stuck with Zion, being beaten every night and shoved around every day. I would've rather been in that basement with my dad.

I felt empty.

Worthless.

Pathetic.

Meaningless.

What type of a mother was I? If I couldn't protect my unborn child whilst it was inside of me, how could I have protected it when it was walking? Or when it learnt to ride a bike?

I wish I learnt the gender.

I wish I'd chosen a name.

I wish I could've held my baby at least once.

I stood, emotionless, in the doorway of the bedroom, staring a the faint stain on the floor. I thought of the way I would've sang my child to sleep, the way I would've made them hot chocolate when they couldn't manage to fall asleep. Or the way I'd have kissed their boo boo's and wiped their tears, telling them that they were so brave for trying to ride their bike down the hill.

I thought of how I'd punish them by sitting them on the naughty step, but taking them off it once their beautiful eyes brimmed with tears. I thought of how Jay would be with them.

I felt the tears run down my face, I still had fat and a small bump from my pregnancy.

"Natasha?" I was torn from my gaze as Jayceon stood infront of me. "You want something to eat? To drink?"

Silently, I shook my head.

"Baby," He said, keeping his voice as soft as he could. He'd never treated me so delicately. "Is there anything I can do?"

I shook my head again, the words choking in my throat but my mouth couldn't bare to take them.

"Natasha ya gotta talk to me sweetheart." He gently cupped my face and wiped the tears from my cheeks.

I did talk to him, and what I said was true-

"I don't want to be alive."