At a serious breaking point, she let out an anguished scream.
Think about the baby! Logan says it every fucking day—when he is around at least. The frustrating words played over and over in her head. She was going to explode from always thinking about the damn baby. Why couldn’t she think about herself for a change.
When was the last time I got laid? Or went out for a nice dinner. Or to listen to music and dance. When did all those things become irrelevant?
That Saturday morning, she had a major panic attack. Unable to control herself any longer, she grabbed her keys and headed to the elevator. Logan’s voice echoed in her mind. He hated it when she went outside by herself. Or was it really that he was back to his old tricks, trying to possess her mind, to make her paranoid? All his nagging bullshit about how unsafe it was go outside alone in her delicate condition drove her mad.
The hell with him, and the hell with my delicate condition.
Another typical day in paradise—high eighties, cloudless blue sky, huge steamy sun, humidity that poured down her body, creating an irritating shine on her face and making her shirt cling even tighter to her protruding stomach. The kind of day she could expect like clockwork in South Florida, except of course when it was rainy season. Then the torrential downpours barricaded you inside. Or it was hurricane season. Then the tropical storms and hurricanes could sweep you away.
Actually, being swept away into oblivion wouldn’t be that bad. It couldn’t be worse than being nonexistent in an uncaring world.
The warm sand trickled between her toes as she strolled along the beach. How overdramatic she had become in such a short time crossed her mind. She pushed it away. An unexpected peacefulness spread through her—therapeutic and invigorating. Not a full speed ahead I’m doing great kind of feeling, but more of I may not kill myself today feeling. Maybe she would even venture down to the ocean, tread through the tepid water, pick up some sea shells.
The condo wasn't too far from the section of A1A lined with bars and small cafes—places she hadn't been to in months. Happy places where there were people laughing, having fun. Walking by the first beachside bar, she could taste the beer, smell the delicious aromas. So hypnotic, she longed to enjoy it all. It seemed like forever since she'd had a drink. Of course she couldn't now, because, like everything she loved to do, it was bad for the baby.
Her spirits lifted slightly when she slipped her feet back into her flip flops and left the sand. The hint of a breeze brushing her skin was just enough to help dissolve a few drops of sweat.
A beautiful Saturday afternoon meant a lot of action on A1A with tons of cars cruising. The blaring car horn, followed by whistling startled her as she waddled across the street. Turning back, prepared to curse out some half blind old guy for practically running her over, she was surprised to find two younger guys in a red convertible smiling at her.
They most likely can’t see my bulging belly. Or are they crazy also? She laughed, settling down at a street-side table covered by a huge umbrella. At least she could enjoy a strawberry ice tea and get some relief from the sun for a few minutes.
She sat patiently waiting for the tea, enjoying the half-naked sun worshipers parading by, when she saw him. Stiffening, she blinked, thinking the harsh glare of the sun was effecting her eyesight. Pushing her sunglasses higher on her nose, she leaned back into the shade to take a closer look. Her heart stopped. It really was Logan, hand in hand with a tall, familiar looking Latina. They walked right by without ever noticing her sitting there. All alone. They never even saw her mouth flop open in shock, or her face go deathly white. Without a sound, she turned her head, her eyes following them down the block.
“Here's your tea, miss.” The soft spoken waiter’s voice was lost in a swirl of wind.
Her lips parted, but the words wouldn't roll off of her tongue. A sudden gust of wind whirled across the table, sending the napkins flying onto the ground. For a few seconds her eyes fixed on them, but all she saw was black.
He won’t get away with it this time.
The words continued to play over and over in her mind. She couldn’t turn them off. Or control the quivering that wracked her body.
LOGAN
He really had good intentions when they came to Miami. Build a life with Kristen, rekindle their original passion. It was there—they both felt the undeniable chemistry. The three weeks in New York when she had abandoned him now a faded star in the darkness. That was why he'd ended it with Gina—not that it was a hard a decision. He never loved her. In fact, he barely liked her. The sex was good, but nothing compared to how he felt with Kristen.
It wasn't his fault if it wasn't working out the way he'd planned. Her unwanted pregnancy brought her back to his bed, then something went astray, something he'd never expected.
The first three months meant no sex—it was too risky. By the time her second trimester started, his fear of hurting her prevented him from even trying. Once or twice during the fourth month she had insisted. She wasn't big yet, still very sexy, and being seduced by her was easy.
He remembered their last try like it was yesterday. A big let down from the start. His nervous tension from worrying about losing control and hurting her, forced him to have an immediate orgasm. When she looked at him with those disappointed, big green eyes, he felt emasculated and tried to defend himself.
“I didn’t wanna hurt you, baby. Aren't you always telling me I'm too rough? Then you're gonna be mad at me.”
She’d showered him with kisses, he gave in, and then she cried he was hurting her and got mad. He couldn't win, so he gave up.
Then he ran into Gina at a restaurant and she was all over him. That was about a month ago. If he felt any guilt at all it was washed away by the fact he'd been a good boy for an intolerable four-month period.
When he returned to the condo that Saturday afternoon, it was eerily dark and quiet. He went from room to room calling out to Kristen without response. Suddenly, he sensed her behind him and a smile began to etch into his face. With a slow, confident movement, he turned to face her. There was no need for words. He was sure the soft glimmer in his eyes would speak to her. But this time, she couldn’t see them through the blind vengeance raging in her own.
For a second he went rigid, consumed by that rage, the intensity of which he had never seen in her before. “Krissy…” His hand reached out tentatively for her face.
Before he could utter another word, she let out a horrifying wail, raised her hand, and brought the beer bottle crashing down on the side of his head.
The deafening crack of shattered glass tapered off to a steady ringing in his ears. Dazed from the impact, a bright blinding light flashed before his eyes. Unable to speak, he wobbled backwards against the wall, his mouth hanging open. His eyes widened further as liquid trickled down his face. On impulse, he reached up to it. When he brought his hand down it was covered in blood.
The glimmer in his eyes faded to a cloud of despair as he raised them to Kristen’s deathly pale face. She stood frozen in front of him, the rage in her eyes replaced by a crazed, vacant stare. Blinking his face into focus, she gaped at him in shock. Without a word, she began to cry, then sank to the floor in anguish.
* * *
They stitched his head up, gave him a bottle of Percocet, and released him with discharge instructions. Ever so slowly, the meds started to kick in, but he was so dizzy and spaced out he could hardly walk. After five torturous hours in the emergency room, they were finally going home.