Page 36 of Rage

I was late.

Something that never happened.

Okay, don’t panic, just fucking breathe. It was nothing a trip to the pharmacy couldn’t fix. Besides, you’re on birth control.

There was no way this could have happened.

I’ve been pretty stressed lately, which could definitely cause abnormal periods. Or maybe my hormones were fluctuating, which was also a possible explanation.

“Hey, while you’re in there, bitch, grab me another beer.”

The telltale sound of springs recoiling as he cranked his footrest back on that old-ass, cheap-ass recliner was a relief. Meant he would pass out soon enough.

All I had to do was out-wait him.

Pregnant.

The word flashed before me like a ticking time bomb, a death warrant, handcuffs for a crime I knew damn well I didn’t commit.

I’d been so careful. So fucking careful. I used condoms and had an implant in my arm.

My heart dropped as I remembered the injury I’d gotten falling down the stairs a few months ago. I sliced my arm up and?—

And I’d been unconscious. They would have asked my boyfriend, my emergency medical contact, about what to do.

Suddenly, all I felt was panic. Fear, rage, but mostly panic.

And I realized with a start, that even if I’d married him, I would have never had his baby.

What a time for a wake-up call. Wow.

The tears wouldn’t come, though. Those, I’d save for later. Now, I had to confront the man who’d secretly had a doctor remove my birth control and likely poked a hole in the condoms.

I posted up in the living room first, my feet kicked up on the coffee table like I knew he hated, my arms crossed over my tits, the pregnancy test sitting at my heels. Then I moved to the kitchen, making him a grand meal as I stewed over what to say to him. Finally, I landed in the bedroom, staring at our photos from Costa Rica last year. He’d won two tickets to some resort at a business function and made a big deal out of taking me as proof we were madly in love.

His mother was over the moon to meet me before we went. He trotted me out like a prize parrot, preening over me like he’d won the lottery with this one.

She ate it up and insisted he’d betterlock me downbefore I ran off to greener pastures.

And now, six months later, I was pregnant when I knew damn well I shouldn’t be.

The front door slammed against the wall, signaling his return home from work. It also shook me from my inner ramblings, just soon enough to realize I had burned the veggies in the hot skillet of oil.

Fuck. One more thing for him to complain about.

“Smells burnt,” he grumbled, walking into the kitchen as he loosened the tie around his throat. “Only you could fuck up zucchini.”

One more way to shove a knife into me.

I ignored his comment as he walked around the room, eyeballing the ingredients I’d ordered from the store a few hours ago. “So, I was curious,” I started, watching his hand drag along the counter. “When I had that accident a few months back, did you sign off on an elective surgery?”

Usually dry and humorless, his laugh sounded almost forced when he refused to meet my gaze. “What kind of question is that? I told them to stitch you up, Tara. That’s it.” His eyes lifted briefly, and I watched him quickly scan me for any sign of what was to come.

He knew I was on to him.

“Oh, hmm. That’s interesting.”

He came around the counter, peeking into the skillet where the charred remnants of the sliced, fried, now blackened zucchini lay in a bath of cooling oil. “What’s with you lately? You’ve been acting weird since this morning.”

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