Page 96 of Beautifully Reckless

I snort a laugh, then immediately moan as an image of Ringo sliding his dick inside this… thing, flashes through my mind.

I’ve already tried three times to touch myself tonight. Each time I do, I feel absolutely nothing. It’s like my body won’t cooperate, and I have a feeling that even if I used a vibrator, my body would have the same response.

I’d still go cold. Numb.

Because it’s not him.

Shit.

Dropping the sex toy back into the drawer, I decide that maybe I just need to go for a walk. Maybe if I find Ringo and just be near him, the intensity of the ache will soften. And, honestly, I’m lonely in this big room all by myself.

I search through my backpack, looking for pants or shorts to put on, but then I catch sight of myself in the huge gold framed mirror propped against the wall.

I’m wearing one of Ringo’s t-shirts. It’s huge on me. The neckline hangs wide, slipping off one shoulder, and the hem stops mid-thigh.

Turning from side to side, I study my reflection. Do I look ridiculous or… not?

My hair is pulled into a messy pile on my head, stray wisps of hair softening around my face, the look making my exposed neck seem longer.

With the way the t-shirt falls, you can only see my bump when the fabric clings in the right spot. My boobs, which are so much bigger now, kind of create a tent with the fabric.

I’m only wearing undies underneath. Or, as Ringo likes to call them,panties.

Do I still appeal to him now that he knows I’m pregnant?

He did kiss my stomach this morning.

God, was that really this morning? It feels like today has gone on forever.

Glancing at the digital clock on the bedside table, I note it’s a little after 11pm.

I guess it’s nearly Saturday.

Taking one last look in the mirror, I shrug at myself.

“Stuff it,” I mutter.

I’m going to find Ringo as I am, and if he doesn’t like it, well… I don’t know but he’ll like it, right?

Ugh. Why am I so insecure?

Oh I don’t know, Abbey. Maybe because you grew up in a household full of coercive control and had an arsehole ex who got off on raping you and passing you around like a toy to his rapey friends.

Okay. I think I have cabin fever. I need to get out of this room and my own thoughts for a bit.

Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I slip out of Ringo’s room and pad through the house quietly, noting only a few dim lights are on downstairs.

I don’t come across anyone as I creep quietly, until I step outside and hear laughter coming from the direction of the barn.

My heart sinks a little at the lack of invitation to whatever it is. Not that I deserve one, but I miss friendship. Being at the top of someone’s list of invitations. Someone thinking, hey, I really want to hang out with Abbey today.

I miss the laughter and feeling of lightness you get from being around people you feel so comfortable with, you don’t have to worry about being someone you’re not. Having deep conversations about the important stuff, as well as the less important things that you enjoy and love.

Like One Direction.

That makes me smile.

Ringo hated me playing their songs on his phone. I actually think he was pretending but I liked that he gave me shit for worshipping a boy band. It was light and carefree and reminded me of the banter I used to have with my friends.

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