Page 106 of Too Late

“The due date. I’m having a video made for our family to announce the pregnancy and I don’t want to ask Sloan, because she’ll get mad that I forgot the exact due date. So I’m hoping you can just share that information with me to keep me out of the doghouse.”

The woman laughs.She likes that I’m such a loving and caring man, excited about the birth of my child.“Looks like the conception occurred in March. Due date is … Christmas day! Not sure how you could forget that, Dad,” she says with a laugh.

I laugh, too. “That’s right. Christmas day. Our very own little miracle. Thanks for checking.”

“No problem!”

I hang up the phone and look at a calendar. Sloan was still living with me in March.

Luke was around in March.A whole fucking lot.

I’m not sure when the brainwashing started, or when she gave herself to him. My whole body stiffens at the thought. I can’t believe he fucked her.My Sloan.

I can’t believe shelethim. I have no idea if they even used a condom.

I stand up, filled with renewed rage. I pick the chair up I was just sitting in and I throw it across the room, watching it smash against the door. I sprint across the living room and pull the fucking crucifix off the wall. I bash it against the TV, cracking the screen.

That feels good. Sloan was with me when I bought that TV. I look for something else to smash. A mirror. I run toward it and slam the crucifix against it three times until all the glass is shattered on the floor.

I take my crucifix down the hallway to the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if that baby inside her is mine. Just knowing there’s a chance it could come out looking like Luke makes me fucking hate it.

I swing the crucifix at the mirror and smash it over and over.

Fucking bitch.

I walk upstairs and do the same to that mirror.

I don’t even want this fucking baby. It’s been inside her since March, and there’s no telling how many times Luke has been inside her since then. Even if itismy baby, he’s already tainted it.

When Sloan grows my baby inside her, Luke won’t be around to corrupt my child.

I walk through every room, finding more things my tiny Jesus-on-a-stick can destroy. Lamps? Done. Vases? Smashed. Jesus-on-a-stick is on a rampage.

Fucking bitch.

Fucking baby.

FuckingLuke.

Every nice thing I’ve ever had in my life has been destroyed by that man. My empire. The love of my life. My potential child. Everything that’s ever meant anything to me now means absolutely nothing to me because of him.

When I make it back to the kitchen, I open the bottle and swallow another pill. The sooner I’m able to get this ankle monitor off, the sooner I can destroy what he’s slowly corrupting.

I’ll be a dad when I’m goddamn ready to be a dad, and it’ll be to a child who isn’t a single goddamn part of that pathetic piece of shit.

This thing growing inside Sloan right now wasn’t made from love. Even if it’s mine, it wasn’t created innocently. She was allowing another man to corrupt her while I was making love to her at night. If I’d have known that, my dick would have never been inside her. I would have ended her before she went and made all the stupid decisions she’s made.

Now I just need to put a stop to it. I look at the screensaver on my laptop. It’s a screenshot of the moment she put her hands on her belly and smiled down at that abomination. I pull a new chair around and I sit down and change my screensaver. I find a picture of Sloan from back when she was sweet. I make it my screensaver and I stare at it, wondering how she let this happen. How does she still have the audacity to smile when the whore doesn’t even know whose baby is inside her?

“Fucking whore.” I look down at the crucifix in my hand. “Jesus-on-a-stick, do you want to go on a little road trip with me tomorrow? I know a girl who has some serious repenting to do.”

FIFTY-THREE

SLOAN

In the last two weeks, I’ve cooked and photographed twenty-seven meals. Maybe it’s because I’m trying to keep my mind off the fact that I can’t leave my apartment, but this cookbook idea has completely taken over my thoughts.

When I’m not thinking about the pregnancy, of course. Which is every other moment.

---