Page 34 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

Hedidhave power over me. Because he had the ability to end Milo’s career, and it was all my fault.

I make it five minutes before Penny fusses, her little body fighting against the blanket swaddling her.

Lovely.

Picking up my pace, I squeeze shampoo into the palm of my hand and scrub it through my hair as Peanut’s wails grow louder.

“I’m hurrying,” I promise her, rinsing the suds from my scalp.

Face red, she arches her back and screams at the top of her lungs as I grab the conditioner and squirt a quarter-sized dollop into my hand, running it through my hair. Her wails grow sharper with each passing second. They’re so loud, I can barely think straight, let alone disperse the creamy hair product through my ends properly. When my fingers catch on a snarl, I grimace and look down at Penny, her face scrunched in anguish.

“I’m hurrying,” I repeat, yanking at my tangled hair a little harder.

Ouch.

I can’t even remember the last time I showered in peace. Heaven forbid I take a moment for myself. If I had a husband or someone I could rely on, I could pass her off for a few minutes. I could open up to him about how close I am to breaking. How desperate I am to strip away all my obligations and simply…breathe.

For a minute.

It’s all I want. All I need.

A few minutes to myself to simply breathe.

Because this pressure of being the perfect mom, and the perfect Baby Mama, and the perfect house guest, and the perfect sister is too much.

I’m second-guessing every decision I make, knowing it’ll affect more than me, and it’sterrifying. But the worst part is, I have to do this alone, and with everything else going on in my life, I feel like I’m drowning.

“I’m hurrying,” I whisper again, opening the glass shower door separating us and bend down to rock the bouncer, hoping to soothe her. “I’m right here. It’s okay. Can I have two minutes, please?” I beg, my voice cracking.

She screams even louder.

I knew parenthood would be hard, but I had no idea it would push me to the emotional limits like it has. Or maybe it’s life, in general, beating me down, leaving me a shell of the person I used to be. I wipe water from my face, giving her a pained smile as another stone of defeat falls on my shoulders.

I’m a terrible mom.

“Sh… It’s all right, Peanut. It’s––”

The bathroom door flies open and bangs against the wall as Penny’s wails grow even louder.

“Shit, Mads,” Milo barks, his tone bordering on frustrated yet relieved at the same time.

“Don’t you knock?” I screech as I try to cover my very naked body from my ex, who’s simply standing there.

Looking at me.

“I did knock,” he counters, his chest drenched in sweat from the gym. “I’vebeenknocking. I thought you slipped and fell or some shit.”

“Well, I’m fine!” I yell over Peanut’s cries with one arm wrapped around my chest while I attempt to cover my lady bits with the other. It’s useless, though. He can see everything right now.

Everything.

Face reddening, I demand, “Can I have some privacy, please?”

Without waiting for an invitation, he steps into the bathroom and picks Penny up, cradling her against his chest as he eyes me warily. Like he doesn’t know what to do with me. Like he doesn’t know what to think or how to handle the current situation.

Well, fun fact, Milo. Neither do I.

When Dove suggested I shower to cool off and clear my head, I didn’t anticipatethis. A mental breakdown with a side of libido shock.

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