𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝

Chapter Thirty-Two

B E L L A M Y

I still hadn't told him when my parents came for dinner that next day. I didn't know why I was putting it off—maybe I just needed to let it sink in a little more.

My decision to keep the baby turned out to be an easy one, whether Noah was going to be in their life or not.

"Bella, are you ok?" Mom asked from across the table, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Hmm? Yeah," I replied, swallowing hard.

As I looked into her eyes, I realized that I had so many obstacles to go, and my palms got instantly sweaty.

Our parents had raised Isaac and me to be responsible, caring and good people, but getting pregnant at my age without anything being certain wasn't in their plans, that's for sure.

The same question rose; Would my mother be angry at me?

I didn't live in her house, so she couldn't use that as an argument anymore, but it was my mother. And she meant everything to me, as well as her opinion.

But I did live under Isaac's roof. I hadn't even thought about what he would think. Especially when he would find out his best friend played a role in it too. A pretty big one at that.

"Bella, you're looking a little pale. Did you eat enough today?" Dad chimed in, placing his hand over mine on the table.

"Are you sleeping enough?" Mom asked, and I felt the nausea coming up.

I tried to free my hand from my father's grasp, mostly because I didn't want him to notice how I was shaking in my seat.

"You see, maybe you shouldn't be working this much," Isaac added, and my breathing sped up.

Oh my god, was I having a panic attack?

"Have you been applying to other jobs, honey?"

"Do you need some financial help?"

"Are you taking care of yourself?"

I jumped up, tears springing into my eyes. I couldn't listen to all their questions anymore.

Under normal circumstances I wouldn't mind—I would even be happy they cared so much—but now, I felt like I needed to puke and faint at the same time.

"Bellamy," Noah said softly, and I tried to catch my breath as I scooted my chair further back.

"I just need..." I trailed off, turning and stumbling over my own feet as I made a beeline for the stairs.

"Honey," my mother tried, rising from her seat and watching me run upstairs, but I ignore her.

Tears were streaming down my face as I walked into the bathroom, my skin feeling itchy and about a hundred degrees. My lungs hurt and I was ready to pull my hair out, feeling the walls close in on me.

Everyone was going to hate me. Oh my god, what if the baby was going to hate me?

I ran cold water over the insides of my wrist, splashing some in my face as well in an effort to calm myself down.

Therapy had taught me a lot about handling anxiety or panic attacks, but that didn't mean they didn't suck.

When I felt like I could properly breathe again, I sunk onto the floor with my back against the edge of the bathtub, wrapping my arms around my legs as I pulled them against my chest.

A soft knock on the door made me look up, and more tears flowed down my cheeks when Noah peeked his head around the door. "Are you ok?"

God, if this wasn't the perfect time to tell him that he was going to be a father, I didn't know what was, but I couldn't get the words past my lips.