A'roya

Chapter Twenty-Nine 😈

Hello!

I'm here y'all back with another update hehe.

I have a new laptop!

"How are you?" I asked Jericho, watching him glare at the food given to him.

"I'm dying; look at the food that is given to me. I'm going to pay for the bill; at least ask me what the fuck I want."

"Jericho, this is healthy." Phoebe shrugged.

"Would you eat this?"

"No, I'm pregnant, so I can't."

"But it's healthy." He mocked. I chuckled as Phoebe glared at him.

"How was the therapist?" I asked.

Jericho rolled his eyes. "She's so annoying, god damn nigga. Why is she asking me if I have been diagnosed with PTSD before? Like I said, I was only diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. She asked me about four times."

"She wants to make sure you're not lying."

"Well, I'm not, and she should check for herself."

Phoebe glared. "Don't be difficult."

"Well, I'm going to therapy, aren't I? I must be very difficult."

I smiled widely. "Purr, self-aware queen!"

Jericho glared at me as Phoebe giggled. "You know, A'roya, I don't think I want to see your face right now."

"Well, too bad nigga. You gon see it."

Jericho sighed. "I don't want to see her again. I don't want to talk about my time in the navy; I think it's pretty apparent that no one has a good time seeing death." Jericho admitted. "I was never diagnosed with PTSD, but it worsened my anxiety; I was overdosing to make it go away. Phoebe made it better; in fact, she made it non-existent, but when she went through one of her own anxiety attacks, I was worried, I was scared, and I took extra Xanax to push my problems away to help her, she's carrying my child, and she's the love of my life."

Phoebe wiped the tears from her face. "But you did know it would affect you."

"I did, but I took that risk. It seemed to work out for me for a while."

Phoebe shook her head. "You have to get rid of all of it, and you need to do therapy. You can't do that again."

Jericho nodded his head. "Can I get a hug now?"

"No," Phoebe said.

I chuckled a bit. "You haven't touched him?"

"No, he needs to learn his lesson. If he was dead, this is how it would be."

"But baby–"

"Get well, Jericho. You'll be seeing your therapist every Friday after release."

Jericho groaned. "Can I at least touch your stomach?"

"No," Phoebe replied.

I laughed. "I'm glad to see that some part of you are doing well."

"I am too."

Jericho's eye widened. "Dad?"

I turned around and met with dark brown–almost black eyes. Dad looks terrible. Many sleepless nights for sure.

Our dad is a very tall man. He's six foot three. I used to think he was abnormally tall until I met Vincent. He's dark-skinned and looks terrifying, but he's a kind person.