❝And she did the drugs for fun
But now she does them just to stay up❞
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I'm a half smoked cigarettes girl, a tiny tops and eye glitter girl, a quick and cheap girl. The female version of a playboy. Sexy, sweet, sour, anyth...
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Jack became bob the motherfuckin builder when it came to our new apartment. Within two days everything was re painted and sanded down. I sat on the floor and watched him. He didn't allow me to be around the paint fumes though, As if he hadn't already cut me lines and offered to shoot me up.
"I want her room to be pink." I said, over the world's loudest music. Jack and I shared the same music taste, $B, Lil peep, random rap songs.
"Your gonna make your daughter go deaf" I practically shouted. Jack paused the music and climbed down for the ladder. We'd painted the living room grey, and our room light blue, "seafoam morning mist". It was beautiful, this was going to be our home, we'd chosen mainly pastels. We, meaning me. Jack was a typical man when it came to being fine with cracked paint an air matress on the floor. I'd told him we were getting a bed. We'd decided to keep Jack's old house, because we could go there on date nights and could keep the drugs far away from our daughter.
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"I'm gonna finish packing the boxes!" I shouted from the living room. We'd made the last minute choice to move out of his house as soon as possible.
"Alright bring them out to the truck!" He shouted back from the bathroom. We'd agreed to bring his meds and some aderall. Things that could stay in bottles were going with us. It was going to be nice, sleeping in a real bed and having a real kitchen, being able to cook breakfast, make morning coffee and make bottles for our baby.
"We need to get more stuff Jack." I said carrying three boxes of stuff into the living room. He rushed over to take them from me.
"Like what?"
I pulled the list from my pocket
"Coffee maker, couch covers, a small rug, comforter sets etc." I said tossing the list to him.
"We're not made of money, we're going to be flat broke once we've bought everything." He stated.
"We don't need money after that, we'll just get essentials." I said shrugging. Money had always been an issue for me, I'd always been wary of it. But some part of me knew we could make ends meet. And at least make it for our kid, I'd go to bed hungry every night if it meant she could eat. I knew Jack would too. Worse comes to worse, we rob someone, or an ATM.
"Has she kicked yet?"
Jack asked as we walked out to the truck. I shook my head. We'd picked up books about pregnancy and the dangers of it, as well as watched movies about birthing. Jack had flat out said
"I refuse to watch her being born, trauma at it's finest." I'd told him I was going to have a c-section instead, because I didn't want to be all stretched out and he told me I was a little late on that, 12 guys or so late. I'd punched him, hard in the arm.
The books scared me, thinking of how she could die without me doing anything, what if she was stillborn? What if I rolled over in bed and squished her, what if I didn't hear her crying in the middle of the night? What if, and this was the worst thought, what if Jack got mad at her? What if he hit her, or worse threw her, he could kill her in a rage. It was weird, how within one single day I'd gone from not wanting a baby, and wanting to walk into planned parenthood and have it vaccumed out of me, to knowing it was a girl, building her nursery, moving out of a shit house for her.
She was everything to me, even though I hadn't felt her kick, or move. I was in love with a human I'd never met yet.
"I think we'll be moved in by the end of the week. Gotta set up the bed first, get our stuff set up. Ion wanna live with boxes and stuff." He said, helping me into the truck again. I nodded. He had more shit than a hoarder. Most of it in my opinion was trash, old credit cards that weren't even in his name.
"Yeah, we're leaving most of the shit anyway." I said smiling. He sighed.
"It's my stuff, I'm only doin this for our daughter." He said.
Something had shifted.
"You okay?" I asked, placing a hand on his thigh. He glanced over at me.
"I want her to have what I didn't. I want her to have a dad that's around for her ya know? Show up to all her school events, go to her dance recitals. Put a bullet in the brain of any guy who hurts her."
I nodded. It made sense.
"I just hope she doesn't turn out like me." I replied, placing a hand on my stomach. He raised an eyebrow.
"what do you mean?"
I shrugged.
"Homeless at 16, pregnant, living with a dealer she met at 15. Body count of thirty, sucking guys off for coke." I said. He gave me a reproachful look.
"As far as the dealer part goes, I'm not the worst in the lot." He said.
I nodded. But he wasn't the best either, he'd hurt me. He could hurt our baby. It was possible. He wasn't the kindest of men either, he yelled. He shot me up, he hadn't tried to kill me. I hope. I glanced over at him.
"Yeah. but you sure ain't the best."
"Bipolar drug addict dealer." He stated, sighing.
"I guess I hope she doesn't turn out like me either." He said.
"Why?"
"I don't want her living with the stuff I lived with, killing someone. Seeing people be killed, watching her friends overdose in her house. Hurting the person she loves." He said. I nodded.
"So who do you want her to turn out like?" I asked.
"Anybody who's not us."
"Hopefully she doesn't end up like the both of us."
