His Baby {completed}

Chapter 20

A/N: I just wanted to take a few seconds to briefly welcome all of my new readers! And also give a special thanks the ones who has been with me since this story was under 1000 reads (you guys know who you are and you are the real MVP 😩)

Lol I know some of you must be really tired of me giving my thanks all of the time. but I just want you all to know how much I truly appreciate all of your kinds words, comments, and votes. I get blown away every time I notice how many people are truly enjoying this story and following me because of it. I honestly didn't think it would do all that well so fast lol for me not to have joined any reading clubs on wattpad, do R for Rs, or broadcast this story in the forums. It's truly crazy how much love and support I am getting with just simply by writing and publishing it out. Anyways I am going to shut up now and let you guys get back to the story. I hope you enjoy!

***Alex POV***

Nerves clawed away at my gut as I sat there on the sofa. Looking around the stark white walls at the abstract paintings, I smile slightly in amusement. Damn how long has it been? The last time I was in here was sophomore year of high school? No...It was Junior year. Yeah...that's right. It was right after I had lost it in the school's gym and put that boy in the hospital.

Shifting in my seat, I restlessly twiddle my thumbs. "Alex have you heard my question?" Dr. Stone's brittle raspy voice, from forty plus years of smoking, called out in the large room. I quickly look over at the older man, who's frail body hunched over in his plush leather seat on the other side of the office's desk. Dr. Stone was an old Psychiatrist of mine that I have been going to on and off throughout my childhood.

I look over fondly at the elderly man, still feeling nervous at being in the closed in clinical space. Clinics never really settled well with me. The smell. The smell was always the worse for me. The shit creeped me out to no end. I don't really know why it effects me in such a way but it never fails in making my skin crawl.

The only reason my Uncle had trust the doctor enough for me to go to him all those years back was that Dr. Stone's family had a long standing working connection in the organization. Hurst knew that with Dr. Stone's connections with our family, whatever I would say in our meetings would stay there.

Hurst was against me going to the psychiatrist in the first place. He always said that my amount of "crazy" was well needed for our line of work. Shit I couldn't disagree with the old man on that. My "tendencies" have saved and covered my ass countless times throughout my life. No, going to the doctor wasn't Hurst's idea. It was Ms. Cheryl's idea. The short plump headstrong woman demanded that I go to see someone who was a professional, when I had first confessed to killing someone at the age of twelve to her. I still remember her face to this very day.

I told her because she was my only friend I had at the time and I knew she wouldn't judge me for it. So I told her two of my secrets one night. The first one was about the cutting and the second one was about my first kill. I remember the look of pure sadness crossing her dark features as I had told her about my Uncle's operation with the Cubans that day. With big tears rolling down her round cheeks, she held me in a tight hug rocking me back and forth. I remember trying desperately to soothe her once I realized that she was truly upset. I kept telling her over and over that it was okay and that I didn't regret doing it at all. That seem to have upset her even more.

That night she didn't let me go until I fell asleep in her arms. The next day during breakfast she hugged me tightly once again and whispered that she was going to get me to see a doctor. She claimed that it will help me keep my demons away.

It did help. I haven't cut since my first few sessions with the doctor at the age of twelve. It also helped a great deal with my anger throughout the rest of my middle school years. I gotten so good at keeping my rage suppressed with Stone's help and medication. Once I completed middle school, I stopped taking the medication and going to Dr. Stone when I reached high school. It wasn't until after I had that "incident" at the school that I was forced to go back to therapy. A judge, under the payment of my uncle, just gave me a brief slap on the wrist with a settlement and mandated that I go to anger management. With that order, Dr. Stone had once again become a constant figure in my life up until college.