Forced To Have The Bad Boys Baby (UNDER MAJOR EDITING)

The News (edited)

One month.

That's how long I have left to get pregnant. After a few days of living with a nagging Aly, I was forced to come back here. Somehow, the school found out.

Maybe I should just take Dmitri's sperm. Then we won't have to sleep together. I think that's the most perfect plan I've ever come up with. 

Don't get me wrong, I've had sex before. However, I actually loved the guy and what we had wasn't forced. But this sleeping with Dmitri to have a baby and repopulate the word, is not it.

He doesn't even care about me nor the baby (that's non-existent). Then again, that's just what I'm assuming. He says we need to hurry up but he hasn't even gone to the school to get the stuff needed to freaking have a baby in this home. There's always something dangerous to babies lying around too. And alcohol! He leaves his beer on the living room floor! I mean, are you freaking kidding me!? Just pick it up and throw it in the trash.

Huffing, I throw on some sweatpants and a hoodie. God knows where Dmitri is right now. If we're going to be forced to have a baby, I'd like to know him some more but I guess that's impossible for he's always out. How do you expect me to sleep with you but never show up?

Yeah, right. Nice one. Whatever.

Today, I'm going to visit mom. I don't really want to see her again but something in me feels I need to check up. I just hope she's not face down in her own puke. I kind of hope there's no alcohol in the house too. It's a silly, stupid hope.

After throwing my shoes on and exiting the large home, I head off.  It's been getting a little chilly since winter is coming. Sucks though. I was hoping to have a December baby.

Great...the baby. I have to sleep with Dmitri in order to have that baby. Why does the world hate me so much? Why does everything I do bring me back to this whole baby subject?

That's it.

I'm just going to shoot myself.

My mothers house is cold, a bit empty and eerie. I crease my brows, searching every room to find her. Okay...Where the hell is she? That woman never leaves the house.

Not a moment passes when there's a knock on the door. It's a police officer. He's saying things but the only words I heard were the ones informing me my mother had passed. It doesn't make sense to me. She was fine when I left. That was a little over a month ago. Now, she's gone.

I don't cry. Instead, I go to her room. There are a few bottle lying around. It's not anything new but it feels new. My mother, she was never the nicest person. Only when it came to my father and I did she actually smile or crack a joke. Her smile used to brighten up the room. My father told her he loved that smile.

Then, he left.

Around a month or so after that, mom would come home drunk to the point where she couldn't even keep her eyes open. It's a miracle she would even make it home. I've always been the one to help her, tuck her in and leave some water.

I don't cry. I don't cry because I realize now, that my mother died a long time ago. She died the moment my father stepped out of the door, screaming, yelling at her.

Not knowing what to do, I decide to grab a drink. Drinking is the best way to forget, yeah? The best way to go numb.

It seems as though my life has gone to shit.

Welp. Welcome to the shitshow guys. I hope you have fun because things are only going to get worse. But that's life.

The bar down the street is dead. Not a surprise. The only guys who come here are the ones who randomly pop up out of nowhere. They're all weird and perverted flirts. All in all, they're men.

Joe, the bartender who is always working, just looks at me. I raise a brow. He rolls his eyes, going to make me my usual.

Time to get fucking drunk.

When I get home, Dmitri is there. He's relaxing on the couch like an ass, beer in hand. His friends are spread out, eyes on the game. He glances at me, rolling his eyes. Whatever. I don't care. I'm drunk.

I drop my bag and coat onto floor, make a mental reminder to clean it up and stumble to the kitchen. Junk food? Where are you, my love? Ew. What is this? Dried apricots. Oh god. Who eats these?

Apparently, I'm making a lot of noise because Dmitri comes in, glaring. "Sarahi, shut the fuck up," he seethes. His eyes are burning mine with an intensity. With one finger flicking up, a fight is started.

"You're such a fucking nuisance, Sarahi. Jesus. And what are you, drunk? Great. Just go to fucking bed and settle down."

"Not now, Dmitri," I mutter, grabbing a can of beer. "I'm not in the mood. Please, don't start with me."

"You piss me off," he states, walking closer. I huff, pushing my lower back onto the counter. He towers over me, burning my eyes with his own. I glare at him.

"You piss me off."

"Why are you drunk?" He murmurs, slipping the can out of my hand. I shrug, not wanting to say anything. He raises a brow, urging me to talk. A sigh leaves my mouth. "My mom, she-she died."

"Oh," is all he says for a few moments. "My mom died too. Last year. Here, this'll help." A white joint is held up. Is he serious? Oh god.

"Wow, I feel so special," I say sarcastically. He hums. "You better. I don't go out giving these to people. Take it as an apology and sorry for your loss."

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, snatching the joint from his fingers. He cautiously places a kiss on my head, pulling away before I can hit him. Sharing another gentle look with me, he leave the kitchen.

That was weird.

At least I got an apology. And a joint. Welp. Let's go smoke the pain away.