***COMPLETED *** Endlessly [A G-Eazy Story, Third Book to If I'm Lucky]

Chapter 3, Part 1: "Are you pregnant, Rachel?"

*** Gerald's POV ***

Rachel and I were laying in her bed watching a movie after we had just finished having sex. I got up to use the bathroom when something caught my eye.

The door under the sink was open slightly, and next to the trash can was a ripped up box. I picked up one of the pieces and saw "pregnancy" on it, and I froze.

There's no way she could be pregnant. She was literally just talking about how she was having PMS symptoms, and we haven't even been having sex that much.

I put the piece back where I found it and stood up, running some cold water over my face as I looked in the mirror. I had to ask her about it.

After all, it's my child, too. I deserve to know.

When I came back out to the bedroom, Bentley was laying at her feet, sound asleep. Rachel smiled at me when I flipped off the light and came back over to the bed.

"You okay?" She asked, rolling on her side and covering her naked body with the sheet. "You look angry."

"Are you pregnant, Rachel?" I blurted out, watching her eyes grow wide and her face grow pale. "Don't lie to me, either."

She sat up, slipping her shirt on quickly as she watched me move to the foot of the bed.

"W-what?" She stuttered. She was at a loss for words. "Were you snooping around in my bath-"

"Just answer the god damn question, Rachel," I said as I banged my fist on the bed, causing Bentley to jump down and bark at me. "Tell me the fucking truth."

She got out of the bed when Bentley started barking and quickly slipped her shorts back on. She pet his head and he stood in between her legs, watching me.

"Yes, I-I am, "she said quietly. "But we need to ta-"

"There's nothing to fucking talk about!" I yelled, throwing my hands up, earning another growl from the stupid dog. "I don't need a baby. I don't wanna take care of a baby. Get rid of it."

Her mouth dropped as she stood there with her hands on the dog's head. Tears were forming in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said as her voice cracked. "W-what did you say?"

"You fucking heard me," I said as I got dressed, slipping my shoes on. "It's me or that thing inside you. Take your pick."

The tears spilled over onto her cheeks as she started to audibly cry. Bentley stood up on her, nudging his head on her stomach, but she gently pushed him back down.

"How can you say something like that, Gerald!?" She cried. "It's a baby, not some piece of garbage that you can get rid of and not think twice about it!"

I balled my fists, keeping them at my sides as I tried to calm down.

"I can find you someone you can perform an abortion easily," I said as I tried to keep my voice down low. "Rachel, I'm working on a fucking album in the studio every day. I can't be here to take care of your pregnant ass."

"I moved here because of you!" She pointed her finger at me. "You convinced me to take this stupid fucking job in Manhattan so I could be closer to you, and now you're wanting me to pick between you and something we both created?!"

"Don't point a god damn finger at me," I said as I smacked her arm away.

As soon as I did that, Bentley lunged at me and bit down on my arm, barking as he pulled away. She screamed and pulled him backwards to her feet, where he stood growling.

"I'm going to kill that fucking dog, god damn it," I said as I held my arm that was now bleeding. "I mean it, Rachel. If you don't get rid of it, I'm gone, and you'll never hear from me again."

Her body was shaking as she cried, knotting her fingers in Bentley's fur. He was licking her knees and trying to calm her down.

"I'm not killing an innocent baby because of you, Gerald!" She yelled. "You might as well just leave right now."

I picked up my jacket off the floor, putting it on and shrugging. I walked over to her, causing Bentley to growl again.

"Fine," I said sharply. "But don't expect to hear from me ever again. I don't want you hitting me up asking for diapers, money, or anything," I spat as I walked down the hallway to leave.

I could hear her sobbing, and I heard something shatter, but I didn't turn back. On the counter, there were some ultrasound pictures. I grabbed them harshly, stuffing them in my pocket so I could burn them when I got home.

The door slammed loudly behind me, and I stomped down the stairs to my car, getting in and slamming that door too. I sped off, still heated.

As soon as I walked through my door, I slammed it shut and walked over to my fridge, pouring a glass of whiskey. I didn't even bother adding ice to it.

I gulped it down quickly and slammed the cup on the counter, filling it again. About halfway through my second glass, I stopped and took the pictures out of my pocket, throwing them down on the counter to look at them.

In the corner of one of the photos, I saw "McFadden-Young, Rachel. Manhattan Women's Clinic," so at least I knew this wasn't some made up fake pregnancy.

I held one of the photos up to the light, then put it flat on the counter so I could try to get a better look.

"This ain't even a baby yet, it's a fucking bean," I laughed as I ripped up the photo. "I can't believe she chose a stupid fucking helpless baby over someone who's supporting her."

I was soon on my third glass of whiskey, and I felt myself heating up. The buzz was all too familiar now, and it took more than three glasses to get me drunk usually, but I didn't have much food in my system.

After a bit, I went back to my bedroom and stripped out of everything except my t-shirt and boxers, climbing into my bed with my phone. I googled how many weeks a woman has to be pregnant for the baby to look like a bean, and I got between 8-10 weeks.

By my calculations, she got pregnant around the time she was seeing Ricky during the weekend I came to help her with that documentary. I shouldn't have gone to help her. I didn't need to see her.

Now look at what's done to me, she's got me trapped if she keeps the thing for the next 18 fucking years.