Eight Boys and a Walker girl

BONUS CHAPTER- Elena (HER PREGNANCY)

Hello dear readers! If you still receive updates from this book because it's in your library, you're an OG and I love you and Danny also loves you and he's sending you lots of flamboyant air kisses.

Anyway, here's a gem I wrote a while back as the opening chapter to a sequel for Elena and Jamie, but seeing as the likelihood of me ever writing that is slim, here it is. A chapter from Elena's point of view, detailing her pregnancy. I'm going to give y'all a little spoiler that was going to be the key drama in the book- just because you might not understand this chapter, otherwise. JAMIE IS NOT THE BABY DADDY. She simply convinced him that she was, because the man who impregnated her was violent and abusive. 

Anyway, Jamie was going to come around and play daddy to the baby in the end, as you've seen in Evvie and Julian's bonus chapter with little Jenna. So no worries, Elena and Jamie and lil baby Eden get their happy ending <3

Here goes. It's split into mini titled parts (the titles will be in bold). Enjoy!

***

breathing

Sex. You hear the word everywhere; see it everywhere. You can't not see it everywhere. It's unavoidable. Sex is as unavoidable as falling in love.

I once asked my older sister if sex and love were the same thing. My sister Kiara, not Leonie. Kiara is the one who once broke her wrist trying to do a backflip off of a super tall tree in the park. Leonie is the one who won an award for best biology project for the school science fair. In hindsight, it would have probably made more sense to have asked the one with a biology award about reproduction. It would have probably produced some actual scientific information. Kiara just told me that no, technically love and sex aren't the same thing, but they basically come as a package deal.

And everyone knows that you can't keep a boy unless you give him what he needs. Kiara laughed as she said that bit. It occurred to me that this didn't sound very right. I didn't like the idea of buying a boy for myself with my body. But I was thirteen. Kiara was sixteen. She wore tiny skirts and stayed out late with her friends and used her pocket money to buy makeup rather than books or drawing pencils like me. Obviously, she knew better.

I am sitting in the bathroom, hunched forwards with my head between my knees, breathing deeply. Kiara's words about the 'package deal' from two years ago echo in my head. I want to look up. I try to make myself look up. The air down here is warm and difficult to breathe, making my chest hurt. But I don't want to move from my curled-up position. Like this, I feel safe. Like this, I feel like I am not going to fall apart.

The minute I stand up, that is all going to change. The minute I stand up, I'm going to have to face him. Look into his face, into his ice-coloured eyes, and relive it all over again. I am going to feel him taking me, taking from me the last thing I had to myself. I will relive the pain.

It still hurts. I clench my legs together and try to take my mind off it. I read somewhere that monks can regulate their body temperature just with their minds. Maybe, if I concentrate on simply not minding the pain between my legs, it will go away. I feel like something might be broken. I don't know if you're supposed to go to a doctor or what. But if I did, they'd surely arrest me. I'm fifteen. Legally, what just happened is a crime.

I've committed a crime. I'm in pain down there still, but that is nothing compared to the tightness in my chest, the squeezing of my heart. My eyes are beginning to burn. I feel like I am going to start crying.

As soon as the thought of crying comes into my mind, I shove it away, furious with myself. You can't cry, stupid idiot. If you cry, he'll see your red eyes when you finally look up. It will make him angry if you cry. It will hurt his feelings if he thinks you didn't enjoy it.