Twisted

Part 7

Perhaps the worst part of being pregnant was fatigue. You didn't wanna get up, you didn't want to do anything and yet at the same time you felt restless. You started to suffer from insomnia, where you'd go days without sleeping. That too was starting to weigh heavy on you.

Two months had passed since you found out. By that, you could guess you were about three months. You weren't showing yet, thank god. But you noticed the gradual gain of random weight. At first, you thought of an abortion. An easy solution to such a problem. But Derry was a small, conservative town. Not only would you not be able to find a doctor to perform such a procedure, but it would cost money and an already crumbling reputation.

You hadn't told a soul, not even Reggie. Who had asked in private, where you had ignored him. He probably knew from that alone but never had you uttered the word to anyone, not even yourself. You had no girlfriends to confide in. Your parents would sooner throw you from their house than let it be known you were some knocked up whore.

The idea of telling Henry or Patrick made you even sicker. Patrick had let your attitude go the day after. He stayed in that closet for hours until Henry left. Once your boyfriend had left, you turned to the now-closed doors. They slowly creaked open and the lanky monster within slinked out with a cackle. He escaped through your bedroom window, but not before sticking his tongue down your throat.

This was hell. You were sure of it. Patrick must have snapped your neck at some point, or crushed you in the throws of what he calls passion. And this was your eternal torment.

Sometimes crying yourself to sleep at night got you some rest, but for the most part, you walked around lifeless and exhausted.

And people were starting to take notice and concern. On this morning, you leaned against Reggie's car beside Henry, as usual. Your eyes stared blankly at the road below. Your breathing slow, deep and uncomfortable. Your body sore from the lack of energy and sleep. Your body traded full-on vomit for constant nausea that refused to go away.

"Y/N." A sharp voice caught your attention. You blinked a few times as an attempt to shake yourself awake. You looked in the direction. Patrick was staring at you.

"The fuck is your problem? You dead or something?" His head hung low as he inspected you.