Living the Life of Riley | ✔

Chapter Twenty Seven

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I didn't open my eyes, but I knew I was awake. I felt calmer, and very awake. But the voices coming from around me were the motivation to keep my eyes shut, and pretend I was still in La La Land.

"If she couldn't survive this, then she won't survive the birth." I recognised the smug, nasaly voice as Will's. My anger started to rise and I hope no-one noticed that my breathing had become slightly more pronounced.

"Oh, you'd love that wouldn't you?" Tristan's voice startled me, almost making me slip up. Thankfully, no one noticed as they didn't stop.

"The child is mine, and no-one is going stop me from having it."

"Do you think Samara will let you take her child?" I felt like smiling; Beau had faith! Someone had faith in me! I wasn't just a poor, pathetic woman!

"She's powerless against me. I won't do anything to endanger her while she's carrying my pup." Why was he referring to my child as a pup? She's not a frigging animal! "As soon as it's left her body, it's mine. You know she won't be able to cope."

"I can't wait until the day I see-"

"Shush, she's waking." I heard Dr. Abbott tell the others. Damn. I must have let slip somewhere. Playing along, I fluttered open my eyelids, and yawned while stretching. Let me tell you this, stretching at six months is not pleasant. Normally, my stomach would rise slightly but with the weight, I was basically just holding my hands above my head.

"Did I miss anything?" I asked, looking around innocently. Everyone shook their heads, but I could see Dr. Abbott watching me closely. Was he on to me? I wasn't sure. I wasn't going to let him know how much I'd eavesdropped on though. "Um, so, what happened doctor?"

"The baby was kicking and moving, nothing unusual." He smiled, but there was something different. It didn't reach his eyes. "We think that maybe your stomach or womb lining is thinner than normal which is why it felt odd. But you should be fine. I've made you some medicine to take for the next couple of months. One teaspoon a day."

Holding the liquid in my hand, it was milky white and had the consistency of thick sludge. It made me feel a bit sick, if I was honest. Did I really want to be drinking this? I looked at Dr. Abbott, who just shrugged casually.

"It looks horrible, but it'll work. Unless you want to be experiencing whatever pain you had before, I'd suggest you follow my advice." I nodded, and sighed, placing the bottle in my jacket pocket. Looking out the window, I noticed it was getting dark. I frowned. How long had I been out? Luckily, Dr. Abbott answered my question before I voiced it. "You've been out a couple of hours. Rose will drive you home, as the family have a... special evening planned. Go home, get rest and don't leave the house tonight."

I thanked the doctor, and bid goodbye to everyone without protesting. It was an odd sight, but I had something in mind. Everyone looked at me oddly, but I smiled their worries away. Before I let Rose drive me home, I made sure to eye up Will. It was a look that said 'I know what you're up to, and you better leave it'.

The ride home was quiet, although it was filled with the odd question. Rose found out stuff about me that I hadn't really told anyone. They weren't big secrets, just things that hadn't come up. Things like, I could drive but I'd never passed my test. That I was a bit of a film addict (that wasn't surprising though). I'd told her stuff about my childhood, about my dad leaving us. In return, Rose had told me how she and Tristan's father had met (I'm not going to lie, I gushed a little bit – it was so cute).

Apparently, Rose was visiting her grandmother and was out for shopping. The cashier had put everything through and it turned out that she'd no money on her. As a queue (a rowdy and approaching angry) formed, she'd began to get stressed and was literally turning out her pockets to find some money. And just when it all seemed doom and gloom, Tristan's father saved the day and paid for her shopping. And then apparently swooped her off her feet with a few dates. It was cute. Unlike my parents, where my mother had basically insulted my father's artwork. For some reason, the burning passion of hate she held for art attracted my father. I, personally, never saw how it worked out.