Chapter 4

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(Ruby's POV)

I grab some tissue after flushing the toilet for what seems like the tenth time in the last three days. To say I feel horrible would be the understatement of the year. I feel like shit. There is no simpler way of putting it. My lower back hurts, I'm constantly throwing up, I've never-ending cramps in my stomach and I'm constantly tired due to the fact that I'm not sleeping well.

Who, in their right mind, would go through this kind of torture voluntarily? They'd have to be completely insane. The thing that worries me is the fact that I'm only nine weeks along. How the hell am I suppose to survive another seven and a half months?

God only knows what kind of condition I'll be in by the time I'm almost full term. I feel sorry for anyone who has to put up with me in that state. I know for a fact that I won't be a pleasant sight.

I pull myself up from my position on the bathroom floor and brush my teeth yet again. After cleaning them thoroughly, I still can't seem to get the rancid taste from my mouth. I reach for the toothpaste, hoping that I'll be more successful in round two.

As each day passes, I never cease to amaze myself as to how I hide my secret from my parents. How do I do it? I honestly don't know. If I asked myself for tips on how to keep a pregnancy a secret from parents, I'd come up blank.

I know that I really should tell them, but I just don't know how to put it into words. How do I tell them that they're going to be grandparents at such a young age? Both of them, my Mom mostly, were always convinced that I would have kids first, even though Matt is four years older than me. I bet they never thought that it would happen when I was only 19.

I jump at the sound of knocking on the bathroom door as the toothbrush clatters into the sink.

"Ruby, sweetheart," my Dad calls. "Are you okay in there? I thought I heard you getting sick."

"I'm fine, Dad," I reply, trying to sound calm.

"Okay, honey. Come downstairs when you're ready. Your Mom and I want to have a chat with you."

"Sure, Dad. I'll be down in a minute."

Once I'm happy that the taste is gone, I put my toothbrush back and tie my hair into a messy bun, before making my way into the living room. There, I find my parents seated side by side on the sofa. They both have a concerned look on their face. I take a seat beside Matt on the other sofa that is placed across the door I just walked through.

"Mom. Dad. What's wrong?" I ask them. I can tell by their expressions that something has happened. Something is wrong. I try to think of anyone in the family who is sick or any family friend who could be in trouble, but I come up empty handed.

"We're worried about you, Ruby," Dad answers.

"You're worried about me? What? Why?" I ask, thoroughly confused. Why would they be worried about me? I feel Matt stiffen in his seat beside me, but I ignore him as I rack my brains as to why my parents would have cause to be concerned about me.

"Well," Mom starts. "You've been different lately. You're not yourself at all. You used to always go out with the girls every weekend but you haven't gone out to any nightclubs or parties in the last few weeks. Not that I'm complaining about your lack of drinking, mind you."

"You haven't even gone shopping in about two or three weeks. I think my credit card is suffering from separation anxiety it's been that long," Dad adds, jokingly.

"Come on, honey. Tell us what's wrong," Mom pleads. "Have you and the girls fallen out?"

"No," I say quietly.

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