𝖛 𝖎 𝖔 𝖑 𝖆

Seven

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"¡Baila, baila esta cumbia! ¡Un ritmo, ritmo sin igual! ¡Nadie, se quede sentado! ¡Todos, vamos a bailar!" Charlie blasted, 'Baila Esta Cumbia', by Selena all throughout the office. This was one of his musical days, where he would blast music from any era and any genre as loud as his boom box could blow. I loved those days, especially since when Charlie is in a great mood, everyone is in a great mood. But not today, because today is the day. The day I abort my unborn child. Like I said before, I plan on never telling Donald about it. If he ever comes to ask, I will lie and say that I miscarried it. I know it sounds evil, but give me a break, you saw what he did to my arm just days ago. Hopefully, when he thinks I had a 'miscarriage', he'll leave me alone.

"Viola, ¿estás bien?"

"What?"

"Oh, sorry." Charlie turned the Tejano song off, and asked me his question in english. "I mean, Viola, what's wrong?" He pouted.

"Nothing, Charles. I'm doing just fine, peachy if you will."

"Viola, you know damn well that you can't fool me. So, what's bugging you? Is it about the camping trip three days ago?" Charlie badgered me with questions. His concern is sweet and all, but being left alone is my best copping mechanism.

"It's okay, really, I just need some alone time. To calm myself for after work." I explained. Charlie held his chin, pretending that he understood what I meant, but I knew that he didn't. He doesn't even know that I'm pregnant.

"All right, I'll leave you alone right now, but don't think I won't keep an eye on you!" He walked backwards, tripping over every object on the ground. A silly man is what Charlie is.