42. Things To Address

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Sarah had given me Katie's address and now I'm sitting outside of her apartment complex feeling a wave of nausea ride through me. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to have this conversation. How does one go about a situation like this?

Does one just say, "hey is that my kid swimming around in your belly?" Or better yet, "I know we had a one-night-stand but I was so fucked up I can't remember if the condom busted but I'm pretty positive it did... so is that my kid?" I'm pretty sure neither of those things is the right thing to say.

Fuck my fucking life.

I jump out of my truck and head for the shady looking building. Sarah was right, this place is a dump. If this is my child they aren't growing up in a neighborhood like this, I can tell you that fucking much. My father and mother used to live in an apartment building right around the corner. From what I'd heard the place had been all but condemned. I'd say this building was pretty close to that as well.

I walk up the staircase with a dilapidated railing and cringe at the dead rat that's right outside the front door. You've got to be fucking kidding me. If Katie knew this baby was my baby why she didn't try to extort money from me is beyond me.

I suppose most people don't know I actually have it though. If one were to look at me or my father I don't think they'd guess my family came from money. Not with the way we acted and the tattoos that riddle both of our bodies.

I'd gotten a lot of my father's looks and a lot of his personality. He never acted like he had money and that's most likely because before he'd met my mother he'd had none. Knowing he lived in this same area of Boston was definitely a sign of that. What my mother was doing trying to make it on her own out here I'll never fucking know.

I blow out a long breathe before opening the large glass door. There's no buzzer. There's no doorman. There's no type of security whatsoever here. And this is because no one in their right mind would want to live here. No one nine months pregnant should want to live here. It's probably one of the most dangerous parts of the city.

I walk into the building and am immediately assaulted by the stench of stale cigarettes and the sound of dogs barking. There's a couple screaming at each other from somewhere in the building and the sound of someone fucking in another. I look at the apartment numbers on the first floor that all begin with the letter A and am assuming she's up on the fourth floor since her number begins with a D.

I walk over to an old elevator in the back and cringe at the thought of getting inside of that thing. Luckily I won't have to because it has an out of order sign on it. I make my way back to the entrance where a large staircase is and begin my journey upwards thinking about how Katie has to do this every single day. Fuck that. Especially being nine months pregnant, I don't know how she does it. It's a miracle she hasn't gone into premature labor.

Once I make it to her floor I look around. D20. I'm looking for D20. I walk down the long, narrow hallway cringing as I pass a man passed out on the ground with a needle in his arm. He's fucking comatose, well that, or he's dead. I shake my head and make my feet continue.

What in the actual fuck is Katie doing living in a place like this?

Once I reach the appropriate number I pause outside the door hearing a series of moans from a male. I hear a loud grunt and a few seconds later he says, "that only covers half of this months rent, Kat. I'll see you again to collect the rest. That or you better expect to swallow next time." The door opens and I'm met face to face with a fat middle-aged man who I'm going to assume has a wife and kids at home even though he was just messing around with a pregnant woman.

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