TWENTY-ONE WEEKS!
It’s been a week since the funeral and my mum still hasn’t been in touch. What’s worse is that Caleb’s bank account was emptied by his parents (I assume) so there’s no way for me to pay the bills. I should go to work but what’s the point? I still won’t be making enough to cover everything.
I’m stuck in a rut and I don’t want to claw my way out.
Sasha was right - if you let yourself spiral into darkness, you’ll never find your way back.
“Why’d you leave me, Caleb?”
I can’t cope. I’m going to lose everything. I’m going to have to give up the house.
So I do the one thing I never thought I’d do.
I call his parents. I beg them for help with the rent, to help with something. It takes every ounce of pride I have left but I can’t do this alone. Babies cost money and they have money. I don’t.
His father slams the phone down and when his mother calls back, she tells me, “It’s your fault he’s dead. If he hadn’t met you, this never would have happened.” What’s worse is… she’s right.
Everything goes to shit. I can’t pay the bills. I can’t even afford bread. Sasha gave me a hundred pounds but it’s not enough to cover the electricity bills. My pay cheque came in yesterday and that’s barely enough to cover the gas.
Chicago’s gave me five hundred pounds to help. They collected the money from staff and customers to put towards expenses. I put it all in the bank and pray for help. For strength. For courage.
It doesn’t come.
Even if I use this five hundred to pay the bills, I’m still going to lose the house. I refuse to go on benefits yet and, even if I did, there wouldn’t be enough to cover the rent and utilities. But this is our house. We decorated it together!
I don’t want to lose it.
But I do.
Two weeks go by and I lose the house. Fortunately, considering the circumstances, they don’t sell my things. They put them in a warehouse for me to collect when I get a new place, so I go to my mum’s, thinking she’ll take me in considering the circumstances, even though she hasn’t so much as texted me since she found out I was pregnant.
The door opens, my mum takes one look at me and then sneers in disgust, “He’s left you.”
“What?” I gasp, tears pooling in my eyes. “No… mum, he’s dead.” How has she not heard?
She looks shocked but it doesn’t last. “And now you want to come home?”
“We had a house, jobs, school… I can’t do it on my own.” I admit, my tears spilling over. “I need you.”
“I warned you. You swore you wouldn’t get pregnant. We worked our arses off, we worked day and night to get you into University.”
I look into her cold, cruel eyes. “This wasn’t my fault. I can still go back. I just need help.”
“I never wanted this for you,” she says with a frown. “I can’t help you, Gwen. This is your mess. I dealt with my mess and now you need to deal with yours. I’m disappointed in you.”
“I can’t help what happened!” I shout, my hand pressed to my swollen belly. “Please, mum, I don’t have anywhere to stay.”
She takes a step back and just as I think she’s going to invite me inside, she shakes her head and says, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
I bang on the door and I keep banging until my fists hurt. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even glance. How can she be so cruel? None of this is my fault.
“Mum! Please! Please!” I sink to the ground and bury my face in my hands. My sobs tear through me like a chainsaw through paper.
I’ve lost everything. I have no home, no family and no Caleb.
After a few more minutes of accepting my fate, I head to my car and drive until I can’t anymore.
Even Sasha can’t have me; she lives in a hall of residence. I’d be allowed there for one night. Just one.
I’m stuck, completely stuck.
I have to drop out of university. It’s already paid so I can go back and finish my course in the future, which is a relief. What’s not a relief is the fact I have to quit my placement that I worked so hard to get, but the café I used to work at have given me my job back. The problem is, I’m going to be huge soon.
I’m pregnant and I have nowhere to live and no money. There are no spaces at the closest women’s refuge shelters, plus I don’t want to go to one of those. Not that they’re bad, I just want what’s familiar.
So here I sit, a sob story, in the front of my car outside of my old house, photos and clothes and other bits and pieces sitting on the back seat in huge boxes.
At least I still have the car… for now.
I rest my head on the steering wheel and cry. It’s been a while since I’ve cried, but now I’ve started I can’t stop. It hurts… it hurts so bad.
I’m never going to see him again.
I’ll never get to feel him again.
Why did you leave me, Caleb?
I should move but I can’t bring myself to do it. My hands won’t move to the ignition and gear stick. If I leave I can’t come back. This house will no longer be mine. The last few memories I have of Caleb will be just that… memories. I won’t be able to walk into the hall and recall the time he put his bare foot straight onto the paint tray by mistake when we were decorating the hall. He painted the wall with his foot, making me laugh so hard I ended up choking on my own saliva.
I won’t be able to lie on the bed and remember him resting his head on my flat stomach and promising me and our baby an eternity of love and loyalty.
I won’t be able to look in the bathroom and recall the time he had a bad curry and ended up sitting there all day. Seriously. I brought him his laptop and put on YouTube so he could watch funny videos of cats. Every time he laughed he’d release a noise from his nether regions so disturbing it sounded almost demonic. It was so funny.
Sob.
My life is over.
It’s over and I’m scared.
There’s a knock on the window. Great. Who wants to bother me now?
What the fuck?
I wipe my eyes and slowly roll it down. “Nathan?”
“Gwen,” he says in a clipped tone.
My hands tremble on the steering wheel. Why is he here? “Y… yes?”
“Why aren’t you inside? You shouldn’t be sat out here crying,” he bites out, his jaw clenched.
It hurts to look at him. He looks like an older, sterner version of Caleb but he’s just as handsome. His eyes are the same shape and colour, his hair too, although Nathan’s jaw is wider and stronger and his cheekbones more pronounced. He also doesn’t have a hint of stubble, not like Caleb used to fashion on a daily basis because he couldn’t be arsed to shave.
I miss that stubble.
“We don’t live there anymore,” I murmur.
He sighs. “I can’t hear you if you don’t speak properly.” What an arsehole.
“I don’t live there anymore, okay?” I say, louder this time, and the words make me cry again.
“So maybe you should go to where you do live,” he snaps.