Chapter 2
Andrew was so quiet on the drive to the Grant Estate that I almost forgot he was there.
I knew that place well. We'd made out against the iron gate once, pressed up against ivy-covered metal, completely wrapped up in each other.
He'd cupped my face. "Olivia, can you feel how crazy I am about you?"
It was all fake, so why did his eyes look so genuine?
Honestly, the entertainment industry lost a star when he didn't become an actor.
A low laugh came from the back seat. "Olivia, are you really this cheap?
"You went to one of the best schools in the country. Ask any of your classmates—they wouldn't dare admit to making less than seven grand a month. And you're selling yourself for three?"
I said nothing.
What was there to say?
That it was his fault? That after he exposed my pregnancy, my dad went out drinking and got hit crossing the street?
That my mom had a breakdown she never recovered from?
That I lost my college spot before I could even step foot on campus?
He'd probably love hearing that. He always hated my family.
I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
When I didn't respond, Andrew kicked the back of my seat. "Say something, dammit!"
To avoid any accident, I pulled over.
"Andrew, what do you want me to say?"
*****
I tried to slip in quietly, but Eddie woke up anyway.
When I looked up, he was standing by the bedroom door, gripping a fruit knife, his whole body rigid with fear.
My heart ached.
While I was with other men or at the hospital with my mom, Eddie was here alone, terrified.
"Mom!" His face lit up as he dropped the knife and threw himself at me.
Eddie was a living reminder of everything I'd been through.
If Dad hadn't died, my parents would've dragged me to get an abortion.
But Dad was gone.
Both my parents grew up orphans with no siblings.
Without Dad's former students showing up, his funeral would've been empty.
After the funeral, Mom just kept talking about ending it all.
When she was lucid, she'd beat me bloody, screaming that I was a disgrace, that I'd killed Dad.
Then she started losing her grip on reality. She'd run out into the street, even attacked a neighbor once.
The medical bills ate through our savings. I used what little was left to get Mom into a psychiatric ward.
At the hospital, they diagnosed her with kidney failure.
Whenever she was clearheaded enough to understand how sick she was, she tried to jump from the building. She didn't want to be a burden.
She survived, but was left half-paralyzed.
No one ever took me to get an abortion.
If anyone ever heard my story, they'd probably just snicker or mock me.
"You were 18, an adult—why didn't you just go yourself?"
Hell, even I mock my younger self now.
Yeah, I was too scared.
Before Andrew, the most mortifying thing I'd experienced was stripping for a hospital physical.
How was I supposed to walk into a clinic and say I was pregnant?
Would the doctor judge me? Look at me with pity?
Hand me consent forms and ask who'd be signing for me?
Who would sign it? I didn't have any family.
On TV, it always looked so easy—fall down some stairs, eat the wrong thing, and problem solved.
I tried everything. Threw myself down the stairs. Punched my own stomach. Swallowed a whole box of pills I'd heard might work. Nothing happened.
Every morning, I'd tell myself, "Tomorrow. I'll deal with it tomorrow."
The days blurred together—caring for Mom, cleaning her, bathing her, enduring her beatings and insults when she was lucid.
I wasn't happy, but somehow time kept moving.
And Eddie just kept growing inside me.
I was so skinny that no one could tell I was pregnant.
Not until Lily Foster—Dad's colleague and my former school counselor—came to visit Mom at the hospital.
Lily thought I was five months along and was ready to take me for an abortion.
The ultrasound showed eight months.
When Eddie was born, he was four pounds, small as a baby bird.
Lily sobbed. "Olivia, do you realize you're throwing your entire life away?"