Free Tragic Love by M. S. Brannon Page A

that.” She is sobbing again as my face remains stone cold.
    “Believe what? If you’ve proven anything to me it’s that you’re a liar.” I keep my shaking hands locked under my arms, still too angry to step any closer to her. “And I don’t give a shit about your intentions. Because you were wrong. This is wrong, Presley, and you know that.”
    I take a second to look at her, my eyes traveling from her tear stained face to her arms wrapped around her stomach and down to her shaking legs. This is the woman I’ve given my whole self to; the one person who has the only claim to my soul, and it feels like it’s slipping away from me. This has been a turning point in our relationship. If I can’t move past the betrayal I’m feeling inside me, then the only thing left for us is to face the end. The emptiness fills me at the thought of not having Presley in my arms every day. I’m feeling the anger begin to fade as the pain courses through my veins.
    Presley finally meets my eyes; they are blood shot and broken. She whispers, “Because I can’t. I can’t be a mother, Drake. I don’t possess anything that would characterize me as a good mother. Every day is still a struggle for me to even function and if it weren’t for you I don’t think I could make it. There is nothing this baby will fix. And at our age, it’s impossible to raise a baby, especially here.”
    Standing defeated, I lower my arms and grab onto her shoulders. Her body is still trembling from the severity of our situation. I connect my eyes with hers and I fall. With a simple look, I’m diving head first into her brown pools. Something I do every single time she pleads with me to understand. “But how could you do this without even telling me?” I ask, not hiding the sadness in my voice. “You know exactly how I feel about this. My birth mother did the same thing to me and now you are doing it, too. How could you throw something away without even giving it a chance?”
    She takes a hesitant step forward and starts to wrap her arms around my waist, something she always does to feel protected by me, but I don’t allow it. I keep my hands on her shoulders and take a step back, keeping my distance. The sobbing starts again, making me think she knows exactly what she’s done and exactly how I feel because it’s written all over her face and mine. God knows I love her; I love her more than the air I breathe, although nothing is going to change the deceit she so obviously used against my heart.
    My hands start to move down from her shoulders then slide down her quivering arms as she begins to cry again. I can feel the anger and hurt bubble up into my eyes, yet I reject the idea of letting it fall. I refuse to show her how she’s broken me into nothing. Sliding my hands down to hers, I give them a gentle squeeze then step away from her. Presley’s eyes meet mine, but I can’t look at them anymore. I need time away from her and away from this entire fucked up mess. The pain in my body and the brokenness in her eyes are too much to bear right now.
    “I can’t do this,” I tell her then turn to my Chevelle and drive away.
    ***
    It’s been two hours since my Chevelle pulled into The Slab, two hours since my world was sucked into an alternate universe. The agony is screaming its way through my veins and feeding on my broken heart. The only thing I can think of to numb the pain is to get mind-alteringly drunk, and after two hours, I’ve succeeded. I’ve never been one to drown myself in booze to ease the pain living in my body, but I now see the reason why so many people I know do it. The heartache is excruciating; I want to feel nothing. I want to feel numb.
    Reggie and Darcie have been staring at me since I arrived two hours ago. Reggie said nothing when I slammed fifty bucks on the counter, reached over the bar, grabbed a full bottle of Jack from the assortment of liquor tucked in the metal pocket behind the bar, and then retreated to the back