Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
AUGUST
TWO MONTHS LATER
I never thought I would be living like this two months ago if someone had asked. Two months ago I had just graduated with my bachelor’s degree in education looking forward to becoming a teacher and Declan and I had just bought a house. It's a tiny two-bedroom cottage, with a picturesque white picket fence. It’s cliche but perfect for us and it is in West Roxbury which is where we wanted to live.
It's funny how time flies and changes so rapidly you almost get whiplash. Here I am, standing over a toilet alone, heaving up the contents of the little I have managed to eat in the last few weeks, thinking god that Declan construction job keeps him busy during the day when my nausea is at its worst.
The biggest obstacle so far hasn’t been hiding the sickness but more so putting on everything else. Like sex. I have no libido at this current time in my life and it freaking sucks. I miss everything about sex with Declan. The weight of him on top of me, the feeling when he fills me up and makes me cry because sometimes the pain is too much but most of all, I miss the connection. The hardest part is when he tries to initiate it, and I have to make up some excuse why we can’t. I know he is suspicious and frustrated, heck I am too.
“Crap.” I cry, looking at myself in the mirror. I look like death. Huh. That's ironic. Declan has asked me on occasion if everything was alright. He has mentioned how pale I am and how skinny I am becoming, but I shrug it off and equate it to all the walking I have been doing around town. “Shoot.” My phone is ringing. “Great.” It's my little sister Connie.
“August, hi,” she says in her annoyingly cheerful voice. Okay maybe it is not annoying, but it feels like it right now with my miserable existence.
“Hey. How are you?” I ask, trying to match her vibe.
“I’m great. I miss you though.” I miss her so much. We have always been super close.
“I miss you too sis. So what’s up?”
“Well, I want to come and stay with you guys for a few weeks. You know catch up, hang out.” Shoot. My heart begins to speed up because there is no way she can come here. My sister doesn’t need to know about this either. She suffered just like I did with our mother being ill. I don’t want this for her again.
“Now is not a good time, Connie.”
“Really? Why not?” She has always been the inquisitive one.
“We have a lot going on. I am looking for a job, and Dec is still building his construction business. We are just too preoccupied.” She hesitates, and I hold my breath, hoping she takes that and lets it go.
“It’s not like I am a baby. I don’t need a babysitter.” Of course, she couldn’t let it go. “Is everything alright? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“Look, Connie. I’m sorry you can’t come right now. I have a lot of stuff to do today. I will talk to you later.” I barely hang up the phone, and tears are coming out of my eyes. I have never been that short with my sister, and it doesn’t feel good. I feel like shit right now, and I need to talk to someone.
I pick up my phone and call January. She is the sister I found out about six months ago. We are both the biological daughters of the President of the United States. Yeah, I know. It’s wild and a long story.
“Hey, sweetie. I was just thinking about you, " she says, answering the phone. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit and not just physically.”
“What’s going on?” Sniffling, I tell her about my conversation with Connie because my emotions are a wreck. Her silence says a lot.
“August, you know I love you, but that is messed up. She was with you through all of it. Don’t you think she deserves to know? I think you should tell the people who love you.” I am about to say I did when she reads my next words like an anticipated book and beats me to it. “And I don't mean me and the others. I mean the ones who were with you as a teenager suffering like you and beside you. They would want to be here for you now.”
Logically, I know she is right, but putting them through this again feels selfish. I tell her as much, listen to her disapproval, and then we hang up. I look up at the clock and realize I am late for my interview.
Jumping in the shower, I begin washing up, and then suddenly, pain in my abdomen hits me, and I double over, clutching my waist. “Oh God. Not now,” I beg, just wanting to get through this appointment. I silently pray for a few hours of not doing this when it hits me. There will be no few hours or no moments. This is my new state of being. “What’s the point?” I cry out. What’s the point in interviewing for a teaching job when most of the time will be spent not working, in pain, and in bed?
It's fine.
Just another dream I am giving up.