She sat on her bed in shock. What had happened? How did it come to this? Why had she let this happen? It was all her fault. She sighed as she turned over the tiny stick which held the answer to the biggest question of her life. Was she pregnant? As she forced herself to look at the tiny screen with the answer a tear rolled down her cheek. She was pregnant. She wanted to tell someone, anyone but who would ever understand the situation she was in. All people cared about was that she stayed happy for the kids. But no one cared about how she really Felt. She hadn't been the same since they took the kids camping 6 weeks ago. Luckily, no one had noticed just how bad she was feeling. Why did she let the events of that night happen?

She sighed and put the test on top of her laptop upon her desk. Lying down on her back, she sighed once more and placed a hand upon her stomach.

"I'm sorry, I've failed you already,"

Her voice was a whisper to her unborn child. She began to gently rub her stomach as it all became real to her. She was carrying a baby. An unplanned baby. However, it was not unwanted. Tracy knew just how hard it was being a care kid with no one who wants you. She couldn't let that happen to her own blood. She shook her head violently as if she was talking about this with someone other than herself. As she gently sat up, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Once she had sorted herself out, she wandered to the living room. Sighing, she sat on the sofa and flicked the tv on for some background noise. She didn't want to pay attention to the news on the screen, however a certain picture drew her in.

That was the man. The man that has ruined her life. The man responsible for all her recent hatred to herself and others around her. The man who has scarred her for life and scared her into staying inside. She stared at the screen in shock. Why was his picture on her television?

'If anyone has any information about the activity of this man the past two months, of any details on his whereabouts, please contact us'

That was all she managed to make herself listen to. She quickly scribbled down the contact number and sighed. She picked up her mobile and stared at the screen. She quickly imputed the number and held her finger over the call button. Was this a clever idea? If he was still out there, and he knew that the police knew what he had done to her, he would kill her. Surely it needed to be done? Could she really live the rest of her life knowing that he would still walk around free? No. It wasn't his fault. He had made that clear to her. It was her fault. Everything was always her fault. If she hadn't of been so slow at reacting, she wouldn't be in this mess. If she had just stayed at home instead of going camping, this never would have happened. But then maybe he would have got one of the kids. No. It was better this Way. None of the kids were harmed in any way.

She looked down as her hand began to sting slightly. She had dug her nails into her skin so deep it had begun to bleed. The fresh, salty tears falling from her cheeks had landed on the fresh wounds and caused it to sting. However, something wasn't right. This felt good. Not bad. Why was this? Why did causing herself pain help her? She felt something she hadn't felt in the past few weeks…control. Control over herself and how she was feeling. Since the incident, she hadn't felt much. Three quarters of the time she felt down and sad whereas the rest of the time was spent feeling numb; feeling nothing. She turned her attention to her phone once more and stared at the sequence of numbers on the screen which could either help her or be her cause of death. She quickly saved the number under a false name and checked the time. Her finger hovered over the call button of a different number this time; pressing it before she could think about what she was doing.

"Mike? I'm going to be late, I need to talk to you,"

She quickly hung up before he could say anything to her. In a burst of anger, she threw her phone to the floor, causing a large crack from the top to the bottom of the screen. Why did she do that? Talking to Mike wasn't going to help anything.

"Control,"

She spoke of the one thing she needed but could not get. It was then she remembered what had happened a few minutes prior. Her eyes scanned the room for something to use. The glistening silver of the sharpener blade caught her eye almost instantly. She grabbed it and sighed in frustration. Even though she had the object she needed in her hand, she couldn't get to it without unscrewing the screw, or breaking it. She didn't know what to do. Would this really help her? Her grip tightened on the sharpener as she became frustrated. As she released her grip, a small bead of blood fell down her palm. Yes, it would help her. She just needed bigger cuts and more of them. She got up to search the flat for a screwdriver small enough to unscrew the obstacle standing between her and happiness. She finally found one in a kitchen drawer and it took seconds for her to obtain the shiny metal object. She sat back down on the sofa; staring at the metal in her hands, prepping herself for what she was about to do.

Gently lifting up her sleeve, she stared at her canvas. Clear, pale skin covered her forearm with only the odd scratch she had obtained from work. That was all about to change. She took a deep breath to steady her hand. She began to scratch at her skin. Small beads of blood began to bubble along the small, shallow cuts she had made. As she walked back into her bedroom to hide her 'new friend', she was brought back to reality. Her eyes focused on her laptop. What was she doing? She threw the razor on the floor in frustration with herself.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,"

She repeated the phrase over and over as she collapsed on her bed. Hot tears flew down her cheeks as she sobbed. He had ruined her life. She was never doing to be a fit mother. Her hand laid on her stomach, reminding her of the life inside her.

The sound of a faint buzzing travelled through from the living room. She reluctantly pulled herself up off the bed and to the location of the annoying sound. It was Mike calling her. She sunk to the floor with her head in her hands. She had forgotten all about work.

She quickly texted him saying she was on her way before gathering her belongings. She threw on a jacket and left for work.