A/n: It's the season of giving. Can you forgive me for the long wait? Tons of thanks to everyone who served as my Google and helped with this chapter: my beta Jen of course, Mari, and Lindsey. TONS of thanks to ya'll who reviewed last chapter (reaa1210, AprilRainer16, speedsONEandONLY, fictiongirl101, megomyeggo, princessofportugal, hanfan89, southern-gurl94, jesebud, BeautifulxxDisasterx, and nysunsetangel) you all are seriously amazing and if I spelled your penname wrong you have permission to slap me across the face. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

"I think I'm scared as hell. It's about time that I tell you all the things that you should know. All the things I'm too scared to show."-- Cauterize, "Taste of Tears".

A FEW WEEKS LATER

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

…

"How are you holding up, bud?"

My dad's soft, concerned voice sounded extremely far away. My breathing came out in ragged gasps as I tried to fight against the pain of my nausea. I was lying on the floor of the bathroom in my apartment, my cheek pressed against the cool tiles in a hopeless effort to make myself feel like sick.

"Fine." I lied weakly. I wanted to be sick more than anything. At least then the pain would go away for a small amount of time.

My dad paused long enough for me to wonder if he had hung up. My eyelids felt so heavy that they drifted shut in the silence. It wasn't like I'd ever be able to sleep with the pain, but it still felt so good to rest my eyes.

"Jake says you've been feeling very sick lately. He also says you aren't eating much," How did he keep his voice so gentle but so accusatory at once?

I curled up into a ball, trying to alleviate my pain with a new position on the hard, cold floor. I felt eyes on me. I looked up and past the open doorway. Jake was helping Cole with homework—analyzing Hamlet—but his eyes were on me as he spoke. His gaze was so concerned that it just made me hurt more. I wish I could escape from his pain. But if I closed the door he'd fear I'd passed out and have a complete panic attack. It was easier for him to watch my suffering. He'd given up on trying to comfort me.

"I'm fine, Dad," I tried to breathe evenly, "And I'm eating plenty. Jake overreacts."

Lying was so normal now that it was more natural than telling the truth. I didn't know if I was fine. The sickness, in its beginning stages, was just when I'd woken up. My nightmares and pain were behind it. I'd always gotten physically sick when I was emotionally sick. But it had gotten worse. Everything had gotten worse. After we'd left the hotel a few weeks ago and started back on the road, it just kept going downhill. Everything reminded me of it. The television, my dreams, billboards, flowers, smells, sounds, certain cars…

I couldn't escape it. And every time I was reminded of it I had violent flashbacks, violent memories. And thus the sickness occurred. Jake begged, pleaded, that I see a doctor. I wasn't sure how to explain to him that only death could make this better.

I didn't believe it got better in time. Impossible. Inconceivable. Time was only making it worse.

"I don't think he is this time, Miles. I'm really worried about you. Everyone is. I wish you would come home. I think being around your family would help."

No it wouldn't. Being around two other people was sometimes too much to bear. I couldn't imagine being around more.

"I need to be here," I wanted to say more but my sentence was cut off by my pain. The nausea was stronger and my head was spinning. I groaned and turned my face so my other cheek was pressing against the cool floor. Cold sweat was moistening my forehead.

Throw up, throw up, throw up, I chanted to myself, willing it to happen. If I didn't know Jake's reaction would be maddening, I would have taken a toothbrush and jammed it down my throat to induce the vomiting. But the thought of his response to an action like that left me cringing on the floor.

I heard Jake tell Cole to hold on, and he had crossed the small living room quickly. He crossed the threshold of the bathroom and I watched his feet as he walked toward me. He felt so stunningly superior to me as he stood above me, with me literally at his feet.

But he kneeled down quickly. His voice was pained.

"Are you okay? What can I do?"

I shook my head, too sick to answer.

"At least let me carry you to the bed," He begged.

The thought of the warm bed, so far away from a place where I could be acceptably sick, was revolting. I shook my head quickly. He gently pulled the phone away from my ear and brought up to his own. He exchanged words with my father while I wished for death. I plotted it frequently. I had come to the point where I knew I couldn't stay here anymore. But I also knew if I killed myself it'd have to be in a way that would look like I died naturally. If Jake knew I'd committed suicide he'd kill himself with guilt. Truthfully, the only thing that kept me alive was the fact that I could not figure out a way to go about doing this. Medicine was so advanced that I couldn't think of one way to feign a natural death. I'd considered making it seem like an accident, but I wasn't sure how to go about that either.

The thought of being without Jake still made me feel even sicker. But I wasn't me anymore, not really. Ever since…well, ever since I'd lost Joy I'd been losing myself slowly, piece by piece. This had just been the final breaking point. I was not me and this suffering was pointless.

I wish I knew what drugs were untraceable in the body. I could just overdose on those and drift to a peaceful sleep. One free of strange, frightening nightmares.

Or maybe I could just do this the old-fashioned way: hang myself from the ceiling fan, a dagger in the chest, a gun to the head. I could leave Jake a letter that explained everything and begged him, as my final wish, to not blame himself and to live the rest of his life happily.

So what was stopping me?

I couldn't figure it out. I had so many options planned. All I needed to do was make a surefire decision and then act on it. But for some reason I couldn't get myself to do it. It felt so selfish even though I told myself I had absolutely every single right to end this unjustified suffering. It wasn't like it'd hurt Jake that much. As I'd already said, I was already gone. I wasn't the girl he'd fallen in love with so, so many years ago. He lost me a long time ago. Cole. He'd be better off without me, truthfully. I'd been so terrible to him. Hopefully Jake could marry someone who could be the mother an amazing child like him deserved to have. I didn't deserve him in any way or form. I knew all this as sure as the pain I was in right now.

But yet, I still felt like I was taking something from the innocent. I was not vain enough to think that my lack of presence would affect anyone that greatly. The feeling was strange and unexplainable, but palpable enough to thwart my relieving actions. So I stayed. And the more I stayed, the more unhappy I was. But what else could I do?

I floundered to answer my own rhetorical question, wishing there was an answer to everything. Life would be so much easier.

As if my stomach agreed, I was suddenly violently sick. I made it to the toilet, thank goodness, not wanting to throw up all over the floor. Jake's hand was light on my back as he tried to find some way to make all this easier.

Once I'd thrown up I felt slightly better. I was exhausted beyond all other discomforts, so I worked to pull myself to my feet. Jake assisted quickly, glad to do something productive. I let him help me into the living room and I lay on the couch. He draped a blanket over me and kissed my hand. I knew he didn't trust me alone in the bedroom. His subconscious, the part that was bound to me so tightly that we were almost one, was trying to warn him about my plot. My subconscious was trying to talking me out of it, issuing those feelings of guilt.

I closed my eyes and listened to Jake and Cole work to analyze Hamlet. It was an almost happy scene to witness and I thought to myself that if I died right now I would die happy.

My consciousness dipped and emerged itself into the frightening, strange dreams that would harass me with no end.

I woke up at the crack of dawn. In my dream my stomach was being stabbed with a burning knife, in reality I was about to be sick. I took deep breaths and tried to think of good things. If I got myself less upset the nausea should go away. I thought of the past. No use thinking of the future unless I wanted to be sick.

I relaxed when the nausea went away. If I could just learn to do that every time I woke up from a nightmare Jake wouldn't have to worry so much. My sound health only lasted one more hour. As soon as Jake started cooking breakfast, and the smell of eggs filled the air, I sprinted into the bathroom. I shut the door and tried to make it seem like I was just using the restroom. Luckily, I threw up quickly. I sat still in front of the toilet for a minute, to make sure I didn't pass out when I stood up, and then I quickly flushed it. I ran the water, taking a long time to wash my hands. I drank from the faucet and gulped large gusts of air. I brushed my teeth as inconspicuously as I could. Then for the next hour and a half I showered, working my best to scrub off my skin. When I shut off the water my skin was bright pink and hurt to the touch. I smelled strongly of soap. I dressed, ignoring the spots where my stitches had been taken out.

I unlocked the door and opened it. A draft of cool air made me shiver. Jake smiled and wished me a good morning. I repeated the greeting, but didn't smile because I could only push myself so much.

I sat back down on the couch. The sun was dim and veiled as it shined lightly through the glass French doors that led out to a balcony. The snow made everything look mystical. It coated the banister, the chairs, the table, and the ground underneath the balcony. A group of small children stood with their parents as they waited for the bus. A father who was laughing loudly was gently braiding his daughter's long angel-blond hair. Her mother pulled her small gloves on her hands. I looked away.

I felt Jake's prodding gaze on me. I stood up and walked over to the counter. I placed a piece of bread in the toaster. He looked away, satisfied. I leaned against the counter. My constant fatigue made the idea of standing up for very long unpleasant. He had ruined me, physically and mentally. Just what he wanted. I rubbed my nose as it started burning. I pushed my hair behind my shoulders. I blinked. No time to cry.

The toast popped up with a noise that made me jump. Cole and Jake looked up from the table in alarm. I laughed weakly, trying to write my reaction off as silly.

I pulled it out of the toaster. I carried it on a napkin over to the table and sat down. Jake pushed some butter toward me.

I shook my head in refusal. I tore the bread into pieces with my hands. I felt his gaze on me and I shied away from it. Cole saved me by starting a conversation with his father. I listened to their soft voices and ate the toast piece by piece. Once it was gone I laid my head on the table. My arms and t-shirt smelled like the soap I'd used. I liked the smell.

I didn't reemerge until Jake called my name softly. I pulled my head up. Cole had left. I heard the TV from his bedroom. He'd have to start his lessons soon.

"Hmmm?"

Jake shifted, visibly uncomfortable. He ran his hand through his hair five times before answering.

"I…I got you a doctor's appointment for today."

He watched nervously as I froze. A prickly feeling traveled up my arm and it was a while before I realized it had fallen asleep in my stunned position. I moved it so it was hanging by my side. He seemed relieved by that small movement.

"It's just going to make it worse," my voice was shaky. I couldn't go to a shrink's office and tell him how I felt. I couldn't relive this.

He placed his elbows on the table and rested his forehead in his upturned palms.

"Maybe. But…what else is there to do? I don't know what else to do."

He sounded so small that my heart ached.

"I can't go, Jake. Think of what happened last time…he's the reason that…" that all our babies die. I couldn't finish my sentence.

Jake seemed confused. Minutes past before he finally spoke.

"Oh. No, Miley, I don't mean a psychiatrist. I mean a medical doctor."

I pushed myself back from him in horror. He seemed startled by my sudden action.

"I'm not going."

"Please," He begged me. I avoided his eyes, ducking my head.

"It wasn't your place to do that." I whispered.

"Yes it was," he argued softly, "I'm your husband. Through sickness and through health, remember? It's been my place for so long and I haven't done anything to help you. No more. You're going to get better."

"I don't want to go." I sniffed.

He seemed to be struggling with himself.

"I don't care," he said sharply, "you have to go. Please. If not for yourself for me. Please, Miley. You don't know how much it hurts to watch you like this."

And I watched in horror as tears sparkled in his eyes. I let out a gust of air and it was then I knew I was going.

"I want to go alone." I whispered. He seemed surprised at my easy surrender. He nodded in agreement.

"It's in an hour. I'll drive you."

As he walked away, I wondered what extreme lengths he'd go to if he knew what I was planning to do.

The cold wind slapped me across the face.

I tore out of the doctor's office, the wind whipping my shirt against my skin. My ragged sobs made it hard to breathe and my chest burned. I saw Jake throw open his car door and walk over to open the passenger's. My heart seemed to collapse and I ran right past him, past the car, past the only thing I had left. He might of called my name, or maybe it was a whisper of something in my past. The wind was so loud in my ears that I couldn't hear anything. The fresh snow crunched underneath my boots as I ran through the grass and I realized it'd left my jacket in the examining room. I shivered convulsively from the cold and my disturbance. I'd never felt so disgusting. My new knowledge had me vomiting in the paper-white snow. I heard Jake running behind me to catch up. My numb legs carried me farther, my hot tears falling in the snow. The boot fell deeper and deeper into the snow as I ran into a drift. I felt some slide up my pants leg and freeze my calf. I pulled my leg out of the snow and continued pushing my way away from the one person I needed.

My toes felt numb and the cold air pierced my lungs like a dagger as I gasped for air. I kept running and falling until Jake's voice was just a memory. I finally collapsed on a snowy bench in exhaustion. The snow was freezing against my leg but I couldn't move. I wasn't entirely sure where I was. I knew I was somewhere in the city but I wasn't near our apartment. I watched the yellow taxies and cars battle in the traffic and bundled up tourists and residents push through throngs of people on the sidewalks. I wiped at my eyes and realized suddenly that I did know where I was. Snow-blanketed Central Park shined under the sun. I watched the beautiful horses pull people in carriages and sidewalk artists paint portraits.

I knew how to get home from here, and I wished I didn't. The doctor's voice rang in my head and I resisted the urge to be sick again. How could this happen to me? I answered myself. The same way everything else had.

My legs understood my decision before my conscious mind did. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I didn't pay attention to all the missed calls I'd had. I got onto the internet and Googled what I was looking for. I got the address and put my cell phone back in my pocket.

My head was spinning as I stopped a taxi.

"Do you take credit cards?"

He looked at me and gaped before recovering himself. He nodded and jabbed a finger at the machine. I slid into the smelly cab and slammed the door shut.

"Where to?" His voice was heavily accented. I recited the address. He gave me a withering look before stomping on the gas pedal.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and cried the whole way there. The skin underneath my eyes was raw and sore by the time he announced our arrival. I pulled the credit card from my pocket that'd I'd used to pay for the doctor's visit, and handed it to him.

Once I'd paid and the taxi had driven off, I found myself standing at the mouth of the building. I didn't read the building's title, I didn't breathe. I just pushed myself into the waiting room. This had to be over. This couldn't happen. I couldn't—wouldn't—do this.

The woman at the front desk asked me questions in a soft voice. I answered each as best I could. She asked my name as if she didn't know who I was. I gave a false name even though that wouldn't hide my identity at all.

"You can go have a seat. We'll call you back when it's your turn."

I stumbled back and collapsed into a hard plastic chair. Outdated magazines littered the table. There was only one other woman in the room. She was old. The reason she was here was easy to tell. If she wasn't here she would die. I tried to convince myself I was here for the same reason. I could not carry Luke's baby.

I buried my face in my hands. My life seemed to be crumbling away. I didn't even know who I was anymore.

They called me and the old woman back at the same time. They led her into a room to the right but led me down a long hall. We stopped in front of a counseling room. The nurse told me to have a seat until the doctor arrived.

I sat nervously in the chair. I shuddered and couldn't seem to stop the tremors even though it was very warm. I was instinctively shying away from this environment.

The doctor came in. She asked me why I was here, explained the procedure, and told me a day I could come get it done. I broke down and begged her to do it now, to help me now. She pushed pamphlets into my hands and refused, telling me to go home and talk it over with my husband and if I still wanted to do it I was marked down for next Monday at seven. We sat in silence as I cried.

"Miley," she whispered quietly, "What are you doing here? You don't want to be here. It couldn't be plainer if you screamed it at me."

I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to tell her she had no idea what I wanted and that she should just leave me the hell alone. But she was right and it killed me. I had every right to kill the child of the person who had single-handedly ruined my life. But that didn't stop be from feeling like I'd walked into a haunted catacomb. The one thing I wanted more than anything else was to run away from it.

She stared at my face for a second.

"Monday," She reminded me softly. She opened the door, motioning for me to leave. It took me a minute to pull myself from the seat and shuffle out of the room.

I was a fool to think they'd be able to get me in without an appointment. I walked outside in the cold air. The sun was going down. I had no idea where to go. I didn't want to go home and be bombarded with questions but I didn't want to sleep on the street. After five minutes of deliberating I called a taxi and told them my address.

I leaned my head against the window most the ride and thought about the future. It was like thinking about the most unpleasant thing in the world. It was a catch-22: if I had an abortion, would I ever be able to live with myself? But if I didn't, how could I ever live with his child?

It occurred to me that both those rhetorical questions involved me living.

He pulled up onto the street outside the apartment. I paid again, and the doorman led me into the warm, bright lobby. Jake jumped up from an armchair when he saw me and he quickly rushed over. I ignored his questions and slowly walked up the stairs. As soon as we were halfway up I'd wished I'd taken the elevator. Less time for him to harass me with inquiries.

Suddenly, as we passed the second floor, his hands gripped my shoulders and he backed me against the wall.

"MILEY!" He thundered, "God DAMMIT. Tell me what's going on!"

My heart thumped madly in my chest. I stared at him with wide eyes. After a tense moment he removed his hands and backed away. His head sagged in what I recognized as defeat. I followed him to our apartment slowly.

Cole smiled at me when I walked in. There was a tense moment before he hugged me suddenly. I hugged back, my heart mending back ever so slowly. I realized how hard and unfair this was to him. I was never emotionally stable enough to be his mother.

I walked into the bedroom and shut the door and for once Jake didn't stop me. I curled up under the covers and cried. Sometime during the night it began to snow again. The wind was molesting the building relentlessly. I pulled my head up from the bed long enough to see the snow falling from the sky. The picture would have been magical if I didn't feel so shitty.

Sometime in the night the light flickered on and Jake didn't hesitate at all. He shut the door and sat at beside me. He pulled the covers back. He stared at me with an expression I couldn't identify. I watched silently as he unscrewed the vodka top. He crossed his legs and poured two shot glasses full of it. The clear liquid could have been water if it didn't smell so strong.

His eyes were clouded and I could not read his intentions and he pressed the small glass into my hand.

"Have a drink with me?"

His voice was so soft. I robotically nodded. He brought the glass to his lips, his eyes on me. He drank and didn't even wince. I pressed the cool, heavy glass to my own lips and tipped it back. The alcohol burned so badly my eyes watered. It tasted like rubbing alcohol and with one gulp my head felt lighter. I hadn't realized how large the gulp had been until he was filling my glass again. In the back of my mind I thought of fetal alcohol syndrome but found myself thinking that he only deserved that much. I didn't want any part of him inside me, not ever again. I gulped more of the harsh alcohol. It felt like it was burning me from the inside out. All the better.

I drank five shots before he screwed the top back on and pushed it away.

"No," I protested, "I'm not done."

I reached for it but couldn't get my fingers to grab it. He softly grabbed my wrist and restrained my hands.

"You've had plenty."

I considered arguing with him but the strangest feeling of peacefulness surrounded me. I grasped his hands with mine and feebly pulled on his arm. He complied and let me pull him down beside me. My heart seemed lodged in my throat as I examined his hands. They were so pretty.

He seemed interested in my expression.

"What is it?"

"Your hands are so pretty," I gushed. I saw his lip twitch but he made an effort to not smile. He just sighed and pulled me back so I was lying beside him. He was so warm, so nice. I snuggled against his side.

"Miley," His voice was louder than normal. I smiled at him. He was so handsome.

"Hmmm?"

He gently pulled his pretty hands out of mine and placed one on top of my head. He stroked my hair and I looked up at him in confusion.

"Would you please tell me what made you so sad today?"

His words brought back vivid and painful memories. I whimpered and shook my head.

"If you tell me I can help," he promised in a soothing voice, "I can make it all better."

And I suddenly knew he was right. He always took care of me.

I cried in earnest as I thought about the story.

"Jake…the doctor told me…"

His hands stroked my cheeks and he kissed my forehead.

"It's okay," his voice was so calming, "It's fine. Just tell me. I promise to make it all better. You'll never be unhappy again."

I nodded against his arm.

"You smell good," I muttered.

"Thank you. Now what happened?"

I paused. I didn't feel very good about telling him. But he could make it go away.

"I'm pregnant."

He froze.

"What?"

I flinched away from his voice. It was so mean. I shook underneath his glare.

He drew back from me.

"You're…pregnant…and you…drank…alcohol?" He seemed to me having a hard time speaking.

I started crying again. He didn't understand.

"You're the one that g-gave it to me." I argued.

"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE PREGNANT! I NEVER WOULD HAVE IF I WOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT!"

He was being so harsh. He was hurting my feelings. I sobbed.

"I'm sorry," I blubbered, "But I don't care!" I felt sudden anger overcome me, "I don't care at all!! Why should I care?? Why should I protect his baby? All he did was hurt me. He doesn't care for me so why should I care for his baby?"

Jake had frozen.

"Oh. You didn't know it was that bastard's. You thought it was yours. I'd never hurt our baby, Jake." I sniffed and wiped my eyes, "But I don't love his baby."

It was quiet for longer than I liked.

"What exactly happened, Miley? What happened that day? Tell me."

I pressed my face into his arm.

"I don't want to, Jake. Please don't make me. I don't want to think about it."

He stroked my hair.

"All you have to do it tell me now and you won't ever have to think about it ever again."

I looked up at him.

"Do you promise?"

He hesitated.

"Yes."

He wrapped his arm around me and I told him the story with my face hidden. When I was done he looked green.

I cried heavier.

"I don't want to have his baby, Jake. Please don't make me. I don't want it. I don't want to!" I was hysterical, "Please I don't want to. I don't want him inside of me. I don't…I don't want to have to do that. I don't want that. You understand? I don't. Please."

He gripped me tighter to him, his face white as bone.

"Never," He promised. "You don't have to have his baby. Of course not." He hesitated. "Do you know for sure it's his though?"

I rubbed my nose against my sleeve.

"Yes. I do."

He didn't look happy about that.

"How?"

I grabbed his hands again and cradled them to my face.

"Because," I whispered simply to the pretty hands, "If it was your baby I would want it. I wouldn't feel so sick and yucky inside. I'd be happy. Do you know something, Jake?"

His voice sounded sad.

"What?"

"I used to dream all the time that we could have another child. But I don't think I want one anymore."

"Why?"

"Because. Because now, after this, I'd never feel right. I was forced to make a baby with Luke and I don't think I have to the right to make a baby with you. You're too nice, too good, too perfect to be with someone as horrible and gross as me. But that's okay."

"What?" He yelped.

I looked questionably at him.

"Did you say…is he…are you…Luke?!"

"Yes." I told him about seeing him outside the house before we left and the things the man said in the van. I was crying again by the time I was done and he was speechless.

"I…but…how?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

His hands were shaking and he breathed deeply.

"You're angry." I frowned and sweetly touched the wrinkles the worry made on his forehead.

"I want to torture him." He admitted.

I shifted so I could stare him in the eyes.

"Will you please help me first?"

He pulled me back into his arms.

"Of course I will, of course. I love you."

"I love you too. You know something, Jake?" I repeated the question.

"No, what?"

"I want to kill myself."

He tightened his arms.

"No you don't."

I nodded. "Oh yes I do. I'm sad all the time, Jake. I'm never happy anymore. I feel kind of happy now though. But so much bad stuff is happening and I don't like it at all."

"Don't go, Miley." His voice was pleading. "Don't leave. Wouldn't you miss me? I'd miss you."

I sniffed.

"Of course I'd miss you. I love you. But I never get to be with you anymore because I'm so sad all the time." I paused. "I shouldn't have told you that."

"Yes you should have," he assured me.

The silence wore on and I was getting really sleepy.

"I'm sleepy." I whispered.

"Then go to sleep, honey. But I have one more question."

"Okay." I couldn't keep my eyelids open.

"What do you plan on doing about the baby?"

"I don't want it."

His voice sounded far away.

"Adoption?"

"No. I can't carry it. I can't give a demon away to curse other people."

"Oh. I understand. Well don't worry. We'll get rid of it."

My mind was so far away.

"Jake?"

"Hmm?"

"I wish there were more boys like you in the world."

His hand ceased stroking my hair and before I passed out I could have sworn I'd heard him whisper 'No you don't'.

But of course I did. He was going to take care of me. He was going to make it all better. I felt the strangest flutter in my stomach. My heart twisted and I struggled to pull myself away from sleep. I knew that touch, but it wouldn't make sense with how far along I was. It was so light it could have been a dream.

Or maybe even a nightmare.