His Pretty Little Burden (Kids of The District, #4)

by Nicci Harris

You will not apologise unless you have done something wrong. The word sorry carries no significance when it's used to hide a lack of confidence."

Sorry

Stepping towards her, I reach up and grab her jaw with one hand, puckering her lips, holding her startled mouth open, the pink of her tongue flashing at me deliciously. "Now be a good girl, and let me see these lovely lips say, 'Yes, Sir.'" My gaze drops from the pink insides of her mouth to watch her rub her thighs together. She's turned on by what just happened, at least her body is screaming such a truth. And I'm too tired, too horny, to think straight. Fuck. "Yes, Sir," she mutters, a whisper of a growl weaving through the word Sir, surprising me, exciting me too. Her eyes find mine, awash with a hint of a challenge.

I crawl to the bathroom on my hands and knees. Pressure bloats around my lower spine, sending shooting stars into my vision, while the need to get to the toilet keeps my tireless knees and hands sliding along the floorboards. Muscles inside me spasm. Nausea fills my stomach. And I'm no longer on my knees but lifted. Flipping in pain as strong arms carry me into the shower, I'm so confused by the moment. All I can feel is the devastating agony. It is all I have room for. Sir... The spray of the water hits my head, and he slides down to the marble tiles with me in his arms. My legs folded like a pyramid over his, my head in the cup of his elbow. I writhe. Cry out. Another burst erupts, and I scream so loud the sound continues to beat off the walls long into the next stabbing sensation, and the one after that. Or maybe I haven't stopped screaming. I don't know what's happening. "Help." Is all my throat has the energy to say between bursts of guttural sobs and screams. "Help." Trembling hands that belong to me reach to cup the pain. Then my back rips down the centre and my body opens. I reach for my core and bring my hand back. The sight of strings of blood drags another scream from me. As I wail at the viscous rouge fluid webbing my fingers, Clay pushes my hand from view. He cups my cheeks, directing my pooling eyes to his piercing blue orbs, a stark sight amidst the dread blurring my vision. "Don't look, Fawn." My name. Don’t look. The combination of those words twists my he...

miscarriage

Awareness spills into my heart; I was going to keep him. Maybe I could have gotten a job just like Jasmine did, find a little house on a cul-de-sac where he could ride a green bike with the tassels on the handlebars. I could have learned to bake. It doesn’t matter what. Cakes. Scones. I'd have taught him, too, when he was big enough to crack the eggs for me. I could have done it. I don't feel useless anymore. I don't feel unworthy. I think I felt optimistic... resilient.

I was going to keep him

“Sorry, of course. Miss Harlow, how do you feel today?” “Fine,” I say with a sad shrug, but it is just a little drop in the ocean of all the emotions I am awash with now. “Normal.” “I’m very sorry for your loss. We looked at the boy. He was small. It was nothing you did, and nothing could have been done. Our bodies know when things aren’t right,” he says, and I try to fight the roll of my eyes. It is such a line. So, my baby wasn’t right? Cool, thanks for letting me know. I feel so much better now. “You’ll be bleeding for a while. Ultimately, you’re just having a heavy period. Do you have supplies?”

fine. normal. nothing you did. our bodies know best. (standard bs)

If I lick him... does he belong to me? I

yes. that’s the rule.

His voice drops when he says, “And my niece and nephew will probably be here too. Will you be okay with seeing them?” A little ache moves through my chest, but it’s not intense, just a meek reminder. I shake my head in his palm. “I’ll be fine," I

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