I have to move forward. But the memories keep me frozen…

You’re driving me up the fucking wall with your me me me. I am trying to create something beautiful here and your constant cackling is interfering with my process. A little fucking peace and quiet, is that too much to ask for? Bloody selfish bitch.”

“How dare you! Four years. I’ve been patient for four years.”

“I never made you any commitments. It was you who imagined that this was some sort of relationship.”

“You lead me on. You said you need more time. Every time that I asked you, you said that you needed to finish one more canvas… then one more… and one more. You never said never… you just said insufficient. Four years of cooking and cleaning…. Did you actually think that was an altruistic booty-call?”

“No. That was you living rent-free. And we never talked about any pregnancy. That’s on you.”

“I told you I was late. What did you think? That my period was being tardy!”

“Hell if I know… and how do I know if that’s even mine?”

My hand instinctively goes to my belly as the cruelty of that memory strikes me again.

I look ahead. How ironic to have a women’s clinic right beside a church. I steel myself. I have to move forward.


Written in response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt which let me to think of the phrase driving me up the wall; using words from Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (forward), My Vivid Blog (dare), Ragtag Daily Prompt (canvas), Word of the Day Challenge (insufficient), The Daily Spur (pregnancy), and Your Daily Word Prompt (tardy, altruistic).

6 thoughts on “The Wall

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