GAY Sugar Daddy

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83

I really don’t wanna leave work when the clock hits 6, wanting to delay as long as I can by pretending I need to finish up everything though in reality, all those can wait. Time goes so slow until I've had it with my back pain so I packup and leave the office.

If he stays, he stays. If he doesn't, so what. Life goes on. Afterall, I never wanted to be with him after the baby's out. It's just me and my girls.

As expected, he’s not home when I unlock my place at 10. I don’t have the appetite to eat because all I want to do once I realise he really isn’t home is to lie on the bed and hide under the blanket. It’s pathetic of me to look for him at every corner after what I did. I literally sent him away in a silver platter.

I drop my bag on the floor then go under the duvet without minding my work clothes, covering my entire body so I can hide and cry all I want, trying to let go of this heavy feelings I've been carrying since our encounter this morning.

I must have cried to sleep because the next moment I open my eyes it was dark, as I feel the bed shifts signalling there's somebody on the empty side that used to be occupied by him.

I adjust my body and lie on my left side, only to find him horizontally positioned next to me. His back is facing me with half his body covered by the same duvet. And as usual, he's shirtless with a hint of grey sweatpants.

"Hey." My voice sounds hoarse as I sit up, suddenly remembering I'm still in my work clothes.

He doesn't say anything or turn around to kiss me like he used to, as he remains in the same position. The cold treatment jogs my memory of us arguing earlier. So I take it he's still mad?

Of course he is. Pao is the highlight of his life, threatening to take her automatically makes me an enemy. The worst kind of enemy.

Unlike his fancy place, or the master bedroom at the co-parenting apartment, I don't have a walk-in closet here. So with the help of the light from my bedside lamp, I take a shirt that's his since I sleep in them these days, then take off my work blouse and bra before wearing the shirt. This used to excite him with the unintentional strip tease but I guess it does nothing to him tonight.

I change my panties, with the same heavy feeling dragging me down. And finally after ten minutes, I'm back to bed.

I align my body to face him, just in case he’ll turn this way. I caused this so I know I can't complain about it but I can't help from having this stabbing pain in my chest. I'm sure my hormones are over the roof when a tear slips from the corner of my eyes. I close them immediately on my attempt to avoid crying again. He's there but he's not holding me like every other night, and that hurts.

This is like five years ago all over again. We were there, lying next to each other. But we weren't talking, or touching, both in our own world dealing with the pain of losing our daughter. Until a month later when everything didn't feel that bad anymore, because it was our new norm. I got used to sleeping next to him without touching, and living with him without talking.

Are we repeating that now?

***

The following days have been hell, as I pass my ninth month mark. Owen and I don't talk anymore, and Hugo still hasn't decided about the two days.

We co-parent as usual, and he sleeps with me every single night, but we don't talk or touch. It's merely being present for the sake of this baby, I think. Afterall, he did promise to be with me until the birth.

Most time, when I crave his attention, or his touch, I'm inclined to cave in, to apologise and surrender the two days. But I convince myself that I need to do this, and I would sleep it off only to feel worse the next day.

By Saturday night, I'm physically and mentally tired. I have been shopping for baby stuffs because there's a lot to do with the nursery, and who knows if she's gonna come early so I have to be ready with everything.

"Owen," I call him for the first time since the fight.

His eyes remain glued to his phone, ignoring me as usual. I take a deep breath as I gather the courage to ask him for help. Because I'm exhausted. I spent the whole day at the baby store today.

"Can you help me bring the bags to the room?"

It's proven that he does listen to everything I say despite his action, when he stands up and walks to the paper bags I dumped in front of the main door.

"Thanks." I tell him after he has put everything in the room. He walks out without saying anything, so I take my bath and plan to unbox everything later after I've had my dinner.

He still takes care of me because every day there will be a plate of healthy, balanced meal on the table. To be honest, if he doesn't cook any, I'm inclined to order fast food or just anything because I'm too tired to cook.

I stay in the room later on to deal with the baby stuffs and finally sleep around midnight, after I've put away everything neatly in a box full of newborn items. My hospital bag is ready, and I'm definitely relieved to know I'm all prepared. You can come anytime now, baby.

I'm not sure what time it was when I felt his hands on my legs, but it was dark. I laid there without saying anything, definitely didn't want to spook him so I enjoyed the massage silently, warmth starting to envelop my heart. He still cares. And pays attention to me.

It must have been the pressure he applies all over my leg that I accidentally moan, to which his hands stop abruptly. Damn it. Now I've spooked the man!

"Thank you," I tell him softly as he releases my legs and gets back to his side.

He lies down then pulls the cover and brings his body to face the opposite, backing me as usual. The warmth disappears instantly, and I start to feel overwhelmed again.

"Can you hold me tonight?" My voice trembles as I wipe my tears. He doesn't move at all even after a minute so I take it as a no, and bite my lips as an effort to stop making noise with my uncontrollable crying.

I get up to leave the bed when I start to feel suffocated. I need some space, somewhere far from him, so I can cry my heart out to let this pent up frustration gone for at least tonight. Though I know tomorrow I’ll have this again, because it happened last night and the nights before.

I’m tired of bottling my sadness. I’m tired of feeling helpless, because I know myself. I know I’m capable of standing on my own two feet. I don’t need him in my life. But why do I feel this way anyway? As if I can’t breathe without him?

I open the door and shut it tight, before dumping myself on the couch, crying as much as I want, as loud as my heart desire, because I'm sick of holding myself to cry, afraid if I'd disturb him with the noise.

Can any of you come here? Asap? Pls?

Because I'm not gonna hold him against his will anymore. This is killing me as much as it’s killing him. He called the shot five years ago, perhaps it’s time I make my own call to relieve us from this misery.







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