I land face-first on a pillow on my bed and screech at the top of my lungs. It's almost loud enough that the pillow isn't sufficient to drown it out, but I'm ninety-eight percent positive none of my neighbors hear me. I suppose I'll know for sure soon enough.

My scream devolves into raucous sobs as I think of Xavi and the fact that I'll never wrap my arms around him again. Never feel the softness of his curls in my fingers, nor the warmth of his breath on my cheek. I didn't expect to fall so hard, but here I am; weeping over a man when I've sworn my whole life that I wouldn't touch one with a ten-foot pole.

This is a punishment from God...

Of course, my mother is right. Why did I waste so much time on women if the one for me was a man? If Xavi was the one all along, why didn't I have the sense to realize it sooner? Clearly, because God wanted it this way.

No, blaming God is too easy. I'm just a failure, like my mom has told me many times before. She may always have a drink in her hand when she says those things, but she means it. I know she does.

I jump up from my bed as my thoughts turn dark, tossing my oversized purse off my shoulder and watching sheets of the script go flying out of it like seeds from a dandelion. I ignore them, instead pacing my apartment in search of some way to refocus my energy. Unfortunately, my mind goes to one long-trusted illicit substance, and I know I've got a bottle of it in the freezer.

It's in my hands a moment later, and I'm grabbing a glass before I have time to second-guess my decision. The stench of alcohol twists my stomach up instantly and I hunch over the sink, emptying the dinner I picked at into it.

"Shit," I groan at the ache in my abdomen.

My hand rests on my bump as I lean back against the sink and close my eyes, willing my stomach to settle. Bubbles keep churning sickeningly for another bout, but I keep breathing steadily in through my nose and out through my mouth. It finally starts to settle, and then I feel a pop and butterflies right underneath my hand.

Ariel...

I say it aloud in a whisper, trying my best to roll the 'r' lightly the way Xavi does—the way it should be. "Ariel."

But it's just another reminder of everything I've done wrong.

"Fuck!" I scream out, grabbing the bottle and smashing it on the counter as I crumble into sobs again.

They're not just dejected sobs this time, they're enraged. They're broken. They're defeated. They're lined with desperation and filled with protective fury for this baby I almost dared to harm because I feel sad. How pathetic!

I step over the glass and pool of vodka through my worsening sobs and head for the couch, collapsing into it like I did most nights in the weeks leading up to my engagement. The only difference is that I'm not drunk this time. I can't pass out and forget about this pain; I have to feel it all until I can't take it anymore, and it already fucking hurts.

It feels like trying to hold water in a leaky container as I wrap my arms tight around my ribs to no avail. My sanity still slips away from me one sob at a time, just the same.

No one loves you.

So what?

No one.

I know that.

Not even your mom.

I know!

You'll always be alone.

I want to tell myself I'm wrong, but I'm not. I will always be alone. Every time I get close to someone, I screw it all up somehow. How could I not? I don't know what the most basic foundational relationships are like; those mother and daughter, father and daughter relationships that teach us how to love, protect, and nurture—they passed me entirely. Some days I do an okay job of convincing the world that I'm normal too, but lately it's become too heavy of a burden.

Everyone knows you're crazy now.

They know mom's crazy too, though. And a drunk.

I want to die.

There's no optimistic comeback for that one. It's a simple truth I've lived with for much longer than anyone should. I was a child the first time I thought it; ten years old. My softball team lost a game, and it wasn't the best game I'd ever played after the other team's right outfielder caught my pop fly. My mom said if I wasn't so fat, I'd have made it to base in time. I believed her.

I've thought it so regularly since that day that it's become a background thought. No different from acknowledging the weather or recognizing a person.

Ah, it's chilly out today. I should bring a sweater. I hope Alex is in a good mood. I wish something would drop out of the sky and kill me on my way in. I wonder if Kyle needs a reminder about my coffee.

It feels inevitable, especially now. Xavi was the best thing to ever happen to me, and I lost him. I lost him because I'm a failure, and no matter how hard I try, I always end up back at rock bottom to wallow in it. I don't know why I keep fighting it anymore.

A little pop in my abdomen attempts to answer the question, and a smile springs to my lips as tears fall. I wish I could be the kind of mother Ariel needs, but I know I can't.

As soon as he's born, I'll do it. He'll have Xavi. What more could he need?

A mom. Everyone needs a mom.

I just... don't know what I'm doing. I can't be Ariel's mom. I'm better off dead. Everyone's better off if I'm dead. Especially Ariel.

I pull a couch pillow close to my chest and clutch it tight, crying into it as I think of leaving my baby behind. It tears me up in ways I never imagined thinking of it, even worse than the end of everything with Xavi. It feels like in a matter of hours since seeing him on the ultrasound, everything has shifted. The mere idea of not seeing the color of his hair and eyes in-person, not feeling his chubby little cheeks under my thumbs; it's almost worse than death.

Did my mother ever love me like this?

I never felt it if she did.

I'm grieving for both of my parents at once—my father because he's really gone and my mother because she may as well be. She'll never really be my mother; never love me unconditionally the way a mother should. I've known this for so long, and yet it feels like a freshly painful discovery; as if my brother called a moment ago to deliver the terrible news of her passing.

He didn't, though. She's still alive and breathing, just incapable of being my mom. And it's about time I accept that.

I try then, thinking of her and accepting that she's gone. My sobs deepen and the tears fall faster as I hold the pillow close to me. Of course it doesn't help.

My ribcage feels like it's been ripped open forcefully and hollowed out, throbbing mournfully all over and from all directions. For Ariel, for my dad, for my mom, for Xavi. For this pathetic life that I might as well end.

Do it. End it.

My legs don't move, but I can picture it: the rocky bottom of the Root River back home, rushing up to greet me. The sound is so calming; like a soothing lullaby that makes my eyelids droop. Each foamy white ripple is like a warm blanket I could wrap myself in. Would it hurt? Would I care?

Would anyone?

No.

One day, I'll be free. I won't have to feel this way all the time.

End it all.

One day.

End it.