8 Months Pregnant
I woke up to the sound of pounding the front door. It sounded like the person was trying to bust the door down.
I struggled to stand and get out of the bed.
"Baby.. What's all that noise?" Frank sleepily murmured.
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." And right as I finished saying that, the sickening sound of wood splitting sounded through the house.
I was too horrified to even move, but Frank was now alert, and sitting up in bed. We heard what sounded like the door hitting the ground in the foyer.
I looked at Frank, fear in my eyes and my mouth wide open in terror.
"Stay here." He whispered to me and quietly got out of bed and left the room. My stomach was twisting and turning so badly, I felt ill. I closed my mouth in fear of retching all over the bedroom floor. I was about to go out and make sure Frank was alright, when I heard him yell,
"What the hell do you want, Bill?"
Oh shit. My father!
"Where is she?" I recognized the drunken voice of my father ask.
"What do you want with my girlfriend?" Frank yelled, anger evident in his tone.
I tiptoed out of the room, silent as a mouse, and listened and watched from the hall doorway.
"How dare you take her away from me?! I OWN HER!" My father yelled and pointed something at Frank.
Shit! He has a gun! My hands flew to my mouth, and I suppressed a scream. But before he could pull the trigger, Frank attacked him, and the gun went flying out of my dad's hands.
I watched Frank and my dad fight until my dad got his hold on the gun again. And before Frank could notice it, he was shot. In the chest.
A scream managed to leave my lips, and tears began to slip from my eyes. My mind screamed for me to run, run to my bedroom and lock the door. But my feet didn't get the message.
My dad heard me, and came into the hallway.
"There you are bitch!" he yelled drunkenly and grabbed my arm.
He dragged me into the living room and threw me at Frank, who was still breathing.
"Frankie, baby, I love you, don't die.." I pleaded.
I heard my dad laugh, a cold laugh.
"Did you honestly think you'd ever be happy, Maylee? No, you're not meant to be happy. You were a mistake!" he yelled.
I sobbed, clutching at Frank's shirt, pleading with him not to die, to stay with me. I felt his hand slip weakly into mine, and lace our fingers.
"Stand up Maylee." My father commanded.
I stayed on the floor, clinging to Frank's bleeding body. His breaths were short, and sharp, like every inhale hurt. My father grabbed me by the hair, and pulled me up. He threw me against the back of the couch, and seemingly just noticed I was pregnant.
"How far?" he growled.
"Eight months." I whimpered.
He smirked, and pointed the gun at my stomach.
"You aren't having any baby." He said and pulled the trigger.
The immense pain that filled my stomach made an ear shattering scream pierce the air. I fell to the floor in pain. My baby was gone.
The last thing I remember was seeing my dad's mouth moving, his sickening smirk, and the gun aimed at my face, before a loud shot echoed in my mind, and black shrouded my world.
Gerard was in his and kitchen making coffee while Mikey sat at the table, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and Rene and Tibby sat on the couch watching the news.
Once the coffee was done, and he poured four glasses of it, handing one to two to Mikey and headed for the living room. He gave Rene a cup and Mikey gave Tibby one and they all sat watching the news, drinking coffee and waking up.
"And we have breaking news! Tragedy struck Belleville late last night at the household of Franklyn Iero and Maylee Styles. A William Styles called the police and confessed to murdering his eight months pregnant daughter, Maylee, and her boyfriend, Franklyn, this morning. When officers arrived, they found Maylee dead, with a shot to her head and stomach. Franklyn was found with a shot would to the chest, but still breathing, and was taken to the hospital where he later died."
Everyone was staring at the TV in a state of shock and despair. Rene and Tibby began to sob, and Mikey had tears leaking from his eyes.
Gerard also began to cry silently, mourning the loss of two of his best friends.
From Sarah
From Whitney
From Sarah
Yes.. I know I ended it quickly but frankly (no pun intended) I was sick of this story. Writing it made me sick to my stomach and I was all out of good ideas. I was just making it stupid.
