Curled up on the couch, with my legs comfortably folded beneath me, I slowly sip on my overfilled glass of wine and try to quash the thoughts running through my mind. Silence is all I want, just some time to stop, breathe and catch up.  

It’s been a long week. Scratch that, try a long year. I don’t usually like to beat myself down with how hard life can be, because I’ve had some rock bottom moments and I’m responsible for a lot of them. You live and you learn, right? But now with everything going on, it’s endless days of too much, too fast. My to-do lists are a mile long and the expectations I have placed on myself are proving to be extremely unrealistic.

I’ve never regretted my decision to have a baby so young, or choosing to do it on my own; in fact the way I feel doesn’t have much to do with being a single mother, but rather it being the only thing I know how to be. I went from being a daughter and an older sister, to a girlfriend, and then a mother. Being Jeremiah’s mom is where it stopped. Where is Lucy?

The minute I found out I was pregnant, I knew this would be my future, and I chose it. With a smile on my face and a little bit of hurt in my heart, I decided I would have, hold and love this baby, no matter what his douchebag sperm donor decided to do. I had a kick ass mom, who showered me with enough love all by herself when I was growing up, I just knew I could do that for my baby too. And all this seemed to be enough; until now.

They say when you juggle too many balls, one of them is bound to drop. And when one falls, everything else follows. The night I found my mom unconscious on the floor, after suffering a stroke was the first ball to drop. She’s my rock and my right hand. She’s the woman I’ve learned so much from and still have so much to learn from. Seeing her lying there, helpless and so close to death changed everything. It not only gave me perspective, but it brought to surface doubts, worries, and insecurities I convinced myself were non-existent.

The second ball to drop was my carefully constructed routine with Jeremiah. With school and work everyday our nights are planned down to the second. Or they used to be. Now we’re running around like headless chickens trying to juggle mom’s rehab in between everyday life. And Jeremiah is suffering. It’s not too obvious, and others would tell me I’m over reacting, but I feel it in my gut. Change is hard for anyone, especially a five year old boy.

On the upside my sister Avery has come home. Even though mom’s stroke is the only reason she came back, I can’t deny how much I’ve missed having my baby sister around. Even if she is unknowingly adding to my stress levels.

Avery moved to California straight after school, desperate to get out of Piney View. Now she’s back, she’s caught the attention of one of my only close friends, Wesley Steele. And he has no plans to let her go.

Wes, Avery, the sperm donor who shall not be named and I all went to school together. And while everybody’s lives went a different route, Wes and I built our own future here. He’s a successful business owner with a heart of gold.

Their dramatic game of cat and mouse has been fun to watch, but after my weeks of introspective thinking, I’ve realized how monotonous and dull my life has become. I live on my own, but my life is entwined with my mother’s and everything I do for fun involves games with my kid. I don’t know how to relax, and can’t remember the last time I got dressed up, put makeup on and went out. And on nights like this where I sit at home alone, I miss sex.

Not the feelings, not the talking and not necessarily the connection with another person. I just miss having a moment when your mind switches off and your body takes control.

Standing, I finish the last mouthful of my drink and drop the glass into the sink on my way to bed. After brushing my teeth and changing into my pajamas, I climb under the blanket, and tap on the Tumblr app on my phone.

My fingers eagerly slide beneath the waistband of my boyshorts with purpose, slowly rubbing circles around my clit. My other hand scrolls through the constant reel of bodies thrusting against one another, each visual setting my imagination into a frenzy. I stop when I see a beast of a man, fucking a petite little thing into oblivion. He’s pressed her up against a wall, his head buried in her neck while she clings to him like a vine around a tree. Her head is thrown back, her eyelids fluttering, and her mouth forming the perfect “o” every time he hits the spot. Her face is the personification of the word orgasm.

I throw my phone to the side, lift my tank top up and close my eyes. Tweaking and pinching my nipple, I fantasize about what it would be like to have someone fuck me like that; with such ferocity and abandon. My lower body tightens and my toes curl in anticipation as I visualize every thrust. Conjuring up images of a thick cock pushing inside me; deep and hard. My hips rock as my slick fingers move faster. I’m desperate for this release, in need of something to rid my body of the built up tension, and give me a small window of exhilaration.

I bite my bottom lip as my limbs weaken. A rush runs through me and all the blood in my body pulsates at the tips of my fingers. I tremble with ecstasy, just in time to hear the click of a door open and the pitter patter of small feet getting closer.

“Mommy.”

Fuck.