The True Story Of How I Met Your Daddy

My hand shakes as I write this, but I have to get it down. It's the last thing I'll be doing in this life. I want you to know who your real parents are, and the real story behind them. I love you, my baby boy.


3. Positive


I finally managed to get through an interview, and I now have a job. Alright, it's not exactly exotic or fancy, being a waitress at KFC, but it gets the bills paid. Plus a little extra on the side to go towards planning for college.

The downsides however...well put it this way. If I have to say the phrase "Would you like fries with that?" one more time, I am going to go completely insane.

"Oi, daydreamer! This has to go out to table 3." My boss says, thrusting a tray loaded down with steaming buckets of popcorn chicken, golden french fries and cups full of fizzing Pepsi, right into my arms.

"Yes, boss. Right away, boss." I reply, glad to be out of that kitchen. Not only is it so hot in there that my hair springs up into a mini-afro after only ten seconds, but the smell is revolting.

A lot of people love the smell of freshly-cooked chicken, and normally I do too, but for the past week or so, the smell of any food has just been absolutely repulsive. I can't even eat a salad anymore, as the smell of lettuce, tomato, celery and the dressing, is just absolutely vile, and I have to stop after only two bites. The only things I can eat, are instant noodles and bacon. So I've been living on bacon-flavour Super Noodles for the past week.

I'm carrying the tray out to the front, when I start noticing the smell of the chicken, and my head starts spinning. I have to turn my head away, but it's still there, and it won't go away. There must be something wrong with me, as I've never felt been able to smell anything that bad before. It's like 3-week-old mouldy cheese, and meat gone bad. It's roadkill covered with maggots, B.O, burned food and dead fish that's all rolled into one package and tied up with puke.

It's not just my head that feels funny now; my stomach feels like a sock in a tumble-dryer, and the bottom of my ribs feels like it's on fire. I have to get away from this, and I have to do it now.

"Are you feeling OK, miss?" Someone asks, brushing my bare arm. That touch snaps everything into overdrive, and my hands snap open, so the tray drops to the floor and everything goes everywhere. I have to run out, anywhere will do. I turn and make for the staff toilets, as chaos reigns behind me.

It's a good job I chose there. I'd barely got the door locked, the lid open and my hair behind me, before I was violently sick. Hot tears leaked from my eyes at the force of it, and I could feel the delicate skin behind my front teeth burning from the acid. It was so horrible, that I begged for it to hurry up and end. Even when there was nothing more to come up, I retched more, producing nothing but foul-tasting bile, before it was mercifully over.

I closed the lid and pulled the chain, as my head spun rapidly. I must have some sort of bug, or food poisoning, for me to react like this. I slid the lock in the door back, and came out to the sinks, resting my baking forehead against the cool mirror. I ran the tap for a few seconds, cupping the icy water in my hands, and rinsing my mouth out; attempting to wash away the foul taste and acidic burning feeling that skated over my tongue.

"Billie, are you ok?" A colleague of mine, Sarah, asked, pushing open the door.

"I'm fine. I just have a bug or something. Give me a minute and I'll be right as rain." I say, my voice rough and croaky from the acid burn.

"If you've just been sick, then you're clearly not fine. You should be at home recovering. Do you want me to drive you home?" She asked.

"No, no it's ok, I swear it is. I'll get the bus or walk it. I only live not too far away." I reply, as I was already enough of a burden.

"If you're sure, then I can't stop you." Sarah left, and I made my way out, staggering slightly.


I managed to get back to mine and my sister's flat, and I instantly started reeling. She had gotten off work early, and was frying something in the kitchen. The smell of the oil and whatever it was she was cooking, was enough to send me running straight for the bathroom. I barrelled straight past my sister, as she came out of the kitchen.

"Hey, you're back early. I got you some-Watch It!" She came running with me to the bathroom, and held back my hair as I was sick again. As I'd already emptied my stomach from my episode at work, it hurt even more. The foul-tasting fluid that I did bring up, burned even worse at the back of my throat. I could never, ever, be a bulimic, as the constant pain would be unbearable. When the retching stopped, my sister hauled me to my feet and sat me down on the edge of the bathtub.

"What was that all about? That's the third time in a week that I've had to hold your hair back for you, and you still haven't explained why." She asked, pulling the chain.

"It's just a bug. I just need bed-rest and something for my stomach. Then I'll be fine." I reply, standing up slowly.

"Just a bug, my ass. You're going straight to the doctor's tomorrow." My sister opened the medicine cabinet in search of Pepto-Bismol for my stomach, when she knocked half the contents onto the floor. I bent down, picking up boxes of plasters and bottles of cough mixture, when my hand closed around the slender blue box. I start counting in my head, then starting again.

"Billie, don't go all weird on me." My sister said, as I crouched on the tiles, frozen in place. The numbers still danced around my head, as I tried working things out.

"What's the date today?" I asked, not moving an inch.

"The 13th of October, why'd you ask?"

I held up one finger, indicating for my sister to be quiet, as I counted the numbers again. That wouldn't be happening. It can't be.

"What's going on? Billie, answer me." My sister's voice started shaking. I held up the small box of tampons in reply.

"Are you saying it's all PMS? But you never used to be like this." My sister sounded genuinely scared now, as I shook my head.

"No, it's not PMS; I'm 14 days late." I slowly get up, as everything falls into place. The cravings for instant noodles and bacon. The sickness that I've been having every time I smell food, and in the mornings. It's all making sense now. But the only man I've ever slept with was the guy from the club.

"How long ago was it that I brought that man home with me?" I ask.

"I don't know? About a month ago, if that." Her voice is shaking really badly now.

A month. That makes sense. I haven't got much of a bulge, and I started having morning sickness only a week ago. I go into by room slowly, like in a dream, and lift my work-shirt up, so I could see my stomach in the mirror.

"Billie, you're scaring me now." I ignore my sister, and run my hand over my lower stomach, when I saw the small bump sticking out from between my hips. There's only the test left to say.

"Can you please get something for me? I think they sell pregnancy tests in the Boots down the road."

My sister goes, and I sit down on my bed, trying to remember the guy who was in it a month ago. Was he tall, or short? Black, or white? And what on earth was his name? Does he know mine? Oh God, you were right sis. I really am a slag. I might be pregnant, and I don't know the father.

The bang of the front door jolts me back, as my sister hands me the thin box. I take it, and go into our bathroom.


The timer beeps it's bright sound, and I pick up the test in my hands. The tiny screen turned away from me. I close my eyes tightly, whisper a please-don't-be-positive curse over it, then turn it round and open my eyes.

A plus.

I'm pregnant, and I don't even know the father's name. Tears run down my cheeks, as I fumble for a tissue, and my hands meet the gift that my sister got for me. I lift it up, look at the front cover of the CD case, and my blood freezes in my veins. I'd recognise that man anywhere, including, in my bed the morning after!

"Sis, you might want to see this!" I shriek, as she bursts in.

"What? What is it?" She asks. I hand over the CD case, and the recognition dawns in her eyes.

"Billie, protect that baby of yours. You're carrying the heir to the throne of Pop."

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...