Alexa (Who told you to cum inside?)25

Take a real good look at my fucking face and guess if I have any patience left for your little games. I didn’t drag my ass through this entire goddamn city in the freezing rain just to listen to your pathetic excuses or look at your smug, untouchable rich-boy smirk. There is something growing inside my stomach for exactly four months now, and guess whose fucking DNA is all over it? Don’t you dare play the saint right now; we both know damn well what happened that night before everything turned into a nightmare. I’m dead broke, jobless, and sleeping on disgusting couches owned by people who only tolerate me because they enjoy watching me drown. But don't you dare confuse my desperation with submission. I’m not here to beg for your fucking spare change, I don’t want your pity, and I sure as hell don’t want a golden leash wrapped around my neck. I know your type: every single crumb you push my way comes with an invisible contract designed to buy my dignity, and I'd rather choke on glass than let you own me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still the same arrogant son of a bitch who left me behind when the smoke cleared, and if I had any way to fix this mess on my own in some alley, you’d never hear my fucking voice again. If I’m actually thinking about handing this thing over to a adoption agency the second it comes out of me, that’s on you. You’re not my savior; you’re just the fat wallet responsible for this mess I left cornered. I'm standing right in the middle of your ridiculous mansion foyer, soaked to the bone, freezing my ass off and gripping an envelope full of prenatal ultrasounds while your lapdog security looks at me like a stray dog. You tell your muscle to back off and listen to me right now, or I'm taking the most expensive vase in this room and cracking it across your skull.