Impulses

by Brock, V. L.

  Dr Summers makes her way around her desk, and lowers herself into her seat. “I will give you your pregnancy vitamins and a list of do’s and don’ts. We will need to book you in for another appointment with another OB/GYN…”

  I struggle to absorb all the additional information that Dr Summers imparts in my still dazed state. But the fog lifts and a boulder soon grounds me.

  “The estimated due date…” she purses her lips and rotates some form of wheel, “…is the fourteenth of July.” And somehow, for some unfathomable reason, hearing that date just made everything a whole lot real.

  I’m pregnant. I’m going to be a Mom.

  “Congratulations, Samantha.”

  Pulling my gaze from the photograph in my hand, I regard the kind doctor with a heartfelt smile. “Thank you, Dr Summers.”

  I sit in my Honda, watching the people of San Francisco amble along the tree-lined sidewalk. Shadows cast along the street as the sun slowly materializes from over the towering buildings around me.

  Holding the black and gray print in my hands, I graze my right thumb across my peanut, while my left hand instinctively splays across my lower abdomen, offering further protection. With my hand on my stomach and the visual evidence of the little person inside me, in my hand, I have never felt so…connected, so alive…terrified with a capital T, but even still, so overjoyed.

  The pregnancy wasn’t planned, but it’s here. And regardless of timing or planning, this baby was made out of love…and love is never a mistake––well, the love between Hayden and I has never been a mistake.

  “Oh, damn.” Remembering I told Hayden that I would ring him when I got out of the Doctor’s Office, I fumble with my purse on the passenger side seat and fish out my cell.

  I wait patiently on the line, yet he fails to answer. I hang up and suddenly recall him mentioning two appointments today; maybe they’re why he isn’t answering. I don’t want to interrupt him if he’s with a client…but I know he will worry until I make contact. I don’t particularly want him having another paranoid fit on me.

  After weighing my options, I decide to call the office instead.

  “Good morning, Wentworth and Associates, how may I help you?”

  “Hey, Chloe, it’s Samantha,” I hum, sounding despondent in comparison to her lively tone.

  “Hi, Sam, how are you feeling? Mr. Wentworth said you’ve come into contact with that God awful bug that has been circling,” she drones, and all I can think is, ‘Shut up, shut up. I just want to speak to Hayden’.

  “Yeah, listen, I’ve tried calling his cell. He wanted to know what the doctor said, but there’s no answer. If he’s not with a client, is there any chance you could patch me through?” I murmur apologetic, conscious of the hassle that I’m causing.

  “Sure, hold on.”

  The line goes quiet for a few beats.

  “Samantha, are you okay? What did the doctor say?” Whoa, hold your horses.

  I’m knocked back for a moment, as he hastens his words down the handset, showing full concern for my wellbeing as always. I bite my lip, striving to break my broadening grin upon hearing the alarm in his tone. I don’t like causing him unnecessary worry, but it’s also nice knowing that he cares.

  “Um…she said that…”

  A slight, unwarranted sense of trepidation dusts over me the instant I even remotely contemplate both positive and negative reactions that my unexpected news could trigger in him. Would he be happy? Scared? Confused but get used to the idea? Or will he begin to doubt me? Doubt my fidelity and therefore doubt the paternity of our baby? What about the nightmares? The dusting increases into a full blown, no-holds-barred, downpour. Shit, how is he going to react to this news, period?

  “Samantha? Are you there?” His voice is my anchor, my raft from treading the treacherous waves in the deep sea of pessimism.

  I inhale deeply. “I should try and rest, keep my fluids up and eat little and often.” There, that sounds reasonable.

  “How long did she say you’ll be struck down for?”

  Damn, that’s a good question––how long does morning sickness last for anyway? Ugh, there is too much to think of, and I am just way, too tired.

  “Bugs vary, Hayden. So, I really hope you don’t mind but, I’m going to head back home, and listen to the good doctor.” I rub my stomach with rhythmic strokes.

  “Of course, beautiful. I want you back to your healthy, normal-self as soon as possible.” I hear the leather of his chair crack and whine as he presses his back against the rest. “I hate knowing you’re ill and powerless to help ease it,” he sighs, and I know that he is frowning at the mere contemplation.

  My heart swells. “Hey, you’re not helpless, honey. Hearing your voice alone is enough to get me through.”

  I hear him snigger and my cheekbones rise. I nip my lip.

  “I will come to you after work, okay? I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. I will see you later, hon. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, beautiful,” he mutters, and then the line goes dead.

  Will I ever get bored of hearing him confess his love for me? I snort and shake my head, never. I need to know it just as much as he does.

  Tossing the handset back into my purse, I tip my head back against the headrest. Closing my eyes, I am haunted by Hayden’s words; I want you back to your healthy, normal-self, as soon as possible. Shit…an internal shudder prompts my hair follicles to stand to attention; unrelenting shivers pave their way up my spine like wildfire. I open my eyes as realization knocks on my metaphorical door––things are going to get worse, before they get better.

  My stomach churns, and the familiar bitter taste begins to advance to the back of my throat, but now knowing that it’s a symptom of my pregnancy, it sets a differing opinion to the one I have shared the prior four days. It seems…worthwhile. I am able to overlook the feeling that I detest, because something miraculous is happening to cause it.

  “Okay, okay…” I peek down at my abdomen, my left hand still splayed protectively across it. “Let’s go home and attempt to eat something yummy,” I snigger, before starting the car, and pulling out into traffic.

  I hear a faint knocking sound. It gets closer and closer, becoming louder and louder as I hang on to the cusp of unconsciousness. But it is too annoying, and too loud to continue ignoring. I blink my eyelids open. A dim, burnish orange coats the interior of my bedroom as the sun begins to set.

  I glimpse at the clock on my left bedside unit. 5:00 p.m., oh, my, I have slept all day?

  I hear the knocking sound again. So that’s what has woken me up. Begrudgingly, I push myself up from the comfort of my bed. I rub my eyes and endeavor to overcome the fuzzy, disorientated feeling as I stagger out of my room.

  Making my way down the hallway, the door is knocked again. I have to admire their persistence, but enough is enough already.

  “Hang on,” I mumble, and start to open the door, riled at the persons incessant thumping. I mean, really…the impatience of some people.

  I sag with both shock and relief as I gaze sleepily at the unexpected, impatient visitor resting against my doorway, all sexy, floppy hair drifting over the right of his brow.

  “What took you so long?” he scowls and I answer him with a very unladylike yawn. “Did I wake you?” his features soften with my responding nod.

  Stepping aside, I wave him in. He bends to retrieve his briefcase that rests at his feet then follows me into the apartment. “How are you feeling, beautiful?” he kicks the door closed behind him.

  I frown. “Tired and disorientated. I thought you were coming by after work. It’s only five o’clock.”

  “You’re not feeling nauseous?” he arches his brow, gauging me. He looks mouth-wateringly delicious with his black pants and black and maroon, vertical strip shirt. His sleeves rolled up to just below his elbow, showcasing his light-golden forearms and arm hair. The shadowing of his stubble around his mouth and jaw, and that quirk of his lips as he gr
ins down at me.

  My God, it’s like looking at him for the first time all over again.

  I take a moment to assess how I’m feeling. Tired? Yes. Mentally exhausted? Yes. Sexually frustrated? Now I fucking am. Nauseous? Surprisingly, no, and it is a revelation. I shake my head and pose a relieved smile.

  “Good. I brought you something to cheer you up. And no questions, you’re my fiancée…I am allowed to,” he says cheerfully with conceit. A shrewd glint in his chocolate eyes…hmm, to lick melted chocolate of his body…I lick my lips at the mere thought which invades my rationality.

  His excitement is infectious. I giggle at his buoyancy, and cannot supress the face-splitting grin that claims me. I’m relieved that I am not the only one grinning like an idiot, as Hayden soon mirrors my expression. His tongue brushes against his lower lip before he showcases his all-American, dazzling smile. Oh, that tongue and those lips. My God, what is wrong with me? I’m hyper alert to even the minuscule of his movements, affecting me deeply, causing my wantonness to augment and rise to the surface, pleading to be ravaged, devoured and sated.

  Standing at the end of the dining table, I clutch my left hand around the top of one of the backrests of the chairs. Hayden sets his briefcase at his feet and uncurls his left arm from behind his back with a flourish like a magician…he can work any of his tricks on me.

  He presents me with an enormous bouquet of deep red roses, with speckles of baby’s breath, wrapped in a red film.

  Hmm…baby’s breath…how apt?

  “Oh, Hayden…” I take them from him, and bury my nose into the center of the arrangement. They smell heavenly. “They’re beautiful,” I hold back my tears and gaze up at the insanely, sexy man in front of me, “thank you.”

  With my nausea at bay, I step into him, push myself up onto my toes, and meet his lips. I coax his mouth open with flicks of my tongue, and he grants me access, mirroring my fervor. I fist my right hand into his hair, holding him to me as our kiss deepens and becomes wilder, more…carnal.

  He pulls away, a smile forming on the mouth that he should be using to devour mine. No, come back. He sets his left hand on the side of my face. The warmth of his touch and his intoxicating scent is a welcomed distraction through my hazed disorientation. His eyes are bright and affectionate.

  “You are more than welcome. And––”

  “There’s more?” I shriek, flabbergasted. My eyes widen with dazed curiosity. He laughs, and it’s dry and masculine, the vibrations that are emitted from his throat in one single, innocent sound makes everything south of my waist clench with delicious force. “I am very glad you find me amusing, Mr. Wentworth.”

  “You have your moments, Miss Kennedy,” he whispers.

  He proffers a large crimson box, bound with a white satin ribbon from under his arm. I set the arrangement of blossoms in the center of the table and warily accept the package. I stare down at it, unaware of what to do next.

  “I hope you like it.”

  I peek up at the most desirable man in San Francisco as he stands before me. His hands buried in his pants pockets, while he rocks to and fro on his heels. His eyes flared as he glimpses at the package in my hands, then back at me. “Open it then.”

  I set my surprise on the dining table and begin to unravel the ribbon. I remove the lid, and unfold the white tissue paper that shrouds the contents.

  Winded, I look up at Hayden who towers over me, at my right. He wraps his arm around my waist. “I hope you like it,” he murmurs, and I feel his lips forming the words against my scalp. He kisses the top of my head.

  I divert my focus back down at the finest, red satin material. Scattered crystals embroiled on the halter-neck bodice. Grasping both sides, I hold it up in awe as I examine its magnificence. The light ricochets from the surface of the crystals, just like my engagement ring.

  “Hayden, I love it.”

  “I thought we could go out tonight, and celebrate…properly. Considering we haven’t done so yet. That is, if you’re feeling up to it.”

  I gently lower the bodice back into the box, turn to Hayden and place both my hands on the side of his gorgeous face. I push back the lock on his brow. “I would love to. Thank you.”

  His contentment is palpable as he swiftly seeks out my lips with his own, the pressure and the fullness of his flesh pressing and working against me with growing vehemence, liquefies my insides and ignites my body. When his hand fists into my hair and his other lay splayed at the small of me back, pulling me against the growing structure of his awaking erection, I know I am igniting his body, too.

  “Go and get ready, Miss Kennedy,” he orders breathlessly after drawing away.

  I gather the package from the surface of the table. As I turn to head to my bedroom, he playfully swats my behind. Through my girlish giggles, I shake my head in faux disapproval.

  “Coffee?” he calls as I approach the corridor that shelters my bedroom.

  I turn on my heel to face the way of the kitchen. Immobilized by confusion, I frown.

  “Where’s, Jessie? I’ve only just noticed how quiet it is.” Attentively, I scan the length of the apartment.

  Hayden collects the stainless silver kettle and strolls over to the faucet. There must be no coffee in the machine. He stops, and picks up a piece of paper from the breakfast bar.

  “’Didn’t want to wake you, sweetie. Had to go to the store, won’t be too long. Jessie’.” He recites her note, shrugs his shoulders and places it back onto the surface. “Coffee?” he repeats while I turn and continue making my way down to my room.

  “No thanks, hon. I won’t be, too, long.”

  Wow. I stand gazing into the full-length mirror admiring the woman staring back at me. My hair is deeply waved, repetitive ‘S’ shapes laced through from root to tip and drawn across my left shoulder. My eyes are dark, smoky silvery-gray and my lips a subtle shade of red.

  The dress is a crimson satin, mermaid halter-neck, evening gown. The slit on the left-side is extremely risqué, trailing up my leg, and stopping at the top of my thigh. There is a trail of gemstones evenly spread-out on each side of the divided material. The neckline plunges into a racy ‘V’ that ends at the bottom of my sternum; a thin, satin strap connects either side between my breasts. Again, it is comprised with generously scatted, glimmering gemstones, which sparkle in the light. My silver, strappy heels compliment my silver clutch purse, which shelters my cell and sonogram photo.

  Might as well make it a double celebration…I hope…

  Removing the Band-Aid on my inner left-arm, I retrieve a red wrap and arrange it so it conceals the slight bruising and sticky strips.

  “Wow, Samantha. You look absolutely…wow,” Hayden gawps at me with a ridiculous grin and fists his hands through his hair.

  I reward him with a quick twirl.

  “Hayden, I love it.” Although this will most probably be the first and last time I will ever be able to wear it. I glance down the length of my body and sigh sombrely, but attempt to disguise my budding apprehension with a smile.

  Watching and secretly goading him, he starts prowling towards me with the grace of a caged predator approaching his confines. And the sliver of unease is scattered along with any other emotions I have coiling around my head. The internal vibrations that make my nerve-endings plead for stimulation, and the tensing of muscles that he is deliberately prompting in me is too intense to ignore…so I embrace it and concentrate solely on the degree of yearning I have for my man.

  He softly caresses the side of my face. Tell him, Samantha. Tell him, two words, that is all. Just tell him you’re pregnant, my subconscious cajoles me, swirling a tumbler of amber liquid, as she swings her upper, crossed leg.

  What I would give for a drink about now.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes from it.

  “It’s 6:15 p.m., reservations are for 6:45 p.m., shall we go?” I nod, and he chivalrously offers his arm to me.

  As we stroll to the door, I slip my arm free from th
e warm crook of Hayden’s. “Hold on,” I protest and dash over to the breakfast bar. Retrieving a pen and Jessie’s note, I flip the parchment over, and quickly write:

  Jess, I’m feeling better.

  I have gone to dinner with Hayden to celebrate…properly.

  See you later––love you. X

  “Ready?”

  I nod with blatant enthusiasm, while dashing my tongue across my lips. “Ready.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask with undoubted excitement, as we drive towards the office.

  “Actually, Samantha––” my excitement marginally diminishes as I sense the uncertainty in his tone. He glances at me, and then back on the road ahead of him. “As I hastily left work early to be with you, I forgot a document that I really shouldn’t have forgotten.”

  I didn’t ask you to finish work early, my inner-bitch scoffs.

  “Considering we’re heading in this general direction, I hope you don’t mind if we quickly stop at the office and then make our way to dinner?”

  “Sure,” I hitch a shoulder in a blasé shrug, and reign in the temperamental outburst of me, myself and I. I’m so confused; if I’m not ill then I’m angry, frustrated and easily riled. If I’m not that, I’m sarcastic. I risk a quick peek at the man to my left. He’s so confident when he’s driving…and working in the office, and with me. His left arm perched on the window of the door, as his hand caresses the steering wheel with relaxed ease. I take a moment to appraise his features: his strong, chiseled jaw, his straight nose, perfect lips and that chocolate curl, his stubble which is so temptingly arousing.

  I sigh in defeat and look out towards the passing buildings along my right…and now I am beyond sexually frustrated. Great.

  I have never felt so ridiculous in my life. Walking passed security, through the lobby of Stalwart Tower, the building which houses Wentworth and Associates, in a very racy evening gown, dolled up to the nines, because my boss has no idea how the filing system of his own firm works, and no idea as to where Chloe would have placed the document he hastily forgot.