by Wendy Owens
He pushes the empty box to the floor with his foot, and sets the white case on the nearby desk. We collapse onto the bed, my eyes never looking away from him. I feel them growing wet, and I think my heart might burst, but I can’t look away.
“Oh, Holden.” A single tear rolls down my cheek. I go to wipe it away, but he doesn’t let me. Instead he presses his lips against the wet trail on my face. I shiver as I push all the air from my lungs.
“Are you all right?” he asks, pulling away.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. You scare me.” The words are honest, but they make him laugh a little.
“Why do I scare you?” he asks, pulling away just a little more.
“When I’m with you, you make me dream.”
“And that’s bad?”
“If my dreams are too big, then yes.”
“They’re not, Belle. I know you have something amazing inside you, if you’d just let the rest of the world see what I do,” he says.
I know asking the question will make me weak, but I can’t stop myself. The words leave my mouth before I realize what I’m doing, “And what do you see?”
He moves forward, his lips so close to me all I can think about is kissing them, tasting the sweet pleasure I know they contain. “I see a woman who is beautiful, and funny, and smart, and a woman who can do anything.”
“Please, don’t say things like that,” I plead.
“Don’t say the truth?”
“I’m not just scared about what you do to me, I’m scared for you.”
He laughs again, and I begin to wonder if he’s taking me seriously. “And what do I have to be afraid of?”
“I’m afraid you want something from me I can’t give. I can’t fall in love with someone right now, do you understand that?”
“I’m not asking for anything from you. I know where you’re at, and I take full responsibility for what happens to me as a result.”
“I can’t do that to you,” I protest.
“It’s not your choice. I make my own decisions, and I’ll care about whoever I want. If you want to run from this, Belle, you go right ahead, but I’ll be here when you figure out I’m not going to hurt you.”
With those words I feel a surge run through my body, and I want nothing more than to feel him over every inch of me. I straddle him with my legs, lifting up onto my knees, my head hovering just slightly above his. I wait until his neck is strained, he’s pressing against me, trying to reach my mouth, but I make sure I stay just out of reach. Frustrating him enough so that when I finally crash into him, it will be an explosion of desire.
“God, I want you so bad,” he moans.
“I know,” I say with a smile then bite my lip. He reaches up and pulls down on my shoulders, pressing his lips against mine, and the kiss is just as I had expected. A firm expression of his craving.
In an instant he is on his back, and I’m clawing at his shirt, running my tongue up his firm stomach. I don’t recognize who I am, so powerful and determined to have what I want, but I like it. He moans and pulls his head up to see my face, which only causes his core to tighten. He shifts wildly under me, pulling off his shirt so I have complete access to his chest, then relaxes back into the bed.
I catch a glimpse of my eyes in the side mirror, and it startles me. There is something burning in them, something that makes me wonder if I could devour him, leaving only a shell of him behind. I don’t care in this moment; I want what I want. His hips begin to rise against me, and I feel myself grow warm all over.
I lean over, pulling his hardened nipple into my mouth. He lifts up slightly so his hands can reach my ass. Sliding them inside the fabric, he squeezes my bare flesh, and I suck in startled breath. He obviously likes what he does to me, and he forces me upright by sitting, pulling me down against him so I can feel his erection through his jeans on my inner thigh.
I lean in to kiss him, and he pulls away. I stop and peer down at him with big eyes, my dark hair hanging in my face. He lifts one hand, supporting himself with the other, and brushes my hair to the side, cupping my face. I dare not move. He grazes his lips against mine—it’s soft, and I wonder if there could be a more perfect kiss than this one. My muscles twitch and convulse in delight, and I involuntarily exhale in delight.
Our eyes lock and now he has an intense and blazing stare. Below the surface of his gaze is a pain that I’m scared to get to close to, but above that is an intensity that I feel like I’m drowning in. It’s like I’m stuck between panicking and falling back, allowing the force that is Holden to envelop me, consequences be damned.
He pulls me in closer, as our kiss grows deeper. At one point we are pressed so firmly against one another, my breasts are unable to expand, not allowing me to inhale a complete breath. But I don’t pull away, I don’t struggle, I don’t dare panic as I might lose that moment. That intense second that I wonder if it might push me over the edge.
Our lips part, and he moves his mouth to my neck. He links his hands around my lower back, and I allow my head to fall, closing my eyes, and letting his kisses dance across my upper chest. His mouth trails slowly over the fabric of my tank top, his lips catching on my hardened nipple. I shudder in ecstasy. I lost my virginity to the boy I went to prom with, and though I’d only admitted it to a couple people in my life, Jack was only my second intimate partner. Neither had ever made me feel the things Holden is.
He pulls on my back, twisting me off to one side, and flips me onto the mattress. Suddenly we’re reversed, and I’m lying on the bed, with him on top of me, still kissing me. I marvel at his skills. He pauses, pulling away just enough to look at my face.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes against my cheek.
First, there’s a wave of heat between my legs, which then transforms into a flipping motion, rising up and traveling all the way to my stomach.
Without warning, a rancid acid taste fills my mouth. I’m terrified; I know what’s coming next. In a panic, I slap him on the arm, my eyes wide in horror, and my cheeks puffed out from the bile. He must have heard the nauseating sounds coming from my gut as he quickly rolls off me.
In a flash, I’m on my feet and racing to the shared bathroom at the end of the hall. I relieve myself of the putrid stomach acid I’d been holding in my mouth. Moaning in despair, I collapse on the cool tile of the floor, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. In that moment, I wish I could curl up in a ball and disappear into nothing.
Minutes pass, and there is a gentle knock at the door. I don’t say a word. I just continue splashing water on my face and hope I’m imagining the sound.
“Belle, are you all right in there?” Holden’s voice sounds so tender. How can he not be running from me? I can’t even have sex with a guy I find incredibly hot without screwing it up somehow. I suppose screwing it up is putting it mildly. Nearly vomiting on the guy must be some extreme low in the dating handbook.
I look in the mirror. My skin is green, and I feel the queasiness return. I rush to the toilet, trying to puke, but there is nothing left. I’m far from okay.
“Do you need me to get Bea for you?” he asks me through the door. His concern is touching.
I scoop some water into my mouth and pull my hair back into a ponytail before walking to the door, and with a deep breath, I open it. Holden is standing there, still in a state of half-undress.
I hang my head and groan, “I’m so, so, so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m just worried about you,” he says, reaching out and placing a hand on my shoulder.
“I’ve never done that,” I swear.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he says, before adding, “and it’s good to know it’s only the thought of sex with me that makes you want to vomit.”
“No, that’s not what I—”
He’s laughing.
“Hey!” I gasp. “I’m sick; it’s not nice to tease me like that.”
“I’m just playing,” he chimes, pulling back the covers and waiting for me to cli
mb in. Much to my surprise and delight, he climbs in directly behind me, wrapping his strong arms around my body. His grasp brings me comfort.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I mutter.
“I can see why,” he whispers against my cheek.
“Such a jerk,” I grumble.
I can feel his smile against my temple. “But there really isn’t a reason to be embarrassed. People get sick, you caught a bug, it’s life.”
“Promise me we’ll try again,” I say, closing my eyes.
“Oh, you can count on that,” he answers.
Ever since the day I almost had sex with Holden, I’ve been feeling queasy off and on. He seems to be taking it well, though. Making jokes about how eventually I won’t be able to cry sick, and then he will have his way with me. The idea of this nearly gets me worked up into a frenzy every time, but I always try to play it cool.
A few times this past week I managed to spend some time on the new toy Holden got me. I think part of the intrigue was what it meant. Someone believing in me to that extent. I even started digitally writing my journal entries.
We’re coming up on the six-week mark since I came to The Three Horseshoes, and Holden mentioned wanting to do something special for the marker. Perhaps a nice dinner with some of the locals, and of course Bea and Abner. I told him I’d think about it.
For me, the more time that passes isn’t a reason to celebrate. It just means I’m running out of time; soon I’ll have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life. I don’t know much, but I know I can’t hide out in this place for the rest of my days. I have people in my life I have to answer to. The thought has begun to cross my mind—an idea blossoming that there could be a life here for me. An idea that tells me maybe it isn’t such a crazy notion.
I’m sitting on my bed, after once again finding myself heaving over the toilet. The instant the smell of the eggs hit my nose, there was no hope of saving the meal.
There is a knock, and Bea pushes open the door. I’d taken to leaving my door cracked this week; being sick, it had become annoying every time I had to get up to let someone in who was checking on me. I will say this for everyone here; they definitely have an excellent bedside manner when someone falls ill. Bea and Holden have practically been waiting on me hand and foot. Even Abner snuck me a cup of hot cocoa last night. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the mere smell of it turned my stomach.
“Come in,” I call out, but by the time the words leave my mouth she’s standing inside the room.
“How are you feeling today, dear?” she asks, bringing over a tray with tea. She is in agreement with Holden: it isn’t that I don’t like tea; it’s merely that I haven’t found one that suits me yet.
“I was fine until the eggs.” I laugh. “I don’t know, maybe I should head into the village and see the doctor. I just can’t seem to kick this thing.”
Bea takes a seat on the bed next to me and places a hand on my forehead. This makes me smile. She is incredibly motherly.
“Sweetheart, when’s the last time you bled?” she asks in a soft voice.
“What?” I gasp, the shock of her words washing over me.
“Your period, do you remember the last time you had it?”
“I—I …” The words I want to say are not easily coming to me. “I don’t know.”
“Has it been more than a month?” Her eyes are gentle. I think of her question, and my stomach drops as I realize I haven’t bled since before Jack.
“I can’t be,” I insist.
“You should go see Doctor Marshall,” she suggests.
“Please,” I gasp for air, “don’t say anything to Holden.”
“Make the appointment.” She pats my leg. “Everything will be all right, deary.”
I watch her leave the room, pulling the door closed behind her, leaving me there alone with my worry.
No, it can’t be, I whisper to myself.
My hands are shaking, my knee bouncing wildly in the air as I sit on the edge of the exam table. I think how it must be moments just like this one that send a person into a state of true self-examination. A few months ago my life was set on a certain path. One I thought was safe. One that I thought would lead to amazing things.
Jack would receive his law degree, and we would be married. I knew we’d struggle for a couple years while he made a name for himself, until eventually he would make partner. After all, a person like Jack, and the family he comes from, has connections. We would buy our dream home, start a family, basically your happily-ever-after scenario.
Fast forward to today, and my fiancé and I are no more, though I might very well be carrying his child. I’m not at the job that I enjoyed; nope, I walked out on that to fly to England and spend the wedding money that wasn’t really mine to spend. And now that the money is starting to run low, I’ll soon start spending my life savings, as well as any cash my best friend has managed to get out of my belongings.
I’m headed on a path to being jobless, homeless, penniless, and certainly once Holden finds out about the life I’m probably carrying, I’ll be love-less, as well. You don’t know you’re pregnant. Calm down. Sometimes women miss their periods because of stress, and this is the most stressed you have ever been in your life.
“Ms. Hart?” the doctor says as he walks into the room, glancing at my chart. My heart starts racing. Dear God, he has a chart on me. Thoughts begin racing around my head, bouncing into one another, and I delve into all out chaos. Of course he has a chart on you, idiot; he’s a doctor, and it’s what they do when you visit them.
“Um … yes, Annabelle Hart,” I reply, trying my best to smile.
The doctor looks younger than I expect. His hair is salt and pepper in color, and by his physique, it’s obvious he cares about his body. He is clean-shaven, which reveals deep laugh lines around his mouth and eyes; they are surprisingly attractive on him. His eyes are dark and hidden behind thin-rimmed glasses. He slips them off when he looks away from the chart. Holding it and his glasses in one hand, he crosses the room and reaches out to shake my hand with the other. Smiling, I greet his smile with my own.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Marshall.” His voice is calming. I take a deep breath and a long blink, trying to settle my nerves. “So what brings you in today?”
“Umm ... I’ve been sick for over a week now,” I explain. I choose not to reveal my possible self-diagnosis, put there by my asshole, cheating ex-fiancé.
The doctor narrows his brow and lifts his hands up to my throat, pressing on the shallows. “I see. Can you open your mouth for me?”
I do as he asks, and he peeks inside. My head tilts in every which direction as he continues to inspect and probe me.
“And what kind of symptoms have you been having?” he questions.
I swallow hard. “Really just one. I’m having a hard time keeping food down.”
“No fever accompanying the nausea?”
I shake my head.
“I see.” He slides his glasses back into place and peers at the chart again. “Well, your throat is irritated, but there isn’t any swelling. The irritation could be caused from the frequent vomiting.”
“Well, I have definitely had that.”
“Hmm …” he hums, continuing to stare at my chart. I want to shake him, scream at the top of my lungs to tell me I’m not pregnant, but I refuse to acknowledge the idea. “Are you sexually active, Ms. Hart?”
There it is, I think. He is on the same trail I feared. “No sir, I’m not.” My answer seems truthful enough. I hadn’t had sex with Jack since the breakup, and Holden and I had never actually made it to that point, sadly enough.
“I see the nurse asked you if you were pregnant, and you said you didn’t know.” The doctor glances over the chart at me, a puzzled look in his eyes.
“Well, she asked if I could be, and I suppose it’s possible.”
“Even though you’re not sexually active?” I really wish he would stop using the term sexually active.
“It’s been months. I was engaged and well …” I wonder what in the heck to say next that won’t make me sound pathetic. “It didn’t work out. But nobody since then.”
“And when was your last period?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure, but it’s been a little while.”
There’s a knock on the door. It opens a crack, and the doctor approaches. There is whispering, and a piece of paper is slid to him through the crack. The door closes, and he returns to his seat. I feel like I’m going to be sick. He studies the paper, and then slipping off his glasses, he looks up at me.
He stands and takes a step closer to me. His voice is low when he speaks. “Ms. Hart, the nurse just gave me the results of your urine analysis. It appears that you are, in fact, pregnant.”
I don’t hear what he says next, because the room is spinning. I lay back onto the table, trying to calm myself. I fear I am going to collapse otherwise. It feels like everything is falling away from under me, and I’m floating. I focus my eyes on the ceiling tiles above me, willing myself not to vomit. In one second my life has changed forever. The small glimmers of hope I had about Holden have fallen away, and real life is crashing down all around me.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting in Holden’s truck in the parking lot of the doctor’s office. At least long enough for it to start raining. My shirt is sticking to my stomach from the goo the doctor placed on it for the ultrasound. I shiver as I remember the coolness of the gel.
Since I had no idea when my last cycle was, Dr. Marshall suggested we do an ultrasound. When he told me I was around eleven weeks I immediately began to do the math in my head. That means when I walked in on Jack and the neighbor screwing, I’d been pregnant for about a week or two.
I keep thinking about the strangest things. Like, for example, is it possible for a baby to remember things in the womb? Will he or she remember that Mommy caught Daddy sleeping with the woman across the hall? Or remember Mommy messing around with another man? Or how about Mommy going off her nut and running all around the world? I’m already convinced my child is going to hate me.