by L. S. Pullen
“Shit.”
“What?” she asks, holding the now loose gown over her body.
I take her by the shoulders and turn her to face the mirror. We scan the marks marring her body, the lighting unforgiving. She covers her mouth to stifle her reaction and squeezes her eyes shut. I pull her back into my chest and rest my chin gently on her head.
“He won’t get away with this,” I promise.
A shudder rolls through her body. “I really need to shower,” she says, sounding disgusted with herself. Her movements are heavy, lethargic as she steps away to turn on the showerhead.
I can’t leave her, not like this. “Do you trust me?” I ask.
She stills her movements and nods just once.
With that, I toe the back of my trainers and kick them off, followed quickly by the rest of my clothes with the exception of my boxers.
Save for our breathing and the shower spray, there’s no other sound. I reach in the holdall and find a toiletry bag and pull it out.
“Sit.” I gesture to the built-in wooden stool against the wall. She does as I ask. I reach for the shower hose and test the water. “Tell me if it’s not warm enough?” And I begin to shower her.
“It’s fine,” she says, her voice small.
With my free hand, I rummage around in the bag and pull out shower gel and a loofah and pass them to her. She squirts some into the centre and slowly runs it over her body, bra and knickers now drenched, but still in place.
I step under the spray and hold out my hand to pull her to her feet. Taking the lathered loofah from her hand, I gently turn her back to face me.
Carefully, I work it in small circles over her back.
“Do you want to wash your hair?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes, I want to rid myself of him.”
I lean around her and hunt for a bottle of what is shampoo and conditioner in one. The water cascades down onto her head, immersing it with enough water for me to massage shampoo into her hair.
I freeze for a moment, taken back to a memory of me with much smaller hands, washing my mum’s hair over the small sink as she rested in a chair. By the end, she was too weak to do it herself. I’d watched a nurse do it and asked if I could help. She smiled at me—the way only a mother can—and said yes.
Her hair had already grown back past her shoulders by then. She’d been informed she was no longer in remission and that no other treatment would change the outcome.
I shake the memory away and do my best to avoid the protruding lump on her temple and the cut on her hairline while I wash him out of it. Once the soap duds are rinsed away, I step back.
“I’ll be just outside when you’re done, okay?” I say, pulling out the towels from the bag and hanging them on the hook on the back of the door. I take one for myself and wipe my legs and feet before grabbing the pile I left in the corner and close the door behind me.
I dry myself off and quickly get back into my clothes. Then I stand by the window, watching the storm brewing in the distance. I listen to the water shut off and her rustling around.
When she comes out, she’s carrying the bag in her hand. I rush over and take it from her.
“Is there a plug socket anywhere?” she asks, searching the room with her eyes.
I find one by the end of the bed and usher her over. She pulls out a hairdryer and brush, and I take them both from her. She sits on the bed; I carefully brush her hair, cringing every time I snag a knot.
Plugging the hairdryer in, I switch it on and dry off her hair, leaving it slightly damp. She pulls it to one side, and her fingers work it into a loose plait.
A yawn catches her off guard, and she’s barely able to cover her mouth with her palm.
I move and point to the bed, where reluctantly she lies down. I dim the light and then sit in the chair beside the bed.
“You don’t have to stay,” she says.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” I reply.
Her eyes drift closed. “Well, okay. Stay just until I fall asleep,” she replies. Her voice is hoarse. And I know it’s strained from the shouting and crying she’s done today.
It’s not long before her breathing evens out and she’s fallen into a quiet sleep, her hand protectively covering her stomach. My eyes scan the length of her, wondering when she’s going to talk to me about the baby. And if my gut’s right, and it’s mine… Why’s she worked so hard to keep it from me in the first place?
Chapter 35
Sophie
I’ve pretty much spent most of the night being woken… Something about the concussion. I’m now at the end of my rope and want out of here so badly. Charlie stayed all night without complaint. If anything, he’s been more quiet than usual, but it’s not a quiet I’m comfortable with…least of all with him. It was never a problem before, but now it’s forced.
A group of doctors make their rounds and read off the chart like I’m not lying in a hospital bed feeling like a human exhibition. I make quick work of regaling the reasoning for my admission.
A nurse made the assumption again that Charlie was my boyfriend and I don’t know why, but I made it a point to correct her, and that’s when she mentioned my pregnancy.
I said the father wasn’t in the picture. I don’t know why, it just poured out.
It’s irrational, I know, but I have my reasons for being guarded. It’s my body, my baby, mine.
I’ve been staying at Flick’s the past couple of days, but I’m more than ready to go home now. I won’t let what happened frighten me. It turns out, Craig isn’t well, not that I’m surprised he needs help.
Charlie’s been by a couple of times, but we haven’t been alone…not since the hospital. He was so attentive with me while I was in there, but now I feel like we’ve gone back to being strangers.
He comes by, but his eyes are heavy, with dark crescent moons, like he hasn’t been sleeping. Flick’s out shopping with Evie, and Nate’s busy working, so I’m stuck twiddling my thumbs until I go home later today. I just want to get back to work and put this whole thing behind me.
“How are you feeling?” Charlie asks.
I wish people would stop asking me how I am.
“Fine.” The word comes out more abrupt than necessary. “Sorry.”
I mark the page of my book with my worn bookmark.
“That’s seen better days,” he says, nodding towards my book.
“A book well-read is a book well-loved,” I reply defensively, bringing it closer to my chest.
He holds his hands up, and I see a faint smile. Scrubbing his palm over his jaw, he looks at me, his eyes intense.
“So, are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” he asks, his voice gruff.
I tilt my head. “I don’t understand?”
“The baby, Sophie.”
My pulse begins to race, and the sound of my heart beating in my ears makes me feel nauseous.
“Since when is my baby an acronym for an elephant?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Sophie… I find out you’re pregnant and you act like you’ve just gone and had a new haircut.”
I stand up, hating that I’m sitting while we are having this conversation—whatever this is, I know he’s not stupid.
“Charlie, that’s not fair. It’s not something I want to shout about, not until I know everything’s okay.”
And I didn’t know how to tell you.
His eyes change for a moment and soften, but then they harden again. He shakes his head and stares down at his feet.
“Soph, why are you being like this? You act like I’m as bad as that arsehole you were seeing.”
I almost flinch. “What are you even talking about right now?” I ask, completely confused.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Soph…about the baby?”
An irrational fear begins to sweep through my body. There are so many things I’ve done wrong, but I don’t plan to let this baby be one of them.
“I was afraid.
” It’s an honest reply, with a dual meaning.
“Afraid of me?” he asks, his voice low.
“Yes, no… I don’t know,” I say, and my voice quivers.
He shakes his head. “Un-fucking-believable. I tell you what, Soph, how about you let me know when you make up your mind. Again.” He turns and walks away, his hurt evident.
I want to scream for him to stop. To tell him the baby is his. How I’m afraid he’ll see me for the failure that I am, how I don’t deserve to be a mother. Or worse—that when I admit the truth, I’m terrified he may not want to be part of my baby’s life, and that would hurt me more than anything that’s ever happened to me up until now. Because I never expected to fall for anyone again, especially not one of my best friends.
And it hits me like a tsunami. I’m afraid he’ll hurt me and leave me even more broken than I already am.
I want to kick myself. This is Charlie. The one who held your hand while you told him your darkest truths, the one who held your hair back, while you had your head down a toilet. The man who stayed with you all night in a hospital and took care of you.
“You silly, silly girl,” I say to an empty room.
I’m moving now, my feet picking up speed as I jog after him. I have to stop him. He deserves to know.
Charlie
I just want to hear her say the words, to tell me the baby’s mine. Why is she being so evasive? Do I mean that little to her? She doesn’t want me involved…is that it? I grip my hair between my fingers just as Flick pulls up. I let go, dropping my arms to my sides.
“Hey, Charlie,” Flick says as she gets out of the car. “What’s the matter?”
I need answers, and if Sophie isn’t going to give me them, she leaves me no other choice. “She told me,” I say before I think better of it.
“Who told you what?” she asks, scrunching up her nose.
“Sophie, she told me about the baby.”
Her eyes widen in recognition as she lets out a breath. “She did?”
“Yes,” I reply, trying to hold back the hurt.
She stares at me sympathetically. “Please, don’t be mad at her for not telling you sooner. It’s nothing to do with you being the dad—”
I hold up my palm for her to stop. I don’t want to hear excuses. I shake my head; I fucking knew it.
“I fucking knew it,” I spit out.
Flick takes a step back. Her eyes go large as her pupils dilate. “She didn’t tell you?”
She’s smart. I give her that. I shake my head.
“Charlie…”
I turn as Sophie comes jogging out and hold up both hands in a silent warning, but she keeps coming towards me. I step back. My anger is rising, fisting my hands at my sides. My breathing is heavy, uneven. How many times have I given her the opportunity to tell me? And yet she said nothing. She kept it from me, and for the first time since I met her, I can’t even bear the sight of her. My eyes move down to her feet.
“He knows,” Flick says, moving away from me and towards Sophie.
But Sophie sidesteps her in an attempt to come to me again. “Charlie—” she begins, but I cut her off.
“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare,” I growl.
No excuse will make any of this okay.
I turn, my heart thumping furiously in my chest. I walk to my car and climb in; everything else is white noise. I jam my key into the ignition and pull away, refusing to allow myself to glance back in my rear-view mirror.
Chapter 36
Charlie
Lies spread like wildfire. The more oxygen they’re given, the stronger the inferno.
And that’s what guts me the most: the fact she lied to me. All this time, she knew and didn’t fucking tell me. Love’s a fool’s game—we are all fools in love. There’s only one outcome, and it always ends in pain. The moment I began to acknowledge my feelings for her, it was already too late. It makes her betrayal even harder to handle.
How long was she planning on keeping it from me? My body heats like molten lava with every step I take. She had no fucking right to keep it from me.
Why did she? Is that how highly she thinks of me?
Pacing has become my new pastime. I’ve been doing it at work, at home. Hell, I’m even doing it now. I sit on the stool in front of my baby grand and lift the lid, cracking my knuckles. I close my eyes and roll my fingers over the keys.
She tried calling, so I switched off my phone. It’s immature, I know, but whatever.
I slam the lid of my piano shut and wince, pushing the stool away with the back of my calves and storm over to the bureau, hunting for a pad and pen. In the kitchen, I slam them down on the table, the pen rolling off and underneath.
“Fuck.”
I get on my hands and knees to retrieve it before storming over to the cabinet and pulling out the bottle of whiskey I had no intention of touching up until now.
Sophie,
It’s a good thing I was already going away because I know that distance from you is something I need. So much has been left unsaid between us and my mind is having a hard time processing everything. Even if I was in the right frame of mind to ring and speak to you I know it’s all too raw and I’m afraid my words would come out harsh and bitter, and I know how words have the power to hurt. It would never be my intention, not even now.
So, it’s clear there’s one thing I know, and that is I want to be part of this baby’s life. You kept it from me even after all the opportunities you had to tell me. You chose not to. I may be a stupid guy and yes maybe a “promiscuous” one at that, but it doesn’t mean I would walk away from something like this. I do have feelings, Soph. I know it wasn’t planned; it was the furthest thing from either of our minds. You’re scared and uncertain what the future will bring. I understand that, I am too.
I know we’ll have to work hard to get past this, but you need to trust that I want in one hundred percent. I don’t know where we stand or even go from here. Maybe rebuild our friendship but that will take some time, and that’s okay. I want our baby to come into this world without there being hostility between us. But at the moment I feel betrayed. First and foremost, we were friends. I thought I knew you. But I wonder if we ever truly know someone?
What you did wasn’t okay, and I’d be lying if I said otherwise.
Maybe when I’m back, I’ll be ready to talk.
Charlie
Sophie
I don’t know how many times I’ve read his note, but each time, a piece of me begins to break a little more. I had my reasons, and as much as I’ve hurt him, I still think they were justified. I also think ultimately, fear is an enabler—the more I give it feet, the more it takes, consumes, and navigates my decisions. It always has. It’s why I hid it from him.
We’re companions, fear and me. Where I go, fear is sure to follow—a constant when people have left me or moved on. I learned a long time ago that fear is what makes us human. It lets you know you’re alive. But I’ve allowed it to manifest, and for a short time, I let it empower me, but I’m taking power back.
Charlie’s feelings are also justified. That’s why this is even harder to deal with. I’m ashamed, not of the life growing inside me, but how I reacted. Charlie’s practically my best friend. I don’t know how it happened. Or when we slipped so effortlessly into the relationship we have…or had… I want to fix this. When he’s back, I intend to find a way we can move forward, together. Only something in my gut is telling me that it won’t be easy, and I worry there will be no coming back from this for us.
Chapter 37
Charlie
I’m sitting on my Nan’s porch when my Dad comes out to join me and passes me a bottle of beer. I trace the condensation as it rolls down the neck of the bottle.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I say nothing and stare at him. He’s changed, different somehow. His shoulders aren’t as stiff as they used to be. The wrinkles around his eyes seem more prominent, almost as though he laughs more. I do
n’t know. Maybe he’s just getting older.
“Something happened with Sophie and me.”
He nods. “Ah.”
“Turns out, she’s pregnant, but she kept it from me.”
He sits forward, the bottle he’s holding hanging between his legs. “I heard when you were on the phone to me.”
I sit back to gauge his reaction. “Why didn’t you mention it?”
“Not my place. I thought if you wanted to talk about it, you would, eventually. I’m trying to be less intrusive.”
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. “I’m struggling to understand why she kept it from me.”
“Maybe she had her reasons,” he says, which is honestly the last thing I thought he’d say.
“That’s not the point. It’s my baby, too.”
I get to my feet and walk to the wooden railing, then lean back to face him.
“You’re angry. I see that, son. When did she tell you?” he asks.
“She didn’t. I blindsided Felicity into telling me.”
He takes a swig of his beer as if calculating his response. The last thing I need right now is his judgment. “And have you spoken to Sophie about it?”
I shake my head and turn away. “No, I couldn’t even look at her. I wasn’t ready…” My words catch in my throat. I think the last time something hurt me this much was when I found out Mum wasn’t going to get better.
The wood creaks under the weight of his feet. A salty breeze floats across my face. His hand cups my shoulder. “And now? Are you ready to talk to her now?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But it’s irrelevant, isn’t it? That’s my baby.”
Standing beside me, he nods. “When your Mum found out she was pregnant with you, do you know what she did?”
I shake my head and turn to him. He rarely talks about her.