This Man Confessed(81)
My eyes fall naturally to the paper that he’s holding up. “What is it?” I ask nervously.
He chucks the papers into the space between us. “You were going to kill our baby?” He says it so calmly.
The ground falls away from under me, and I feel like I’m free-falling into a black hole of nothing. I can’t face him. My eyes are burning up with hot tears as they trace every square inch of the floor at his feet. My brain has failed me, but even if it did give me some inspiration and load my mouth with the right words, I would be lying and he would know.
“Answer me!” he roars, and I jump, but I still can’t bring myself to face him. I’m completely ashamed of myself, and having spent the last few days with Jesse and seeing how truly blissful he is, how caring and attentive he’s being, the guilt couldn’t get any worse. I thought about terminating this pregnancy. I thought about ridding my body of this baby. His baby. Our baby. I’m inexcusable. “Ava, for fuck’s sake!” Before I can even think to try and form any words, he’s grasping the tops of my arms and bending to get his face in my line of sight. But I still evade his greens, not being able to bear facing what I know will be there. Contempt…disgust…disbelief. “Damn it, look at me.”
I shake my head faintly, like the pathetic coward I am. He deserves an explanation, but I don’t know where to begin. My mind has completely shut down, like I’m protecting myself from the inevitable that will be Jesse flying off the handle. He’s pretty much there already.
My jaw is grasped harshly and pulled up so I’m forced to acknowledge him. My eyes are glassy with red-hot tears, but I can see with one hundred percent clarity the hurt on his face. “I’m sorry.” I sob. It’s the only thing I can think to say. It’s the only thing I should say. I am sorry for having such horrid thoughts.
His face crumbles before me, enflaming the guilt further. “You’ve broken my fucking heart, Ava.” He drops me and stalks into the wardrobe, leaving me a pathetic form of shaking body parts. Sickness has moved aside and made way for crippling shame.
He appears again with a handful of clothes, but he doesn’t stuff them in a bag or go to the bathroom to get anything else. He just walks out. My throat has closed off on me, so I can’t even scream for him to stay. I’m paralyzed on the spot, nothing working, except my eyes, which are releasing a relentless flow of tears. Then I hear the front door slam, and I find myself in a heap on the floor, silently sobbing to myself.
“Ava, dear?” Cathy’s soft, warm voice is only just detectable through my heaving. “Ava, my goodness, whatever is the matter?”
I feel her squidgy body against me, and I instinctively turn into her apron-coated body, wrapping my arms around her back.
“Oh dear, oh no.” She starts rocking me gently, shushing me and whispering quiet words in my ears. “Oh, Ava, come on, dear. Tell me what’s happened.”
I try to form some words, but it just results in me crying even harder. My compulsion to spill my guilt, to share my remorse, is just emphasizing how incredibly selfishly I was thinking.
“Come on. Let me make you a cup of tea,” Cathy says, hauling her round body up from the floor before tugging on my arm, encouraging me to stand. I just about manage it, and then I’m cradled under her arm and guided down to the kitchen.
She hands me a hanky from the front of her apron, then sets about making a pot of tea. I watch her in silence, except for the odd judder of breath that escapes as I try to gain control of my shaky body and erratic breathing. I’m trying my very hardest, but it’s inevitable for me to think about all of the other times I’ve sent him crazy mad, except this time he really looked unhinged. This time I’ve really sent him over the edge.
Cathy sets a pot of tea down on the island and pours two cups, putting a few sugars in mine. “You need the energy,” she says as she stirs, then picks it up and places it between both of my palms. “Drink up, dear.” She takes her own, blows across the top, and a wave of steam streams through midair and disintegrates in front of me. I stare at it until it’s gone, and I’m left gazing blankly at nothing. “Now, tell me what’s got my boy in such a pickle and you in this state?”
“I was thinking about having an abortion.” I don’t want to see the look of horror that will have undoubtedly jumped onto the face of Jesse’s sweet, innocent, wholesome housekeeper.
Her silence and the mug of tea that I can see in my peripheral vision, hovering at her lips, only confirms my thoughts. She’s shocked, and having heard the words aloud, so am I. “Oh,” she says simply. What else can she say?