“But I don’t care about Manic!” I hiss at him, my temper flaring unexpectedly. “I care about you!”
That damn stupid tongue comes out of his mouth and wets his lips, and somehow it drains some of my anxiety away.
“I’m not going to get hurt.”
“You got hurt last time.”
“Just bruises, Dee. How can a fighter not pick up cuts and scrapes on the way?”
“Some fighters pick up paralysis on the way,” I say, knowing it’s unfair.
“Just a little more, Dee. Trust me.”
“But why can’t you just tell me why? It’s clear you’re not interested in the fighting anymore. It’s clear you loathe Dad. I can see it in your body language. Don’t think I can’t tell, Duncan. I know you! You have to be honest with me, I deserve that. So why can’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m not ready to, yet!” he says, his voice rising a little. “I haven’t figured it all out yet.”
I see now a kind of uncertainty in his expression. Usually he’s so assured about everything, like he knows the way life is going to unfold, and that he’s going to be able to bend the creases the way he likes.
But this… this is something different. This is something that’s scaring him.
“You can tell me, Duncan. Lean on me.”
“I do, and I will,” he says. “I promise you I will, but not now.”
“Why not now?”
“I can’t answer that.”
I blink, shake my head in frustration. “What the hell kind of answer is that? After everything we’ve been through, now is when you stop trusting me?”
“I still trust you.”
“So, tell me!”
“I can’t,” he says, his voice lowering to something guttural. I can see what’s about to happen. I’ve been with him long enough to know when he’s about to get all broody and introspective; shut me out.
“This is unfair to me.”
“Damn it, Dee, I don’t know how to say it.”
“Just use the first words that come into your head.”
“I already have. You need to just believe me, okay? A few more fights, I’ll have everything sorted.”
“Have what sorted?”
But he doesn’t reply. We just sit in silence for a while, looking anywhere but each other.
“Excuse me,” I say, and I get up and go to the washroom to pee. There, I check. Still nothing. I grip onto the edge of the sink, and look into the mirror. Shit.
My heart starts to beat quicker, and I feel a nervous shiver run down my spine. I’m late. It’s only been a few days, but up until now I’ve always had very regular periods.
I tease my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and tap on the calendar app, count the days for the umpteenth time today. It should have come by now. It’s been a little over two weeks since that night at the hotel, but that was the only night we had unprotected sex.
I tap my nails against ceramic, realize that I can’t even keep a steady beat. My fingers are trembling. I’ve researched it all, looked it up online, but I only feel one of the early warning signs of pregnancy: My nipples tingle. Beyond that, I haven’t been feeling unusually tired, and I haven’t been feeling sick. I don’t ache, and I’m not irritable. My appetite hasn’t changed at all, either.
I sigh. They say morning sickness won’t come for another two weeks. I’m almost afraid to buy a test. In my mind, maybe I can hold out a few more days. Maybe I’m just late, maybe I’ve just been too stressed at school. Maybe…
I can’t be pregnant. Not now.
Not with him!
I’ll wait. Just a few more days. I’ll wait a week, and then I’ll buy a pregnancy test. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, I think about mentioning this to Duncan.
But immediately I know I’m not going to. I don’t know for sure, yet. I don’t know anything, yet. I don’t want to scare him.
I don’t know what he’ll think!
“What’s wrong?” he asks instantly as I enter the dining room.
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m tired.”
He looks like he’s about to press, and so I put up a hand, shake my head. “Really, I’m fine. I just want to leave this place.”
“Then let’s go.”
We leave the house without saying bye to Dad, and I go back to his apartment with him. Both our moods are subdued as we no doubt consider the future.
Duncan likely wonders about his fight with Manic. He’s probably going through the moves in his head, over and over. How to counter this, that, when to strike, when to turtle.
And me… well, I’m only thinking about one thing.