by Bourne, Lena
He nods. "I told her she doesn't have to, but she does my dad's and says she doesn't mind. She just retired and doesn't really have much else to do."
"So her and your dad are…?"
"No, not really. Though they've been living like an old married couple for years now. But my dad never got over my mom."
A piece of lasagna sticks in my throat, making me cough. That's how it is with love, it ruins you forever when it's over, and I should leave, because why ask for it? But each cough sends a sharp pain through my belly, and I know I can't face that pain alone, not ever.
"I hope my dad will get his life back in order," I mutter, but his drinking and the smoking makes that so hard to believe.
"I'm sure he will. My dad's just weird that way," Scott says. "Time passes and things get better, right?"
I nod, because deep down I've always believed that too. And I want to believe it now.
"Do you want me to go?" I ask, because his eyes are still icy cold and there's no hint of a smile anywhere around him.
"Do you want to stay?" he asks, his eyes softening a little but not by much.
I stare at him, willing that ice in his eyes to melt all the way. Because all I want is to sit in his lap and talk, maybe sleep. But not if he's looking at me with those cold eyes. Somehow it works, and icy grey turns into the blue of a calm ocean in summer, sunlight glinting off the surface.
It's like an invitation, and I rise, shuffling over to sit in his lap. He lets me, wrapping his arms over mine, which are still around my stomach.
"I do want to stay," I whisper. "But only if we can go steady."
The words aren't actually coming from any place my logical brain controls.
He chuckles. "What, no sex with anyone else?"
"That's right, no Swedish girlfriends."
"What about escorts?" he ask.
I gasp and glare up at him, not even sure if he's joking or not.
"There were a couple of those, while you were away," he explains sheepishly. "And an ex-girlfriend."
"You told Janine you didn't see her?" I say, heat rising in my cheeks.
"You heard all that? How long were you awake for?" he asks.
I'm just opening and closing my mouth, anger and jealousy turning my blood to slush.
"I lied to Janine. She'd have a fit if I told her about Marissa."
"Any more?" I finally choke out.
"Why do you care so much?" he asks. "You didn't return any of my calls."
"I told you this morning," I mutter, feeling myself grow stiff. I should get up and go sit in my own chair, or leave, but he's still holding me, so maybe I really shouldn't.
"Everything you said is still true, Gail," he says. "You can still change your mind."
"I don't have any guarantees to give," I mutter.
He laughs like I just told a joke. "You're so—"
"So what?" I whip my head to face him and droplets of water fly off my wet hair. "Crazy?"
This was such a bad idea. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't have called him. He's never going to forgive me for any of it, ever. And why should he? I probably wouldn't.
He narrows his eyes at me, but his lips are curled up into a smile. "I was actually going to say confident. But I'm gonna go with bossy now."
He laughs at his own joke, but I'm not finding it very funny.
"So, what you're actually saying is that yes, you want me to get lost?" I ask.
He grins, and wraps his arms tighter around me. "It would probably be for the best."
I grab his wrist with the idea of prying his arms off me and getting up, but I don't do it, because the way he's looking at me is making my lips throb in anticipation of a kiss.
"But then again," he says, and the sensations retreat like they never were.
"Then again what?" I sigh.
"Then again, maybe we could give it a try," he says and smiles. "I mean, we're already starting from like almost the bottom, so maybe it won't get any worse."
"Things can always get worse," I whisper, seeing my mom's glistening, dead eyes staring at the ceiling.
His leg tenses under me. "They don't have to, though." He's staring past me as he says it, like he's talking to our reflection in the window.
"No they don't," I say.
"Let's try it then," he says, and looks down into my eyes. And I'm not even seeing any color, just a vast snowy plain, a hut in the distance, white smoke rising from the chimney.
He leans over and kisses me, his lips soft and warm against mine. I close my eyes, until the fuzzy warmth spreading from my lips, down my chest and into my belly is all there is and all I know. I let go of my stomach and run my palm along his side, feeling the hard, taut muscles. He's cupping my breast now, his fingers playing with my nipple through my shirt. His tongue is not even all the way in my mouth, just barely over my lips, and I meet it there, wrap mine around it. I'm so warm now, so secure, and even the cramps in my stomach are distant, like some other Gail is feeling them, and she's not even in the room with us.
I don't know how long we spend kissing, because time stopped and the world is still. I'm certain everyone everywhere is just frozen in place waiting for us to finish.
But then he pulls away, and cold rushes into the space between us like an avalanche.
He checks my watch. It's almost eight. "I should go out for a bit."
"Now?" I ask. I'm already picturing him going to see his Swedish girlfriend, because he's hard and obviously he can't fuck me.
"I have to go return the car," he says and grins at me, like he knows what I'm thinking. "I'm sure not gonna feel like doing it later. You can come, if you want. But it's a bit of a walk back."
My belly still feels like someone kicked me hard.
"No, but hurry back," I say.
He kisses me again, softly with no tongue, then I'm standing and he's putting on his jacket.
At the window, I watch him emerge from the alleyway, making a call. After he drives away I lie down on the bed, wrapping the blanket around myself tightly because the apartment is so chilly when he's not in it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When I wake up, the apartment is silent and dark. Yellow light spills in from the street below, and the wind is whistling around the corners of the building, like a huge storm is coming. But stars are twinkling in the part of the sky I can see, in the gaps between the buildings opposite.
Scott is lying beside me on his back, with his arms tucked under his head.
I flip over so I'm facing him. His eyes are closed, but he's not breathing evenly.
"Are you awake?" I whisper, but get no reply.
I lie back down on my side, close enough so that our legs are touching. If he'd just extend his arm down he'd be hugging me. But he's still pretending to sleep, and I can feel a draft along my back, urging me to get up and leave.
He's only wearing a thin t-shirt, and his nipples are erect and pushing through the fabric. I'd love to feel them between my lips, but instead I reach for the blanket, which is only draped across his stomach and legs and pull it up, not wanting him to be cold. He opens his eyes as my hand grazes his stomach, and I snatch my hand away, feeling like I'd just done something very wrong.
"Sorry," I mutter. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"I wasn't asleep," he says, and a cold weight drops into my stomach, settling there.
"You just didn't want to talk," I say and flip over so I'm staring at the ceiling too. This is how my mom lay after she died, only she saw nothing, felt nothing. A car passes in the street below, and the light stabs across the ceiling, then recedes back into the shadows.
The room isn't supposed to be this cold, not with Scott back. But it's like I'm still alone, even though his leg is pressed against mine, and I can hear him breathing. A tear trickles out the side of my eye, cold like it had been waiting awhile to spill.
"I'll leave in the morning, if you want me to?" I whisper, a sob racking through me. It's what he wants, I'm sure of it.
"That's not gonna solve anything," he says finally. "Maybe if you never came in the first place."
"I thought you said we'd give it a try," I whisper and shudder, tears spilling out of my eyes fast now. I knew those kisses before wouldn't last, because they couldn't.
The bed wobbles and he turns to his side. He's looking at me now, leaning against one elbow. His eyes are like black crystal balls, white smokey mists twirling inside them.
"Sarah, you say?" he asks.
I whimper again and nod, tasting my salty tears.
"How long did you know for?"
I look back up at the ceiling, because I can't face his eyes, the dark emptiness there. "I only found out for sure on Monday. But I suspected before."
"That was a quick decision."
"I should have told you before." It seems so clear now, what I should have done then.
"Would it change anything?" he says. "You didn't want it, so you didn't keep it."
"Would you ask me to keep it?" I ask, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He's staring past me through the window. The silence drags, and I close my eyes, but all I see is the dark beach, raging waves slamming into the shore, Sarah's lifeless little body tossed to and fro, so I open them again.
"Probably not," he says after awhile. "I guess we'll never know."
I turn on my side again, so we're facing each other, but he's still not looking at me. "Are you very upset?"
His eyes flick to mine, but then he focuses them back on the window, and grins in a defeated sort of way. "This isn't even the first time for me. My first kid would've been like three now."
My breath hitches in my throat, and I feel like someone emptied a bucket of icy cold water all over me. I shouldn't have dumped this on him. I should've stayed quiet and went my own separate way forever.
"I'm sorry," I manage. I'm lying here because I couldn't face this on my own. But it was all my fault, and I should have told him before, or stayed away and faced it on my own.
"I feel like I should at least pay for it," he says, and touches my belly, right where Sarah might still be growing, if I hadn't killed her.
"I already did," I mutter, taking his hand before he can pull it away.
The weight of all I did wrong presses against me like a huge slab of cement, taking my air, crushing me to death. His hand under mine, resting against my stomach is the only thing that still gives me hope I'll survive this. Only, he's already pulling it away, and I can't have that, I won't let him.
I scoot over as close as I can get and wrap my arm around him, burying my head in his chest. He smells of fabric softener and fresh air.
"Can you ever forgive me? Because you have to, I can't live if you don't." I'm sobbing more than saying the words into his chest, and I know it's a lot to ask, too much probably, but I feel like this is the last chance I have to make this plea. Like I'm being led to the gallows, and I only have very little time left to make amends, to atone. "But I didn't know I was pregnant, and I drank a lot, and I took so many sleeping pills, and I exercised, hard, so maybe Sarah would never be born in the first place, even if I hadn't killed her."
He's stiff as a board in my arms, neither pulling away nor touching me. What I'm saying is the truth even if it all sounds like so many fickle, empty excuses. Because we'll never know, not after what I did.
"And…and we can have more babies, if you want," I finish, not sure where the words are coming from, but I mean them.
He laughs, the harsh sound knocking into my ears.
"You're actually serious?" he asks.
"Yes."
He grabs my shoulder and pushes me away, then stares into my eyes. It's like looking into an impossibly deep, pitch black lake, nothing disturbing its surface. "Are you for real?"
His fingers are digging into the soft flesh of my back, and tension from his coiled muscles is flowing into me, turning me to stone.
"You still think I'm playing games with you?" I ask, stuck between sadness and anger now. "After all this?"
He's staring at me like he's going to lash out at any moment, drag me off the bed, and kick me out of the apartment. Or maybe that's only my fear talking, preparing me for the inevitable end.
"Because that's not what I'm doing, and I don't think I ever was," I say, my voice firm and strong, like someone else is talking. Because the mess I am couldn't possibly sound so collected. "Maybe this sounds like crazy talk, but I've never met anyone I want to be around more than you. And that's the truth. I could've gone about it better, and then we'd probably not be lying here like this, and none of this would ever have happened. But I'm going to have to live with that for the rest of my life, so maybe you should decide already how you feel about me."
His grip on my shoulder loosens, his eyes softer now and his lips parted, like maybe he wants to kiss me. "Me decide? I'm still waiting for you to do that?"
I ball my hand into a fist, so I won't touch his lips, because this is not the right time for that. Even though it might be my last chance.
"I've already decided," I say. "Like I said, I don't want you seeing any other girls but me."
I smile a little as I say it, hoping he'll do the same and kiss me, maybe. And it's crazy because my belly is cramping and I'm still bleeding, but I want him inside me.
"And if I say no, what are you gonna do then?" he asks and I gasp. He's smiling too, shadows disappearing from his eyes, but I still can't tell if he's serious or not.
"Then…then…I'll…" But I don't know what I'll do. Probably crawl away into some dark room and disappear forever. Gail the spinster, her nose stuck in some dusty old book forever. Gail the cat lady, forever alone. Because I don't want anyone else but Scott.
"You'll what?" he asks, his fingers playing with my hair now, his gaze swallowing me whole.
I lunge forward, and he loses his balance, exhales sharply as I land on his chest.
"Then I'll make you," I say and kiss him firmly, urgently, like I did that first night, up on the broken down pier. Both of his hands are tangled up in my hair, and my tongue is in his mouth, wrestling with his. Heat like from a fire is crackling through me, sparks going off in all the right places. His hard cock is pressing into my stomach, and I'd give many things to have it inside me. And even though the pain in my belly is more like a distant memory on the way out, it's still there and it would be a very bad idea.
The urgency of my kiss lessens as my fear that he'll push me away fades. I kiss him more softly, then pull away, running my thumb across his lips, like I wanted to earlier. Because I can now, nothing is stopping me.
His breath is hot against my finger, his lips soft and parted. I push my thumb in and he grabs it with his teeth, licking the tip, sucking it. I moan and push it in further, running my fingers against the rough stubble of his cheeks. He peels my hand away and guides my head down for another kiss, his hand caressing my back, his leg wrapped around mine, pulling me closer.
We're not in the apartment anymore, but on a beach somewhere, a glorious sunset spilling across the sky all around us. Which is how it will stay forever. Because nothing can touch us when we're together, no storms, no winds, no raging black waves, just the sun setting in hues of yellow, lilac, red, pink and orange against a calm, cloudless sky.
Sunlight wakes me the next morning. Scott's spooning me, his hand resting on my belly, warmth passing into me and easing, erasing the pain. I pull the blanket up to shield my eyes from the sun, so we can just stay like this for the rest of the day. He stirs and shifts his hand, but I clamp down on it, holding it in place firmly.
"You're awake then?" he says and chuckles, and I know the question is laced with hidden meanings, but I'm not even going to try and guess them.
"Mhm." Is all I say and nestle closer to him, keeping my hand over his across my belly.
His body is warm and firm, yet soft and pliant against mine, and if I didn't have to get up for a long time, that would be fine by me.
I don't even know what day it is, and I don't care. It's l
ike the world is still, frozen, waiting for us to decide it can start moving again. But I don't know if Scott really knows I feel that way, and it's very important that he does.
"Thank you for putting up with me," I mutter.
"What was that?" he asks, speaking into my hair.
"I'm such a mess, and anyone sane would have dropped me by now," I say more firmly this time. "And I want to thank you for not doing that."
He shifts a little closer, so his legs are pressing into the back of mine. "And I want to thank you for not reporting me for rape."
He chuckles after he says it, but I know he's serious too, and I don't want him to be. "You didn't rape me."
"You could totally press charges for that. And I wouldn't even deny it," he says and pulls me even closer so there's not even a breath of air between us. "Or maybe I would. Prison su…would suck."
"Seriously, Scott, don't worry about it. I forgive you," I say, because I'm sure that's what he needs to hear.
"I think that was the night you got pregnant," he continues like I haven't spoken at all. "So it's better that you got rid of it."
His words are harsh, but his tone isn't. The idea still brings tears to my eyes, visions of a black, stormy sea clear in my mind. "Don't say that. It isn't true."
"Well, that's what I'm going with," he says. "You have your sleeping pills and exercise excuse, and I have that."
I want to turn around and kiss him, but then I'd break the hug and I don't want to. "Whatever works, right?"
Nothing will ever work. I'll never forget, never stop blaming myself, but all that is frozen along with the rest of the world right now, and that's how I want it to stay for at least a little while longer.
"It's just my luck really. I should've seen it coming," he says and rests his head back on the pillow so I feel his breath on my neck.
"I messed up with the pills, it's all my fault," I say, because it's true and I can face it now, with his arm around me. "And what does that even mean, your luck?"
"Whenever I do something wrong I get punished for it, like immediately," he whispers. "Or when something good happens, something equally bad always follows."
