You’re staring at him. “I don’t know…” He nods, and you think he looks older than you’ve ever seen him. “What do you think I should do?” He smiles, but that’s a joyless smile.
“It’s your body, Wren.”
“It’s your baby!” Fucking missing filter! Fuck your gob, Wren.
He looks as if you hit him. His face contorts as if in pain.
“I am aware , Wren.” He looks so tired. “And I would ask you to give me a chance, but again it is your decision.”
“A chance?” You’re speaking different languages again. Another joyless, lifeless chuckle follows.
“It’s probably my last scored goal, Wren. Don’t think by the time some insane girl finishes her studies and builds her career, I will still have it in me.”
You’re breathing. So far, that’s as much as you’re managing. Your brain feels painful, but your head is empty at the same time. The ears are ringing. You stare at the fabric of the cursed quilt. He’s patiently sitting, striking your shoulder blades. You lift your eyes at him.
“You want to keep it?”
“No, no, wait, I have to think…” You scamper from out of his arms and off his lap. You can’t think enveloped in his warmth.
“Are you telling me you are not angry?” You flail your arms, staring at him. “That you don’t blame me? That you don’t think I’m being Maya and trying to tie you down? Wait, wait, wait…” new wave of flailing follows. “So you believe it’s an accident. Wait, fuck, you just said you thinks it’s your last chance to have a child. Am I your last chance to have a baby? Oh, fuck, is this baby your last baby? No, wait…” He has comically lifted brows, and you giggle. You’re obviously hysterical. “Am I your last chance for happiness?” You’re already chuckling, rather loudly. You need to stop.
You hardly make it to the washroom. You fall on your knees in front of the loo, but then vomiting doesn’t come. After a few torturous dry heaves, you’re pressing your forehead to a cold wall of his cabinet.
He knocks at the door. “Wren?”
You whimper, and he comes in. He sinks on the floor near you. He isn’t touching you, just leans back on a wall and stretches his endless legs. You stare at him. Somehow you really don’t want to hug him. Probably, because you are afraid that if you do, you will not be able to let him go. Ever. They will need to break your fingers to detach you from him.
“Wren, I love you.” His voice is even, his face weary. “I know you have your life ahead of you, and you have plans. You’re a rising star of Biochem after all.” His lifeless smirks bloody frighten you. “And probably you are going to change your mind soon, but we are together now, and I was hoping to keep it this way for as long as possible. Until you leave.”
You would have yelled some promises and confessions into his face right now, but you can’t move a muscle.
“If you keep the baby, you will tie yourself to me forever, have you thought of it, Wrennie?” His voice softens up. “You might have to even marry me.”
That’s when you throw up. He’s holding your hair and then helps you rinse your face and gives you a toothbrush and toothpaste. He carries you to bed and undresses you. You curl under the luscious duvet into his side, and he’s running his hand through your hair. He would be a great father.
You two are lying in silence, and you’re thinking that for this to work, you really need to somehow learn to talk to each other. The two of you are in two different universes. You’re thinking he will throw you out of his life and either pay for the termination or pay you off. He’s thinking you are going to kill your baby for the sake of your career. You both are idiots.
“I would never terminate a pregnancy.” Now it is your turn to speak in an even emotionless tone. His body jerks. He probably thought you were asleep. “I mean if it was consensual, and medically possible to keep it…” He’s breathing in slowly. You can’t see his face, you are pressing your cheek into his chest.
“Yeah?” Very eloquent, Dr. Thorington.
“And, John… I don’t want you to marry me for the baby.” Oh bollocks. He chuckles. It sounds endlessly better this time around, a warm rumble in his chest.
“I love it that you just blurt out the first thing that comes to you mind.”
You sit up and stare at his face. The lights in the room are off, only the streetlamp outside the window giving a bit of light. His face is all shadows and outlines, but you can see a shaky smile on his lips.
“I on the other hand still want to marry you though.” His voice is velvet and smoky. Bloody fuck, that’s not funny, John! Not cool!
“Are you mental?” He guffaws. An honest full scale guffaw, your favourite, white teeth gleaming, blue irises hiding behind fluffy black lashes, wrinkles running in the corners of his eyes. He stretches on the bed more comfortably.
“That’s not what a man wants to hear to his proposal, Wrennie.”
“That’s the only thing such man gets in return to his half arsed proposal!”
He suddenly sits up in a fluid motion and pulls you to him.
“Wren, will you marry me?” He is fucking serious. You feel dizzy.
“And if there is no baby?” He lifts a brow.
“Was I asking you about the baby?” Fucking fuck. You move away from him into a different corner of the bed.
“This talk is just mental, you don’t really want this, it’s just the stress…”
He lifts a brow again; this time the gesture is very haughty.
“Am I erratic now in your interpretation, Wren? First you think I’m cold enough to throw you out of my life, and presumably never even call to find out the gender of my child…” Fuck, he’s onto you! “Now you’re thinking that I’m so excited about a potential baby that I would marry a random woman just to have an offspring. Am I right in my observations, Wren?”
“I am very honoured that you worry about what I would think and how I would react, but have you given it much thought what you think about this, Wren?” You blink. He’s right, you haven’t. He is leaning at the headboard now and folds his arms on his chest. “If I know you well enough, I assume you haven’t actually thought about this happenstance as a child that you would have to raise, and – in the best case scenario from my point of view – raise him or her with me, living together, preferably married, your degree and career on hold at least for a while. And I repeat, that’s your body and your decision, because it is your life we are talking about here, Wren. I know what I think about us, Wren. Do you?”