Текст книги "Bang"

Автор книги: E. K. Blair

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

And with that, he flips me on my stomach, ties my arms painfully behind my back, and with my ass in the air, he fucks me in a rage of fire. He’s rough and in control, pulling my hair, slapping my ass and thighs, and then, like all the times before, holds my hands tightly in his as my body peaks and explodes into a violent orgasm that only he’s been able to do for me. But he doesn’t stop there. After he unties me, he rolls me to my back, drapes my legs over his shoulders, and feasts on my pussy with slow, loving ease, taking his time as he works my body to perfection until I come for him again. And when I’m done, he sits up on his knees and jerks off, spurting his cum all over my chest, covering me in his scent.

When my heart settles, I grow tired as I lie safely in Declan’s strong embrace. The warmth of his chest and his arms around my body soothe me into a lull, and I release a sleepy hum as I begin to drift. Declan then shifts to his side, adjusting us so that we’re lying face to face.

“I’m so tired,” I murmur while Declan lazily strokes his fingers up and down the length of my spine, soothing me into a near tranquil state.

“Tell me what you dream about,” he asks, looking at me as we lie together.

“Why do you want to know what I dream about?”

“Because you’re beautiful when you sleep. It’s the only time you look truly peaceful.”

I release a soft hum when he urges, “Tell me.”

“Carnegie.” The truth slips out before I even think about it.

“What?”

I take a second, and then decide to give him this piece of the real me, revealing, “He’s a caterpillar who lives in a magical forest. Well, actually, he’s a prince, but his father had the kingdom’s sorcerer turn him into a caterpillar.”

“And why’s that?” he asks, brushing a lock of my hair behind my shoulder.

“Because the king was upset that his son kept sneaking out of bed at night to steal juice from the kitchen.”

“Is that so?” he teasingly questions, but when I don’t give him any hint of a smile in return, he drops it as he scans my face.

“I’m a caterpillar too; Carnegie’s my friend.” The words hurt coming out as I begin fighting the razor of pain that’s carving its way through my heart, exposing the blood through my eyes.

“Why are you crying?” he asks as he watches the tears slip out.

“Because it’s a lie.”

“What is?”

“Dreams. They’re nothing but lies trying to trick me into believing life could really be like that.”

“Sounds more like a fairytale than a lie.”

“Fairytale is nothing but a fancy word for a lie used to deceive little kids,” I tell him. “A false perception of reality used to give them hope in a hopeless world.”

The look in his eyes causes me to close mine so I don’t have to see the sadness he’s feeling for me. Reality is a fucked-up head-trip that I’ve numbed myself to, but my dad, I’ve never been able to control the emotion when it comes to him. He’s always been my one and only soft spot—until now—until Declan.

“Do you wish you were a caterpillar?” he asks as I feel the warmth of his thumb dragging across my cheekbones, collecting my tears.

“Yes.”

Declan’s arms envelop me, and I curl into him when he whispers, “Then go to sleep, darling,” before kissing the top of my head and tucking it under his chin. “Go be a caterpillar.”

ANOTHER THREE WEEKS have gone by since I’ve seen Pike. Bennett has been home for the most part, and whenever I can find time to slip away, I’m with Declan. I’ve been skirting around giving him a definitive answer on going to Scotland with him, but he’s starting to grow irritated with my avoidance.

The bitter cold of snowy winter has finally let up, even though the city never seems to get above fifty, even on a good day. A gust of wind picks up, nearly blowing the door right out of my hand as I open it up and head inside the building where Dr. Leemont’s office is located.

I’ve suffered from excruciatingly painful periods for around ten years; they are what led me to seek medical help, which resulted in my endometriosis diagnosis. About six months ago, I decided to try hormone therapy again to help with the pain but had to quit after a few months due to complications with side effects. Since December, the pain has been much more tolerable but the past few days have been nothing but razor sharp aches and pain, rendering me bed-ridden, practically unable to move.

Bennett’s been a worried mess, taking off work to stay home, doing whatever he can to comfort me. The soonest I could get in to see the doctor was this morning, which really upset him because he had to go to Miami for business. He was supposed to head out a few days ago, but he refused to leave my side and pushed back all of his meetings, but he couldn’t delay the trip any longer and wound up leaving late last night.

After signing in, leaving a urine sample for the nurse, and giving blood for the lab, I strip down, covering myself with the provided robe, and wait on the exam table for the doctor. As soon as I told Bennett about my diagnosis, he found Dr. Leemont, ensuring she was the best gynecologist in the state. I’ve been seeing her for over three years now, and when she finally walks in and I see her familiar smile, I release a heavy sigh, hoping she can do something for this pain.

“Nina, it’s good to see you, although I hear you are dealing with some discomfort,” she says as she walks across the exam room with her electronic notepad and sits down on a stool by the desk.

“Yes,” I respond. “For the past few days.”

As she looks at her notepad, she says, “Okay, so I see it’s been about four months since you came off the hormones, correct?”

“Yes. Around late November, if I recall correctly.”

“That’s what I’m showing here on your chart,” she remarks and then looks up at me, asking, “Have you experienced any other pain or cramping since coming off the pills?”

“A little, but it’s been minor. Nothing that a few painkillers can’t take care of.”

“And do you recall your last menstrual cycle?”

“Umm, well, it would have been right before I started on the hormones. So . . . back in August or September,” I tell her.

“What you are probably experiencing is the last of the hormones leaving your system,” she starts saying when a nurse walks in.

“I have Mrs. Vanderwal’s labs.”

They both step out of the room, and when Dr. Leemont returns, holding the papers, she walks over to the desk and leans against it. She shifts her eyes from the papers to me, saying in a hushed voice, “You’re pregnant.”

The deflating of my lungs turns me cold in incredulity. “What did you say?”

“According to the urine and blood sample, you’re pregnant.”

Disbelief—that’s all that courses through me right now as I can’t seem to generate any other thought or feeling. I sit here and stare at the doctor for a moment when fear and confusion start to filter in.

“How?” I ask while each thump of my heart pumps bursts of anxiety through my blood. “I mean, there has to be a mistake because I can’t have kids. I can’t get pregnant.” My voice is almost unrecognizable as the words fall out of me in a trembling stagger.

Dr. Leemont hands me a tissue, and it’s then that I realize I’m crying. She takes a seat on her stool and rolls over next to me, placing her hand on my knee. “I can’t imagine the shock you must be feeling right now,” she says as I look at her, utterly confused, shaking my head. “Sometimes these things have a way of happening. Is it rare and typically unheard of without having to undergo surgery to remove the lesions? Yes.”

“But I haven’t even had a period.”

“Well, the first ovulation you must have had probably ended up being the time you got pregnant, resulting in the missed period and the absence of one since,” she explains, and then the realization that I’ve been having sex with three different men sends me into a complete panic as I go completely numb and freeze up inside.

Holy fuck! What have I gotten myself into?

“I want to be upfront with you though,” she says, her voice remaining calm and soothing, a perfect contradiction of the chaos running through my entire being right now. “Because of the lesions on your uterus, the likelihood of you carrying this baby to term might be lower. This will be a high-risk pregnancy because of that.”

Another wave of confusion hits me when her words spark a swell of sadness in me.

What the hell is wrong with me? This should make me happy, right? I can’t have a baby, so if my body naturally expels it, then problem solved. So why does the thought of that happening make me sad?

When I don’t respond, she asks, “Do you need a moment?”

“A moment?”

She gives me a nod, saying, “Yes. I’d like to go ahead and run an ultrasound to see how far along you are and get a few measurements of the baby.”

“Baby,” I whisper, repeating her foreign word.

“But if you need a moment—”

“No. I’m fine,” I say, interrupting her.

“Okay then. I’ll have my nurse call one of the ultrasound techs. She has a mobile station, so you won’t have to switch rooms.”

Dr. Leemont adjusts the table, allowing me to lie down while we wait. My heart pounds hard against my chest and the sound is all I can hear as I try to sort this all out in my head. I can’t grasp on to a single coherent thought as they all tumble into each other in a maniacal collision, aside from the one piece that remains untouched and clear as day: I’m pregnant.

The door opens and a young tech wheels in the large machine. She introduces herself, but I remain quiet as I watch her set everything up while she and Dr. Leemont go over my labs.

Once she’s set up and I lie down, she opens the front of my gown and squirts a warm blob of gel on my stomach. Pressing the wand down, she tells me, “Since we don’t know how far along you are, I’d like to see if we can get a good view of the baby externally. Normally we do an internal exam, but I’d like to try this out first.”

“Okay,” I breathe as I keep my eyes glued to the monitor screen.

She begins clicking away on her keyboard while she presses the wand firmly onto my lower abdomen, almost painfully, but then she says, “There we go,” and my heart stops. “See that?” she asks as she points to the white peanut on the screen, and as soon as she makes the slightest adjustment to the wand, she freezes the screen.

“Oh my God.”

“Let me get a couple measurements to see how far along you are,” she says, but holy shit, I can clearly see a head and a belly. Not a tiny blip you often hear about that doesn’t look like anything. I clearly see a baby: head, belly, and four tiny nubs for its arms and legs. She doesn’t even need to dissect the image for me because it’s unmistakable. Never has reality hit me so hard with a truth that’s undeniable.

“Nine weeks, five days,” she says, and then looks at me with a smile before she turns to look at her conception calendar on the monitor. “New Year’s baby, it looks like.”

I can’t speak. All I can think right now is Bennett, Declan, and Pike. I haven’t had sex with Pike in over a month, but nine weeks ago, I was having sex with all three of them. God, I’m a sick human being, carrying a baby that could belong to any one of them.

“I’m showing October tenth for a due date,” she tells me, and then she presses a button and a loud woosh woosh woosh woosh comes through the speakers at a rapid rate.

“What’s that?”

“Your baby’s heartbeat.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper again. A heartbeat? It’s so real. So alive. Hearing that fast heartbeat inside of me is almost too much as I lie here, trying not to completely lose it.

“Good and strong,” she says before turning the sound off and when it disappears, I close my eyes and replay the soothing sound in my head. How is this happening?

When she’s done, I sit up and cover myself back up with the gown while she prints me off a few photos and hands them to me, saying a happy, “Congratulations.”

But knowing my situation, and knowing what Dr. Leemont said about me being high-risk, there’s nothing to be congratulating me about. She hands me the pictures, and both she and the doctor step out of the room so that I can get dressed, but I don’t. I just sit here and look down at one of the pictures, a picture that shows a top view: head, belly, and four nubs. A weird laugh slips out through my tears when I compare the baby to a marshmallow.

My hand goes to my belly. I wouldn’t even believe it if I didn’t just see it with my own two eyes.

A baby. My baby.

I never thought I wanted one. Never thought it was even a possibility. But now that I have one, I don’t know how I feel because I’m feeling so much. I’m scared and ashamed, but under that, I feel an overwhelming sense of protectiveness for it. Never have I had anything that was solely mine, and knowing what a fucked up world this is, I’m comforted by the fact that this baby is safe inside of me.

After I’m dressed and have made my next appointment, I head outside. As soon as the cold air hits me, I’m scared to resume my life—resume the lies.

A baby.

What does this mean for me? Will it even survive to see a moment of this world? Do I want it to? The questions multiply as I stand here on the sidewalk, people moving about, cabs honking their horns, life. The wind kicks up and I begin to cry, exposing myself to these strangers around me, but nobody stops to notice. Turmoil is a dark cloud that finds its home over me right now.

I leave my car and walk. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to move. Time passes as I wander the streets of the loop, all the while, crying. Do I tell Bennett? Is this something I can hide from him? If he knew, he’d assume it was his. What if it is? God, I can’t have him in my life. But could I kill him? The father of our baby?

Yes. I could. I’d have to because the thought of having to share this with him makes me sick to my stomach. The thought of having to look at his face, the thought of giving him a baby, giving him happiness and joy, it’s all sickening.

I desperately need someone to help me. To come and hold me, tell me it’s going to be okay. Someone to take care of me, hold my hand, and take away all my anguish. I’m sick of always feeling so alone.

I step off the curb and start crossing the street when I hear a horn blasting. I startle and jerk my head around to see through my blurred vision, a car, heading straight towards me, and I freeze.

“NINA!” a man’s voice screams in a panic.

I close my eyes, more tears falling down my cheeks when something crashes into me. I’m no longer on my feet, I’m being carried, and when I finally touch the ground, I know I’m safe by the smell.

Declan.

“Are you okay?” he asks as I open my eyes to look up at him and then at my surroundings. I’m in the lobby of his hotel.

“What happened?” I whisper as I look out of the glass doors to see the street, busy with cars.

“I was in my office when I happened to see you walking. I went outside to catch you when you stepped out into oncoming traffic. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t . . .” my voice trembles, and then, like a porcelain doll falling to its death, I shatter. Falling into his arms, the sobs begin ripping out of me.

He quickly scoops me off my feet, cradling me in his arms, as he rushes me out of the lobby and into the elevator. He doesn’t say anything as I cry against him with my arms clinging around his neck. He holds me like a child and it comforts me in a way only he can do, whispering, “Shhh, baby. I’ve got you,” softly in my ear.

The elevator opens and he carries me into his penthouse room and sets me down on the couch as he crouches down in front of me. When I drop my head into my hands, he pulls them away, and I can’t stop the tears from falling as I look down at him. His face is covered in worry and I know there’s no way I could keep this from him because I need him so badly right now. He’s the one I want reassuring me. He’s the only one I want—always. So when he asks, “Baby, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me,” I don’t hesitate for a single moment when I tell him, “I’m pregnant.”

I watch as his face falls in a painful expression that breaks my heart. His eyes close, forehead creased in agony when he pleads, “Please tell me it isn’t his.” The crack in his voice matches the one in my heart, and I give him what I know he wants, what I want, what I wish for—the fairytale that never will be—saying, “It isn’t his.”

His eyes open and tears fall. “How do you know?”

“Because I had just started sleeping with you and had backed away from Bennett that month. He was out of town a lot, so he didn’t question my avoidance.” My words, complete lies.

“But I thought you couldn’t get pregnant?”

“I know,” I cry out. “This was never supposed to happen. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and I’m so scared.”

“Don’t cry,” he breathes as he moves to sit next to me on the couch and pulls me into his arms. “When did you find out?”

“Just now. I just left the doctor’s office. That’s why I was walking around. I just needed to walk.”

“You scared the shit out of me. That car almost hit you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I need you to talk to me. Explain how this happened.”

I lean back, pulling away from his hold and let out a heavy breath before telling him, “I’ve been in a lot of pain the past few days, so I went to see my doctor. I had been testing out a hormone therapy to help with the pain, but had to stop. The doctor told me the pain is showing up because it takes a while for the hormones to leave the system.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having pains?” he questions.

“Because you worry easily, and I knew it was probably nothing more than what I’ve always dealt with.”

“I worry because I love you. I want to know what’s going on with you. I don’t want you keeping anything from me,” he says, facing me and taking my hands in his, resting them on his lap. “So what did the doctor say?”

“Nothing. She took a look at my labs and that’s when she told me I was pregnant.” My voice falters on that last word as I begin to cry again.

Declan takes my face in his hands and assures me, “It’s going to be okay. I know you’re scared right now, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“She told me that the baby probably wouldn’t make it through the pregnancy though.”

“Why?”

“Because I have too many lesions. She said they would keep a close eye on me. I have another appointment in two weeks.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You can’t, Declan,” I tell him. “Bennett is the one that found me this doctor. She knows he’s my husband.”

He grinds his teeth, causing his jaw to flex before hissing his words, “That’s my fucking baby, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him you’re pregnant?”

“No,” I respond, and then drop my head, admitting, “I’m scared, Declan. I’m scared for him to know.” I look up, trying to contain the new slew of tears that threaten when I say, “I can’t tell him. He can’t know.”

“He’s going to find out, but you’re not telling him without me by your side,” he says, and the reality of this situation is starting to really hit me. “I know you’re scared, but you’re going to have to leave him.”

“Declan—”

“You’re leaving him,” he demands.

“Just give me a little time.”

“Fuck, Nina. All I’ve been doing is giving you time.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but it isn’t that easy. I’ll leave him; I will,” I say, trying to convince him, but I can no longer distinguish between truth and lies. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m just panicking at this point when all I really want to do is run away with Declan. For us to go to Scotland, have a baby, and leave this nightmare of a life behind.

“I don’t want him fucking touching you anymore, do you understand me? You have my baby inside of you now. That fucker’s not going to touch you,” he bites with gravel in his voice and I don’t even flinch when I agree. “Did he leave yet?”

“Late last night,” I tell him. “He’s gone for the rest of this week.”

He nods his head, and I let my body slack into his, resting the top of my head to his chest. His hands come around the back of my neck and into my hair as I mumble, “I really am scared, Declan.”

“I know, darling. I’m going to take care of you though,” he says, and when I draw back and lift my head, he places his hand on my flat stomach, adding, “I’m going to take care of both of you.”

His words make me smile. I run my hand over his, and I want to believe with everything I have that this baby is his.

“I heard its heartbeat,” I murmur and his voice is barely an audible whisper when he asks, “You did?”

“Yeah. It’s fast,” I tell him. “They gave me a picture too.”

I reach over to my purse and pull out the marshmallow photo and hand it to Declan. He stares down at it, and I watch his eyes gloss over in tears. He doesn’t try to hide his emotions as he gets lost in the image.

“I didn’t think it would look this real, with arms and legs,” he chokes out around his tears.

“I’m almost ten weeks, so we missed the stage of the baby looking like a blob,” I say as I let go of a sad laugh.

“Ten weeks?”

“I’m due in October,” I tell him, and he finally looks up from the photo. His cheeks are damp, and I move to my knees, cup my hands along his jaw, and in the same loving way he does with me, I gently lick his tears away.