She's too tired to entangle her limbs from his.
She had done it the three last times before today, but he didn't seem to get the hint. Either that, or he was being stubborn. It takes her by surprise, though, that this time he lets go of her as soon as she rolls on her back and stares at the ceiling with her arms away from his body, a sigh escaping her swollen and moist lips without her even realizing, and he seems to understand.
He doesn't touch her, simply and silently rolls to the other side of the bed and opens a drawer next to him, taking out a cigarette that he lights up.
The room is quiet and just as cold as she wishes her heart could be. Petra never felt shame regarding her emotions and how she displayed them. She has heard many say that they would be the death of her and she has always smiled at that, because how she handled her emotions shaped her and she could feel pain, happiness, sorrow, contentment, disappointment and accept them because when doing so, they couldn't break her. Life was never meant to be like the one she had when carried in the arms of her daddy, and he did a great job making her understand that.
Petra had to feel. She has to feel and she never bothered hiding anything from anyone.
"I thought we got past this stage," Levi says, letting out a puff to the side and his tone is expectant, hopeful even, for her to turn around and at least spare him a look but she doesn't and he feels the urge to ask her, "What's wrong?"
Petra doesn't want to look at him, she knows that the moment she will shift towards him and see how his hair is a tousled mess, see how his body is marked because of her, her heart will swell and every inch of her will scream "I love you" all over again when it needs to stop.
"I think we should stop this altogether," she merely tells him, trying to keep her voice calm and steady, "It won't lead us anywhere," but it wavers and she's scared he might unveil the lie behind her words.
He doesn't answer straight away. He puts one of his arms on his chest and takes a long drag, carefully weighing her words. Petra knows he is smoking because he is nervous, Levi has never been a smoker and the times Levi felt like killing himself a little were times when he did not know how to handle the situation he found himself in.
"Maybe," it's more like a whisper, a little bit defeatist, and Petra hopes he will not ask questions, "but I love you," he continues and as soon as he says that she wishes she could make him swallow those words and make him choke on them, never hear them again. It's painful and the knot in her throat is getting bigger with each second passing by and for the first time of her life, the thought of bursting into tears in front of him scares her more than she'd like to admit.
"Yeah," she sighs, closing her eyes to ease the sting of tears that threaten to form, "me too," her voice betrays her, and she briefly bites her lip as her chest rises up, taking a deep breath, and falls down.
"Well then, what's the matter with you?"
It's a simple question and Petra could answer and be honest with him, crawl up against his chest and draw patterns on his arms, take that cigarette and throw it away as she would talk and he would listen and try his best to help her but he can't. She wants to avoid making him feel empty and helpless, break him even more than he already is.
"Nothing, I'm just tired of this," but the heavy, ugly, lurking tears are growing on the edges of her eyes so she leaves the bed and picks her clothes up, fumbling when trying to put them on; her back facing him the whole time just so that he can't rummage through the façade she built and is currently trying to maintain, the light trembling of her lips making it all too obvious that she is about to break down. She is glad he doesn't move towards her.
"Fuck!" he snaps and she swiftly turns around, startled, only to see him throw the cigarette which ends up hitting the wall and rolling on the floor, smoke still dancing in the air, "We were fine for a long time, you said you were happy with me, I told you I loved—no, I told you I love you a long time ago and I've never stopped," and he stands up, bending once to fetch his trousers, "What is it that you want?" he angrily asks while he buttons his pants and she notices the faint trembling of his fingers, "Tell me, and I'll fucking give it to you."
She tenses, breath catching up in her throat and suffocating her but she keeps staring, her mind frozen, mouth open with no words coming out when normally she does enough talking for the both of them.
Her silence is the worst and he wants to hear her talk: she could say anything, insult him even, and he needs her to talk but she doesn't. She is not the Petra he knows, or perhaps this is a side of her that he has never encountered before. It's funny to Petra, because she assists to the awakening of a facet of hers that she has always dreamed of embracing; under different circumstances, that is. And ironically, this is how she must react to protect it and this is how it destroys her.
"You can't," she states and surprises herself when she looks him in the eyes, holding his gaze, voice distant and cold.
"I decided on you, don't you get that? I decided on you. I don't want to go fucking other people and then walk around feeling nothing. I like the smell of your hair, and I like the sound of your voice, and I fucking decided on you."
Something breaks inside of her, the droplet of sweat rolling down her spine sending shivers throughout her body and she starts shaking, losing control over the emotions she kept boiled up this entire time, viciously eating her up.
"I'm pregnant."
The sentence escapes her insides and lingers, heavy, in the air before smashing them against the wall of fatality. She could feel her throat drum while saying it, the words staggering her heart and making it skip a beat, but she isn't dead when it's silent during that split second and it sets off again. Harder, louder and it cracks with each pulse.
His eyes widen and his lips part, the color draining from them, his arms falling loose at his sides and this is the sight she has been avoiding, "I'm pregnant and it's not about me anymore," she shrugs as tears run down her cheeks, "This little baby did nothing to deserve any of this and as his mother, I can't stand the thought of him growing up with the constant fear of losing his parents," she sniffs, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe away the seemingly endless flow of silent tears, so salty on the tip of her tongue and so bitter in her heart, "In an ideal world, this baby would have had us both around, but I know we can't have you," she gives him a sad, weak smile, and she wants to hug him and grab his hands and put them on her belly, see his eyes widen, but not in shock, just in pure amazement and love, "So I'll be there. I'll be a dad and I'll be a mom."
He lets himself fall against the wall behind him, and a thud reaches her ears but his voice doesn't.
"I decided on you from the beginning, but you're not the only one anymore, Levi," she falls on her knees, sobs echoing through the room, arms hugging her quavering body in a failed attempt to calm herself down. And oh, how she craves his touch, strong, warm and soothing right now but all she has is the cold of her hands.
He's lost, and she is too, but one of them has to be strong for the three of them, so she says it fast and she does not hesitate. She comforts herself in thinking that the faster she will say it, the faster she'll break them both and the sooner the pain will go away, just like when she removes a bandaid from an open wound – if only the pain was the same.
"I decided on the baby, Levi."