AN: Hello. This is part two of six of my Dear Melancholy, series. The first part was an EO one-shot called Privilege, which you can find through my profile. This time I'm staying in my wheelhouse by writing rollaro and showing an alternate account of Amanda telling Nick about her pregnancy. Rated M for sexy times and filthy language. Please review and tell me you miss them, too.

Call Out My Name

We found each other
I helped you out of a broken place

The warning signs were lit brighter than Times Square billboards. "We shouldn't do this." His voice hoarse against the shell of her ear while his hands unfastened the knot and zip of her winter coat. "It's not too late to stop." She untucked his shirt, eager to slip her hands underneath the fabric and feel the firm muscles of his abdomen. "Just this once." He held her by the nape of her neck and kissed her with a ferocity rarely seen under his calculated perfection. Its intensity, quite literally, took her breath away. She pulled back, sighing against his lips. "No one can know."
They were rebels who refused to heed the warning signs. So they deserved the repercussions.
Perhaps if they had done it once like they had agreed upon, they wouldn't be in a worse state than they were when they found each other. It's a cruel irony when two people use sex as distraction from lives falling apart, only to find themselves — over a year later — in an inexplicable web of destruction. His dissolved marriage and suppressed ambition. Her genetic addiction and dubious reputation. Once compartmentalized, these problems were no longer his and hers.

I said I didn't feel nothing, baby, but I lied

"I figured I owe it to you to tell you I'm pregnant," Amanda says rushed and void of emotion. She's standing in the middle of a bedroom void of furniture. It's almost unrecognizable. Even the sound of her voice is different.
Nick is packing things away in boxes for a cross-country move to which he has reluctantly committed. Getting shot has a way of making a man turn his life on its head. Every day that inches closer to the big move, he hopes for a change in heart among his former superiors, or someone other than his own mother telling him to stay. Earlier that day, Amanda said they needed to talk and he had anticipated this 'talk' with optimism. Instead, he gets this. When he hears the emotionless announcement, he stops and stares at her.
"It's not yours."
Nick blinks like he has dust in his eyes. When he opens them, his gaze averts to her flat belly.
"Twelve weeks. My OB said it probably won't show for another month or two."
He has a million questions running through his head, but he doesn't know where to begin. How long has she known? Twelve weeks is a long time to be unaware of a pregnancy. Was she keeping it? She's open-minded and fairly liberal, but he wonders if her personal choice would differ from what she publicly advocates. How is she so sure the baby isn't his? They always used condoms but those were less than a hundred-percent effective. Who else was she sleeping with? Why wasn't he enough? What did he do wrong?
"Are you going to say anything?"
Nick gets up, the box cradled in his arms. He looks down at the red 'FRAGILE' sticker with a puzzled expression before he walks past her and out the door. That's her modus operandi when she doesn't want to discuss something; she walks away. He's hurt beyond comprehension, so he ignores all the questions and emotions fighting against his weakened composure. A taste of her own medicine is what he tells himself to make him feel better.
He calculates the date of conception back to February. The month with that commercial holiday that inspires declarations of love.
Amanda follows him down the hall to the kitchen. He packs the blender into its original box, forcing it in even though it doesn't fit. The wires are coiled the wrong way and the lid has to be stored upside down at the bottom. Frustrated, he shoves the box across the counter. He doesn't yell. He doesn't dare look at her.
"Who?"
"You don't need to know"
Nick whips around to face her, his shoulders squared back. "Do you even know the father?"
"Of course I do," she says, crossing her arms. "I don't know what you're implying, but I wasn't sleeping around —"
"— Then explain how this isn't mine." He wildly gestures at her torso where there's still no visual clue of a pregnancy. He almost wishes she's making this up in an attempt to make this move easier on them. "Why?"
"What do you mean 'why'?"
"Why would you sleep with someone else?"
"You're not my boyfriend, Nick."
With a wry laugh, he shakes his head. "Don't I know it."

You gave me comfort
But falling for you was my mistake

Nick thinks back to how they got here. How does a man hold a torch for a woman who recoils at the promise of commitment? How does a man love a woman who betrays him by having another man's child? How could he have been so weak-willed, so inattentive to all the signs?
The first time they had sex was at her third-floor walk-up in Queens.
"I had a great time, but we both know this can't happen again." The line sounded rehearsed. He caught on to the turn of phrase and how she made it seem like they were already in agreement. He didn't argue because he knew she was right. But knowing you're right doesn't stop you from wishing you could get away with doing the wrong thing.
The next week, it was business as usual. Until Friday night bled into early Saturday morning. She asked him for a ride home. There was nothing strange about the request as she had made similar ones in the past — as co-workers who worked late, as confidantes who shared a couple of beers. But as they crossed the Queensboro Bridge at half past one, she loosened her seatbelt and leaned into him. She kissed his neck. His right hand firmly gripped the wheel, the other clenched in a fist as if locking away his last vestige of control.
"You said." He kept his gaze straight ahead, a steady line of red brake lights, the universe speaking to him through the traffic. "We shouldn't do this again."
"I say a lot of things I don't mean."
Nick didn't know what to say or do next but the 'doing' was more innate, so he kissed her. Hand on the wheel, eyes veering off the road for a few seconds. He listened to the sound of the cars and felt the roll of tyres on the asphalt. The rest of his senses he surrendered to Amanda.
They had sex because they loved it. Then — because it wasn't enough — he loved her.

Girl, call out my name, and I'll be on my way girl

The snow blanketed the city in a wash of white, glimmering under the morning light. Taking shelter under the covers, Nick's embrace tightened as Amanda burrowed into him. "Don't you wish we got snow days?" She asked, her fingers tracing a prominent vein on his forearm. "Wouldn't it be fun to play hooky?"
He swept her hair to the side, exposing the length of her neck. Placing a gentle kiss on her skin, he murmured, "What would you like to do instead?"
"Stay here," she answered. "With you."
"And?"
"Read the Bible."
He laughed against her neck and she tried to squirm away from his ticklish breath. His strong arms pulled her back, shifting her against the mattress so he pinned her down. "I'd rather rediscover you in the biblical sense."
Amanda tilted her hips, her ass pressing up on the bulge in his sweats. The thick fabric hadn't done much to hide his imposing arousal. His kisses trailed down the nape of her neck as his fingers intertwined with her own. He got on top of her and ground his hips, feeling like a teenager who couldn't go further than dry humping.
With a strained breath, she moaned her approval. Digging their hands into the mattress, he used the leverage to create more friction, winding his hips in a smooth and steady rhythm.
"Nick, I —" she whimpered.
"— You?" He crushed her with the weight of him — hard and heavy — against her sex.
"I want you to —" She swallowed hard when she felt his length slide along her ass and back down where she was wet and waiting. "— Fuck me."
He released his hold of her and quickly pulled the sweats down to just above his knees. Not wasting any time, he slid his cock into her entrance. She was ready for him — always ready for him. But it always took a minute for her body to adjust to the magnitude of how he filled her.
He felt the groan start at the base of his lungs, coming out guttural and possessive. Her tight heat pulsing around his cock was an addiction for which he sought no cure.
She bounced against him, eager for a good fucking. He obliged her request, rutting into her body like an animal. Each thrust with more force and precision than the last. If she hadn't been enjoying every delicious second of this thorough fucking, she would've been scared he was splitting her in half.
Once she was on the brink of climax, he lifted her onto his lap. He remained behind her, bouncing her lithe body as he impaled her from an angle that made her cry for relief. One arm wrapped under her breasts; his other arm reached down between her legs. The moment his thumb circled her clit, she called out his name like a prayer.
Amanda sank into him, her head on his shoulder as she rode the wave of her release. He snapped his hips tirelessly. His thumb continued the motions on her clit, forcing the ride to last until he, too, could get off. "Please, please, please…" Her whispered appeals caressed his jaw.
"You're so wet for me, baby," He murmured as he hastened the momentum. "Come for me again."
She reached behind her to wrap her arms around his neck, tugging at his curls. Riding him just as hard as he was giving it to her, she let her body yield to the command. He knew that after this, she'd remind him of the millions of reasons why meaningless sex is all they'll ever have. His frustration with her unshakable attitude motivated him to give her a million reasons to keep coming back for the sex.
Either way, he was going to lose.

Girl, why can't you wait 'till I fall out of love?

He packs his life into boxes in anticipation of a fresh start. There's no place like home until his kids are forced to move to the other side of the country. He loves his job, but in the last three years he's learned that it'll never love him back. The one person that can make him see this city in a new light is the one person that has dimmed the last burning ember inside him.
February 14 — a candlelit dining room with a homemade dinner that had taken him hours to prepare. The memory of that night's argument makes his insides turn. "Please just give me a chance." He does everything short of getting down on his knees and kissing her feet. "Let me love you."
Rejection was a snuffed flame. A desert never eaten. A bed with mitred corners. A man in mid-life contemplating his escape from New York.

This is her fault. He wants to tell her. If she had stuck to her word to keep it a one-time thing just to get it out of their systems, then he wouldn't have fallen in love. He wouldn't have familiarized himself with the throaty laugh she only reserved for the most intimate of friends. He wouldn't have explored her slopes and valleys, revelled in the way she tugged and scratched. He wouldn't have been drowning.
"On Valentine's Day, I gave you that stupid ultimatum. I told you I wanted a real relationship with you or nothing at all," Nick tells her. "You left. But what I never told you was that I felt like a piece of shit for making those demands. I went over to your place and waited for hours. You never came home, never picked up any of my calls. That was the only time since we started this — this thing — that I ever suspected you were hooking up with some other guy."
She nods, understanding why he's bringing up that fateful night. "I got wasted at some bar and ran into — well, let's just say, I ran into an old friend."
"You know him well?"
She shrugs. "I know him well enough that I don't ever plan on telling him he's the sperm donor."
"Jesus Christ, Amanda."
She runs her fingers through her hair and sighs. "Look, I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted. I didn't imagine you'd be thrilled when I gave you the news, but I honestly thought a part of you would be relieved to be off the hook. Shit. You can look back at this experience like you dodged a bullet."
"There you go with the same bullshit you tell yourself. How many times do you have to repeat it until you believe you're undeserving of a real relationship?"
She rolls her eyes. Storming toward the living room, she picks up her car keys and heads for the door. "You know what, Nick?" She turns around and points a finger at him. "I'm not some woman you can save and turn into some ideal wife. There's nothing you can say or do that's going to make me buy into your fantasy, okay? You say you want to be with me for real… You say you love me, but you don't even know me."
Nick's jaw tenses. Tears well in his eyes. The vacant room he stands in feels stifling in comparison to the work Amanda's done hollowing him out.
"I'm sorry this is how things ended between us."
How does it end before it begins? The question rests at the tip of his tongue.
"I know you can't forgive me today," she says. "But I hope, one day, you can think of me as a friend."
He nods even though he's not sure he can believe it. Why does it matter when he's leaving anyway? He doesn't expect her to stay in touch. She only wants to have his friendship so she can leave his house in good conscience, knowing the net positive of their actions outweighed the negative. She wants to be assured that if she called for him, he'd come running.
The door opens to let the Spring air drift into the room. The sunlight shines like a golden halo around her face. It'll be the last memory of her that won't fill him with regret. She presses her lips together in a sad, almost pitying, smile. "Goodbye, Nick."
He crosses the distance between them then grips the edge of the door. She holds her breath and stares at him with bright blue eyes. Her lips part and it takes all of his control to stop himself from kissing her one last time.
"Drive safe," he tells her as he takes a step forward, ushering her out on the stoop. He shuts the door and waits for the receding sound of her footfalls and the start of her engine. When she drives away, he realizes it's over and his heart needs to get to work, shaving off the scar tissue from the last year and a half.
One day, he'll stop loving her.