I wish I knew how to respond to somebody I barely know confessing their love for me. I also wish I could begin to explain to that same person we are having a child. He lies next to me, arms tightly crossed over my waist. If only he knew what he was holding.
He stirs, I'm careful not to move. I can smell his breath even when my back turned to him. It's stale with cigarettes, tequila, and morning. I can feel my stomach turning but I don't move in fear of waking him. I'm not ready to have any conversation with him or to face reality.
I don't know what I'm going to do or to say for that matter. All I can do is lay and ponder my options. Well, abortions out of the question. Been there, done that. Ten years of therapy can't even begin to touch that subject. Adoption - No. Just not. Parent by myself - Probable. Allow Opie to help - Unlikely that he will even want to take site of this baby or even me after I tell him.
My thoughts are interrupted as he begins to speak, "Baby..." His lips meet my shoulder.
"Don't you baby me, Mister." I laugh quietly, turning to face him. I try to ignore the smell coming from his breath. "So you love me, huh?" my eyebrow raises.
His cheeks flush, lip parting slightly, he doesn't speak. I wait for a moment before and even open my mouth but he puts a finger to my lips. "As much as you think I'm helping you, I believe it's you that's bringing me back to life. Every day I spend with you, you teach me something new. You aren't like anyone I have ever met." He stops for a moment, eyes searching for a response. I don't speak, "And it's not just because you don't wear leather."
I can't help but laugh at him. How can somebody be so serious yet so funny at the same time? "Before you say anything else, I must tell you something."
"No, you listen to me." His lips meet mine, mouth closed. He never seems to mind kissing me in the morning. "You make me want to be better. It wasn't just me being a drunken slob. I'm lovin' you."
"Ope." I find myself sighing once more, "I hope that's true." I don't say it back. I don't even know if I feel the same way. All I know is I must tell him the truth. "I'm pregnant."
Before he can even respond I dart out of the bed, I feel a sudden wave of nausea. I practically throw myself against the toilet, not caring that I'm naked, that it's cold, or even that Opie probably took a shit here hours ago. Vomit comes quick, leaving a disgusting taste in my mouth. I sit up slowly, setting my hands on the porcelain bowl.
Returning to his room a few moments later I call his name. There is no response, his pile of clothes are gone. I feel a wave of sadness rush over me.
I guess that answers that.
