What I Own: An anklet that jingles when I walk, four of the most feminine lighter in existence and a pink bag of rainbow colored pens.
What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine. I just play with them, I promise I will clean them up when I'm done.
Author's Note: So, this is a thing that has happened. It wasn't going to, but MD14 was like 'I've been waiting.' And the music was found and… yeah. This is the result. As usual with this story, it is in absolutely no order, it doesn't make sense, just another peek at the moments that make up our lives, big and little. This hasn't been beta'd because no. I can't explain why this happened it just… did. Don't hate me please.
This wasn't happening. It wasn't, not now. Not here. On a hard uncomfortable bench in the locker room, the scent of other women's perfume and bodywash still hanging in the air, even long after the users themselves had vanished. My vision fogged and I fought back the tears that threatened to fall, futile as it was as I stared at the object in my hands. My knuckles were white as I gripped the slender piece of plastic, my mind both racing and frighteningly empty all at once.
Dates and images, so many seemingly small moments, tiny inconsequential decisions, they all added up, but to what? Between the overtime and shuffling between houses, I had obviously let things slide but this was more than I could imagine.
I'd blamed it on stress. Moving. Sam being gone, prepping for his latest UC. My dad slipping back off the wagon, AGAIN. That all made sense, right? Right. Things got forgotten. Happens all the time. I looked the other way, didn't even give a second thought.
And then the break up. It had been SPECTACULAR. Outside the Penny, in the pouring rain, an audience of, oh I don't know twenty of our closest friends and not so close co-workers watching on. Words were yelled, accusations flung. All the fire and passion that defined us now, had defined us since day one. Nothing could be easy, not with us, not ever.
That was over a month ago now. 42 days to be exact, not that I was counting. The atmosphere was still frigid between us when we saw each other, which was rare. He was doing his prep with Guns and Gangs, I was working overnights to avoid him. It wasn't a secret, and neither of us tried to hide it because where was the point.
My hands shook as I shoved the item in my pocket, I watched as first one tear, and then another splashed on my boots in quick succession. No, no, no. Not here. Tugging my hands through my hair I let out a sigh and drop my head back, staring blankly at the ceiling of the locker room. My hands, now empty knotted together, my fingers searching, almost instinctively, for something that wasn't there, hadn't been for 42 days. I had just barely kept from throwing the ring at him, just barely. Fits of pique had never really been my style but hey, a girl has to have layers.
There were questions and no answers, not a single one as I moved, almost robotically to gather my belongings and headed outside into the warm night.
Three AM and I was standing on his porch in the dark. The lights were out and this was the last place I should be, the last place I wanted to be, but the one place I needed to be. The knock was almost timid and I stared at the street, my back to the door. Maybe he hadn't heard it. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he wasn't even home. Maybe-
"Andy?" Maybe not. My heart didn't clench a little at the sound of my given name, not when his voice was all gravely and rough with sleep. No it did not. Hands back in my pockets, fingers wrapped around the plastic, more to stop the shaking than for anything else, and I met his eyes, dark and concerned. I didn't look at his hands, I couldn't, not without the memories, but I knew where they were. One on the door and one on the frame. It's just what he did.
I open my mouth, close it again quickly, blinking back the tears because goddamnit they wouldn't go away. I always have words, weather I should say them or not, and now? Nothing. I swallow thickly, a last ditch attempt to soothe my parched throat, and meet his eyes. Dark and stormy, I could and had, lose myself in them so easily.
"I'm pregnant."
Author's Note Numero B: The song inspiration for this one is Accidental Babies by Damien Rice because, well, reasons.