Three spectacular weeks, and now this. The end of giddy affection, easy conversations, wild lovemaking, early-morning banter. Catharsis. Implosion. She held her head in her hands and let a few hot tears spill down her cheeks and fall to the linoleum of her bathroom floor with a splatter. As if it wasn't bad enough. She didn't even know whom to tell first…fabulous. She felt incomprehensibly dirty. She pulled another Kleenex from the box behind the toilet and dabbed at her now-smeared mascara making it's way steadily from her lashes to run through the crevasses of the bags under her eyes. Defiantly, she seized another strip from the container and tried again. She set it on the counter, tapped her toes, bit her thumbnail, checked again. Six for six. The numbers didn't lie.
The sound of his spare key grinding in the lock did little to comfort her. Instead, a wave of violent nausea washed over her, bringing her to her knees on the floor, beads of cold sweat dotting her temples. The room spun, tilted, turned dark then blindingly bright as acid crawled up her throat, begging to be set free. She relented, lurched forward, ready and willing to give up the entire contents of her stomach, but nothing came. There was nothing left but bile and dry heaves. The door creaked open and suddenly, in all her disheveled splendor, she was exposed. There had been neither time nor energy to try and hide the evidence. His dark, worried eyes landed on the used HCG strips scattered on the counter, the color ominously indicative, and then to the huddled figure on the cold floor. Wordlessly, he knelt down. She couldn't meet his eye, the mix of panic and fatigue too overwhelming. His hand made slow circles on her back as he leaned against the wall and let her head rest on his shoulder. His accent tinged the soft words, letting on the uncertainty he'd done so well masking. "You're pregnant?"
She nodded, lips tight, tears threatening to spill over once again. "Looks like it."
He didn't bother with the obvious question, not yet. Instead he folded her into his arms, the warmth and comfort of his body offering respite from the unwelcome development that suddenly threatened to topple their carefully constructed surreality. It was nearly an hour until she spoke, the silence hanging in the air along with the sour smell of everything she'd eaten for two days, though neither had the presence of mind to notice. He'd been waiting for her to speak first, distrusting his own voice. "I know what you're thinking." The tear that had been nagging at her eyelash finally slid down to leave a dark spot on Luka's shirt.
"I don't think you do." It wasn't an argument, but a reassurance. It had crossed his mind, the question she'd been referring to, but he honestly hadn't been bothered with it for more than a few moments.
She drew in a pained, shuddering breath. "I don't know if it's his or yours." Her voice cracked slightly with the admission. "There. I said it." She dragged her sleeve across her face. A wry sort of scoff escaped her, and he could feel her body tense. She made a half-attempt to disentagle herself from him, shoulders slouched, not meeting his eye.
He drew her back to him without struggle and began to play with one of the long, glossy strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "I was thinking that if you want to have the baby, I'd like us to move in together to raise it." The corners of his mouth twitched. "And I thought we could make my study into a nursery."
"Luka." She squeezed her eyes shut, as though she could shut out reality. "You don't want to know –"
"I'll love it either way." He kissed her forehead a second time. "If you want to have the baby, that is." He knew better than to pressure her, even hypothesize. Dangerous territory had come, gone, and faded into the distance. He was in an altogether unfamiliar place, but his senses told him not to push. "You know I'll be the father no matter what."
The certainty in his voice threatened to push her over the edge into hormonal oblivion. She swallowed hard. "I don't know. I need some time." He nodded, understanding. She sunk into him, exhausted, weak. It was a matter of minutes before she fell asleep, dreaming of little bits of paper floating around, flickering pink and blue and polka dotted.