Page 79 of Tear Me Down
“I mean, it depends on how long someone was on it. You, little shit, have only been on it for three months, so it shouldn’t have really messed with you at all. Plus, it’s unlikely with the one we prescribed for you, but it’s possible I suppose. Why?” I stay silent and slowly let that information sink in, because I don’t know how to convey my assumption without her, or myself, freaking out. “OH MY GOD, ASH! Do you think you're pregnant?” she yells.
Yeah, like that.
“I don’t know, Ser. Can you shut up? There better not be anyone around you.” She brushes me off with a huff.
“Carter is in the shower. When was your last period?” she asks frantically.
I open my mouth to reply, but her statement stuns me.
“Wait, you’re with Carter? And he’s in the shower? Not with you, but you’re still with him and you haven’t had sex? I don’t understand.”
She scoffs.
“Focus, bitch! This is not about me right now! Answer the question.”
I roll my eyes but continue anyway.
“I had one of my lighter ones that week he took me to the concert.”
“But not since then?!” she squeals.
“A few days after the DH party I spotted a little, but no, not really.”
“Ashia!” she screams at me, and I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
“Well fuck, Ser, there’s been a lot going on!” I argue, and I hear as she takes a deep breath, thankfully freaking out for me so I don’t right now.
“I know. Let’s just chill and take a breath.” She’s silent for a moment and lets me take her respiratory advice. “So, when should you have your next one?” She asks a little calmer.
“Hold on.” I pull up the calendar on my phone and count.
Well fuck.
“Last week…” I say quietly, almost unbelievingly.
“Ashia!” she shrieks again, but I can hear as she huffs another breath, clearly trying to compose herself. “Shit. Okay, ummmm, are you having symptoms?”
“Well, you know I've been getting sick since the poisoning, so I thought it was just that. My boobs hurt, but that could be from all of the groping he's done lately.” I chuckle, though I’m not very amused.
“Yeah, but you have been really tired, oh and don’t forget moody. Well, and extra horny.” She starts listing off my symptoms with that unintentional smart-ass attitude.
“Again, could be the poisoning or stress from everything going on, and fuck yeah I'm horny, have you seen Damien?” I dispute.
“True, and ew, gross. Okay, I'll go buy some tests and hide them in your bathroom before you two get back. Don’t freak just yet, because the spotting very well could have been from stress and the birth control, and you’re right, the rest could be residual symptoms from the poisoning and your disorder.” She tries to reason, but it doesn’t help. It could be because my anxiety ridden brain is now focused on the possibility, but nothing else feels as clear and absolute as this answer does. I stay silent for a minute, and she definitely picks up on it. “You okay?” she asks softly.
I’m not sure how to answer that. There are so many thoughts and worries running through my mind, yet a warmth settles in my chest to the thought. This is something we both want, and the memories of Damien holding a baby conjure in my mind and cloud my thoughts with nothing but sexy images of my shirtless fiancé in ‘dad’ mode, but then all my worries rush in. Not necessarily souring the thought, but there’s a lot of concerns in our world right now.
“Yeah, I think so. I don’t want to say anything to him until I know. I don’t want either of us getting our hopes up, and he’s already so worried about everything,” I admit quietly. I know I should tell him; I just went through this whole rant last night about not hiding things from each other, but this feels different. At least until I know something concrete.
“Okay, well you know I won’t say anything,” she quietly responds, throwing me for a loop.
“You calmed down pretty quickly.”
“Well, if anything does happen to Damien, you have me. I'll play Daddy.”
I roll my eyes.
“Jesus Christ, Ser.”
