Page 70 of Give Me What I Want

I couldn’t be. Could I? Surely not. Surely those pills had been keeping me safe, I had been on them for ages, and nothing had ever happened. Then again, I hadn’t exactly been sleeping around over the last couple of years. It was only the occasional night up until now, and now I was fucking three different men.

“Breathe,” she said softly, her voice so sweet, so hard to ignore.

I did as she said, sitting back on my heels and wiping my mouth with my arm. Thank god I had been on a liquid diet today, having skipped breakfast and surviving solely on tea.

“You might not be pregnant, you might just be ill, like you said. Or maybe that was a panic puke, I have a friend who does that. Just breathe, okay? Want me to get you anything? Water? One of the guys?”

She was still rubbing my back in small circles, calming my racing heart with her gentle touch.

“Water, and…” I looked up at her as she released my hair, smoothing it down for me. “A pregnancy test.”

She nodded. “I’ll get the water first, then I’ll pop out, I’m sure there’s a shop nearby, I’ll take… erm… I can’t go alone, who shall I take with me?” she asked, biting her lip and tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

I thought about it, deciding who was most trustworthy to keep their mouth shut. “Take Andy,”—one of the guitarists from One Last Time—“he’ll keep his mouth shut, right?”

“I’d trust Andy with my darkest secrets,” she said seriously. “I’ll be back soon.”

She went to grab me a glass of water, then left me alone on the bus, sitting in front of the toilet, forehead balancing on the freezing cold porcelain as I inhaled slowly, counting to four, holding for four, releasing for another four. I cycled through each breath until she returned sometime later, and finally raised my head.

“Here.”

As our set progressed my panic subsided. Well into our fourth song, I had almost forgotten about the little white sticks wrapped in tissue shoved to the bottom of the bin on the bus.

The first test had shown up two clear, strong lines, the second had been fainter, the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth had been clear again. After three hours of disappearing to the toilet over and over, six tests covered in my pee showed a positive result. And after sitting back on the bathroom floor, opening the internet browser on my phone and calculating my last period, it revealed that I was probably about eight weeks along. I had instantly thrown up again.

The nausea was still there now, but I didn’t mind. I was too lost in my lyrics to let anything bother me. Too excited by the sounds surrounding me and the flashing lights highlighting the huge crowd singing along with me.

This was why I loved the stage. Nothing mattered when I was standing before a crowd of adoring fans, screaming my lungs out as they worshipped at my feet. It was like my own form of therapy.

I didn’t need to think about the multiple uncomfortable conversations that I’d need to have. The decisions we’d need to make. None of it. I was free up here. All of the drama of the last few months couldn’t bother me up here. Everything they’d done. Every single word printed about me, them, us. Jordan's betrayal. The choice that I needed to break to him tomorrow. Even the fight that I’d had with Ronan this afternoon between my bathroom trips. It was like it was happening in a different world, because I was lost, so deep into the music we were making, and I never, ever wanted the feeling to stop.

“Make it stop.” I sobbed into the towel, burying my face as I curled up on the floor. The space was far too small. Why did this have to happen on the road? Why couldn’t it have waited a few hours? That was all I needed, a few hours to get somewhere comfortable. Although, as my stomach twisted, and tears streamed down my face I knew there was nowhere on earth that I’d feel comfortable right now.

“Don’t just fucking stand there,” I wailed, raising my head and glaring through my tears at the man standing in the doorway. “Make it stop.”

Ronan stared at me, his eyes glassy and lips parted. “I—” He choked and ran his hand through his thick hair. “You—” Squeezed his eyes closed, still not moving, not helping, not making it stop. “Bumblebee, I can’t make it stop, I didn’t even—” His fist slammed into the bathroom door, splitting the wood as he growled loudly, the sound making my entire body tense.

“Ro, stop,” I pleaded, “just, come here, I—” I swallowed hard, dropping my head back to the floor in defeat. “I need you,” I whispered.

I heard a low growl escape him, and a moment later I was being pulled towards him. He sat cross-legged in the doorway, my head resting on his lap as I let more tears slip free, dripping onto his black jeans as his fingers gently stroked through my knotted hair.

It was gone.

I’d not even come to terms with it yet. I didn’t know what I wanted. If I wanted it or not.

None of the guys knew. I was waiting until the morning, once the post-show buzz had worn off and I had dealt with the Jordan thing. I was planning on gathering them after, spitting it out, and leaving for an hour or two. I knew they needed to know, but I also knew I wouldn’t listen to a word they said after.

But now Ronan knew, and if I carried on like this, so would the others.

“Please don’t tell them,” I whispered; my throat scratchy from the painful emotion that I wasn’t used to feeling.

I felt Ronan shift underneath me, twisting his body to lean against the broken door.Anotherbroken door. Then a soft curse fell from his lips. I knew my boy well enough to know exactly what that single word meant.

I craned my neck and cracked my eyes open, finding three pairs of bare feet planted in the hallway. I closed my eyes, curled my legs up to my chest, and shook. Holding back the loud sob threatening to escape my chapped lips.

“Babygirl, let it out.” Mav’s voice wrapped around me like a gentle caress, and I lost it.

I screamed, saliva bubbling in my throat as I let go.

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