Page 43 of Bossy Grump's Secret

“She doesn’t want to keep it.”

My mind is in complete shambles, and the confusion is about to tear me apart. Ava is pregnant–most likely with my child––and doesn't intend to keep it.

I don’t know which one is crazier.

"What are you doing here!?" A loud, angry roar forces me out of my mental perambulation. When I turn, I see it is Ava…obviously. Lily can never pull out that level of anger and translate it into a voice.

“You didn’t think I had the right to know?” I clench my jaw and present the question, hoping she’ll fall for the argument and forget that I am a criminal.

“You thought you had the right to enter my room without permission?” she prods again.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I growl.

“Well, you didn’t answer mine.” She comes over to me and snatches the test trip from my hands. “…And I asked first.”

“Ava, you got pregnant, and you didn't tell me. And you want to end the pregnancy. You’re telling me that a child of mine will be aborted, and I wouldn’t even know.” I make sure my voice conveys the pain I feel in my heart. I don’t think I am that bad a person.

“You don’t understand, Dylan. That’s your problem. You always have your own interpretation of things as long as it suits you,” she says with gritted teeth. I can see how much she’s trying to hold back the tears, and I feel for her. Ava has gone through so much in such a short time…even though I think pretty much criminal to want to kill a baby that also belongs to me…at least without my permission?

“I’ll be lying if I said I’m not doing this for myself. I am. But I’m doing this for you as well, Dylan. I don’t want my life to affect you or I'm just a summer intern here. It’d be horrible if you lost your job just because of a summer fling,” she sniffs, and I can tell it’s genuine. It’s a hard decision to make for her.

"A child would completely ruin my life, Dylan. And if we look at how tenacious legal systems get, it might just about ruin yours too. We can't have this happen to us just because we made a mistake…or mistakes."

She looks at me, waiting for me to speak…and decide.

“Keep it, please.”

The look in her eyes is confusion, bewilderment, disorientation and almost any other expression you'd expect her to sport…all combined.

Dylan

Picking up another shirt, I examine it properly before tossing it in the bag.

“I need little,” I say out loud, reminding myself not to over pack. “It’s just for the weekend.”

I must go home for the weekend…a strict order from Aunt Sylvia that I dare not disobey. The not-so-fun part is that I can't even make an appointment. I have to get home first and register my presence because she will keep track of me via phone, probably to Mom or Dad.

Leaving the house shouldn’t be a problem…if I stay there constantly. As a place that hasn’t seen me for the better part of a year, even the walls could begin constricting to hold me back and restrain thoughts of leaving.

Besides, Layla is at home. Unless we both decide to go out simultaneously, which is next to impossible, –I don’t think there’s any reason to stray far from a sister I haven’t seen in months–since she left for school. Usually, the hotel would be the first place to visit once she returned from school. Still, I pieced together that her not coming was part of the ploy to give me another reason to come home.

I slip my bag over my shoulder when I’m done with packing, making sure I’ve left no stone unturned while I don’t overdo it.

You’re going to your home, Dylan. There should be no such thing as over-packing. I remind myself…or under-packing, If you forget all your clothes, you can prowl around your room in your underwear and drape yourself with sheets if you ever feel like coming out without the slightest care in the world.

The mental pep talk is enough. I lock my room door and begin heading out. By habit, I take the pathway to the section of the building where Ava's room is. I only stop and take the stairs when I remind myself - as I always do - that I’m not as welcome there anymore as I once was.

Getting to the parking lot and finding the exact spot where my car was parked used to be difficult, even for me. The only way I can find a long-term solution to the problem is to make sure I park in the same spot every single time so that no matter what time I come out, even if half-conscious, I will locate my Ferrari Portofino with success.

My car isn't exactly quiet, but it’s not obnoxiously loud either, so when I rev the engine, it gives this beautiful mid-tenor purr that I love. Only when I'm on the road, I realized how much I miss the outdoors? So much I dangerously leave my hand hanging outside my convertible’s door just to feel the breeze. Until an elderly couple passing by in a camper moving even faster than my Ferrari scolds me to keep my hand inside.

I oblige immediately, feeling a strong compulsion to obey, primarily because they’re elderly. When they’re gone, though - which I let them by slowing into a comfortable enough distance to give them a good tail - I spill my arm limp over the door again. I can’t help it.

Getting home is the same as always, and even though I haven't been here in , I just can't bring myself to miss it. Dad, with his manly display of affection, greets me with a hug that bumps my shoulders like I come around every other day. Then there's Mom, who practically shoves me back into her womb with hugs and kisses.

Layla, the only person I'm genuinely excited to meet, takes a few steps back and cracks her knuckles to give me the hardest dive hug I’ve had in a long time - being the last time we met. She knocks the breath out of me and almost sends me to the ground, accomplishing her goal. We made a bet once that she’ll never hug me hard enough to send both of us reeling. It’s been four years since we made that bet, and she's taken every chance to give me a hug like a rugby defence drill.

“You almost had me there,” I huff in discomfort. “You’re putting on weight?”

---