Page 93 of Bide

I toss her a new package of Arnica and she catches it with a grateful groan. I didn’t realize I'd been so… rough until I saw the shape of my hand imprinted on her asscheek, matching mottled purple patches marring her inner thighs.

I’d feel bad, maybe, if not for the scratch marks spanning my back and neck.

I shake the bottle of meds I swiped from her handbag on the way in here before setting it on the counter next to the green tea I picked up too. Beside it, I drop my other drugstore purchase.

Luna side-eyes the Plan B pill skeptically. “I don't need it. IUD, remember?”

“Can never be too careful.” Especially considering how many times I came inside her last night and this morning. With the way she's been hobbling around, I wouldn't be surprised if we somehow dislodged the fucking thing.

Luna rolls her eyes, bypassing the pill as she swipes her tea. “You just wasted fifty bucks.”

“Cheaper than raising a kid.”

Narrowed eyes dart around my face, searching and thoughtful. “Fine.”

I slump in relief as Luna rips open the packet and pops the pill in her mouth, following it with a long sip of tea. Swallowing exaggeratedly, she sticks her tongue out, moving it around as if to prove she's not hiding the pill anywhere. “Damn.” She snaps her fingers sarcastically. “There goes my chance at trapping a rich baby daddy.”

“I wasn't accusing you of that,” I say with more annoyance, more force, than necessary. Snatching the Arnica from her, I slather some on my hands and crouch down beside her, smoothing the cold cream over her bruised skin.

Two hands land on my shoulders, squeezing gently. “I'm just kidding.”

I grunt in response, an uncomfortable feeling creeping up my spine. When she’s sufficiently covered in enough cream to heal a corpse, I rise, shucking off her grip. As I screw the cap back on, Luna's hip nudges mine. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You went a little weird,” she explains softly. “If it freaks you out so much, we can use condoms from now on. I didn't mean to pressure you last night.”

“You didn't.” I almost fucking came on the spot when she offered up the suggestion. Not a single part of me even considered saying no, not just because of how good it felt to be completely bare inside her, but also because of how good it felt for her to trust me like that.

But then it was over and my head caught up with my dick and all I could think about was what would happen if by some fucking chance I'd just knocked up my girlfriend of all of one day. What would happen if I'd just inadvertently but indefinitely changed, maybe ruined, two lives.

“Then what is it?”

I pause, trying to figure out what to say. I must take too long, because Luna sighs, her slumped posture screaming of disappointment. She still forces an understanding smile, though, before leaving me alone in the bathroom.

I watch her reflection in the mirror, downing her tea and scoffing another pastry before tugging on clothes. She's got that look on her face, the one where she's kind of annoyed or upset but trying not to show it. I fucking hate that look, hate being the cause of it even more.

Luna doesn’t look up as I approach, nor when I sit on the bed. She only acknowledges me when I loop my fingers under the waistband of her sweats and tug until she stands between my legs. Straight-backed and arms crossed, she crooks a brow, a silent repeat of a question I loathe to answer.

“My mom had me when she was our age,” I start slowly, wincing as that familiar uncomfortable feeling I get when I talk—or think—about my parents takes over. “It was an accident.”

An accident that ruined her life, and not a day went by that I wasn’t reminded of that.

Quite the accusation to throw at a kid.

To be fair, it’s not entirely unfounded. I was the beginning of the end for her. The cataclysmic event that shattered her perfect life, ruined all her potential, stole her youth—all her words. On some level, I guess I understand her resentment.

She always said the girls were accidents too but as I got older, this sneaking suspicion grew that maybe she was full of shit.

You see, when my mom got pregnant, her and my dad were on the verge of splitting. He stayed with her out of obligation. Not to her or me, but to his wallet; my grandmother threatened to cut him off if he embarrassed her by having a baby out of wedlock. So they got married, as quickly and privately as possible, with an iron-clad prenup in place preventing my gold-digging, bimbo mother—my grandmother’s words, said loud and proud despite the fact my parents were in the same Ivy League college, taking the same classes—from taking any more from the Jackson family than she already had. And, apparently, after I was born, it was good for a while. They were happy, or as happy as two people with very little in common and even less real love for each other could be.

Maybe my mom figured it was because of the baby suddenly binding them together for life because barely a year later, Lux entered the picture. But if playing happy families forever was her plan, it backfired royally. Trying to keep someone in a relationship going nowhere is hard enough. Bring two screaming, crying babies into the mix?

Good luck.

Everything just gets messier after that. A revolving door of parents and new potential step-parents and nannies. Break-ups that always ended with Mom leaving us on some random family member's doorstep for a few weeks. Make-ups that ended with a new sibling.

When she finally left for good, it was a relief, not having to live with the stifling knowledge of being her biggest mistake, her greatest regret. It's been almost a decade since we’ve heard from her. I don't even know if she's alive, let alone where she is.

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