Hevan
Azrael paces the room like a lion prowling his cage. He holds a gun in one hand as if it brings him comfort, and when he rubs the gun against his head, I wince every time.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet,” I point out from the bed. Three minutes have never felt so long.
He looks directly at me. “I’ll buy a new fucker.” Then he continues pacing, his normally flawlessly styled hair tousled, a clear sign of his anxiety.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind him he still needs to buy me some clothes, but I refrain from doing so, especially given how fraught he is.
The doctor’s phone vibrates on the dresser, indicating the timer has run out, and I swallow hard.
Azrael freezes and stiffens on the spot, and I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around him while stroking the hair at the nape of his neck, knowing it brings him comfort.
He marches to the dresser and snatches up the test while I wait with bated breath.
An almighty roar rips from him, and he throws the test against the wall, causing my stomach to sink.
I’m pregnant.
“You bastard!” He turns toward the doctor and, in a move I didn’t see coming, he lifts the gun and fires. The shot rings out before my mind registers what’s happening, and blood sprays up the wall, almost in slow motion.
A scream rips from me, and the lifeless body falls to the floor, blood spilling out over the carpet from where the bullet went through his head. I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them.
He killed him.
He killed a man in front of me again!
Azrael’s chest heaves as he turns his attention toward me. The darkness in his eyes has spilled over, leaving him looking more maniacal than ever before.
“We can’t have a baby, Hevan. Do you hear me?” His words send a gut-wrenching pain through me, but my protest becomes stuck in my throat. “I can’t have a fucking baby!” he bellows.
A strangled sound, almost like a sob, bubbles inside him, and I want to comfort him, but he’s angry and volatile and just killed a man, so I don’t want to push him further when he’s already well past his boundaries.
“I-I’m sorry,” is all I can muster. For what, I’m not sure, but the broken, desperate look on his face has my heart shattering into a thousand pieces.
“There’s no way,” he says, turning his attention to above my head, but it’s like he’s talking to himself. “None.”
Then he turns and walks out the door, leaving me with a dead body, a room full of blood, and a baby in my belly.
I’m utterly terrified.
But so is he.