36. Three 1 π
Chapter thirty-six
Three = 1+ π
Julian
A year and 9 months ago
Astoria's worse fear had always been pregnancy. I don't know why it took me so long to realize it. As soon as it dawned on me, it became an obsession. It was all I wanted, to make her live her worse fear right next to me. So all I did after she tried to run away was fuck and come in her pussy every chance I got, and every single time, she fought me. She’d run away, scratch, bite, scream, faint, hit me with the first thing she could find, even attempt to choke me with the chain, but I always won. Despite her fears, Astoria loved my cock in her pussy. She couldn’t help coming every single time.
Did I plan for all this to happen? No. I was just having fun, fucking with her mind, trying to satisfy a hunger she'd woken in me that day on the grass. Two weeks later, in the middle of the night, the sound of her vomiting in the bathroom woke me, and I smiled at the possibilities.It was the most cheerful I’d ever been. I enjoyed knowing soon, Astoria would have no choice but to get used to being mine. She was terrible at hiding her wish to run away. The way she'd look at my cell phone, at the front door, and the forest… It was so obvious, and I knew that for as long as she kept contemplating escaping, our relationship would go nowhere.
With her violent morning sickness, depression, and rage, I couldn't get anywhere near her. She begged me for a home pregnancy test, but I figured if I allowed all the symptoms to pop up one by one, the horror to slowly increase and spread, it would have a more lasting effect. By the second month, her hyperemesis gravidarum was so extreme that I had to connect her to IVs almost every day so she wouldn't die of dehydration.
The situation didn’t fuck with my mind until we listened to the heartbeat and then, it all crashed down at the end of the fourth month. It was late and the sound of her vomiting woke me. It wasn’t rare for her to be sick at that hour, so I kept trying to go back to sleep, but then her shriek echoed off the tiles. I ran even before I was fully awake, my heart in my throat. She kept pounding her hand on the floor while gasping for air.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”I lay next to her.
“C-cramps.” That's when I saw the blood.
“No, no, no, no–” she kept whispering when she saw it.
I sighed, knowing what this meant. “Hold on to me, pretty bird.”
She obeyed me, not having anyone else or a choice. Blood leaked from my skin where her nails dug but I was honored and grateful to feel some of her pain.“Tory, listen to me. If I don’t help you get it out, you could die. Do you hear me? It’s going to hurt, but I’m just trying to help. Do you understand?”
“Get it out? No! No, don’t you dare. Don’t touch it, Julian! Don’t hurt it! Ah––h!”
Fuck. That was not the reaction I was expecting, and it broke my heart. How could she go from doing everything possible to avoid the pregnancy to pushing me away, thinking I’d hurt the baby? “Astoria, please. Just this one time, trust me.”
“No. We can do it, Julian. We can be three. Please don’t kill him. We can be three. I promise–Ah–––! No!” she screamed as I pushed then slid my hand down her belly, the blood and tissue gushing out, again and again, as she writhed and screamed, her nails took pieces of my skin."Don't do this! Please!"
“It’s gonna be okay. I promise. You’ll be okay.”
“Julian–! Please stop! You’re killing us,” she wailed, her neck falling back over my arm.
My tears streamed down. “I’m not, Tory. I swear, I’m not.”
“Don’t-don’t kill him, Julian. Please. Please. I can’t–I can’t live without him. Please. I’ll do anything. Please.” She tried yanking my arm away from her belly.
“I’m so sorry.” It’s the one time I apologized to her, and probably the last.“Tory, please remember you didn’t want this. It’s for the best, pretty bird–”
“I do. I’m sorry I said that. I do want him. I di-didn’t understand… I just want to be three. Please! I’ll do anything,” she repeated, begging me to stop, with her bottom lip trembling from the pain.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry," I kept whispering to herand placing gentle brief kisses on her forehead while cradling her.
We both cried our eyes out. I never expected her to fall in love with my baby. I didn’t think it was possible, not after the way I got her pregnant, not after all the things I did to her, definitely, not after my mother hated me all my life for being the son of her rapist. “No woman ever truly loves the child that her rapist puts inside her. It’s impossible,” she’d said to me.
It was the moment I finally understood how unique and amazing Astoria was. Unlike my mother, she would’ve loved the baby, raised him or her to be a decent, beautiful human being like her, nothing like me.
Her cries were horrifying, like nothing I’ve ever heard. Something broke in me. Even today, they haunt my dreams. Had I attended to miscarriages before? Of course I had, but none were her, none involved the baby she would've loved–the baby she said she couldn’t live without. It didn't escape me that Astoria needed the hope of the baby because all I ever did was make her life a living hell. It was hard for me to focus on saving her body while realizing she fell in love with the baby despite me. But at the end of the day, I’m a doctor. I know how to disconnect and go through the motions of saving the body of a human being.Yes, I said body, because we both died that night.
No matter how many times she scratched and fought me like some ferocious, wild cat mommy, I kept massaging her belly. After a lot of the tissue slid out, she fainted. I drugged her and did what was necessary to ensure her insides were clean. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep. I had to drive back and forth between home and work to get all the possible equipment, drugs and antibiotics, just like when I had to operate on her for endometriosis. Fuck it. I wasn't willing to risk her death. If anyone asked questions, I’d say I had to do a house call for free. With my reputation, no one would doubt that.
She kept waking up confused, wondering what was happening, asking me why I looked so sad. Sometimes I'd break down too and she’d try to comfort me, telling me to feel the baby moving. I let her think she was still pregnant because at the time, the truth was too painful, even for me.
Present
Astoria still doesn’t remember and I’ll never tell her what happened. If she can’t handle the memory, then I’m not going to force it on her. I never minded her hating me. I’d rather take the brunt of her rage, thinking I did it all to fuck with her mind than for her to know there was a short time when I did it to protect her from the pain. I rather her think I murdered our child than put her through the painful truth.