13. Marley
13
MARLEY
M issing Beau has me feeling physically ill. I haven’t slept, can barely eat, and I’m nauseous all the time. I’ve been avoiding him. Even at our worst, things were never this… awkward. Nevermind the fact that he’s in my dreams every night, doing unspeakable things to me and my body.
I’ve woken up more than once with my panties wet and my heart pounding. Only now, my dreams aren’t a fantasy. They’re based on real life. I know what it feels like to have Beau hovering over me, his lips on mine, feel him thrusting in and out of me.
I shake myself out of yet another daydream as the door to my studio opens. The bell on the door rings, and my client walks in. Since I’ve started focusing more on boudoir, I’ve met some incredible women.
I greet her, and get to work right away. She had her makeup and hair done at the salon down the street, a part of the package I offer. She picks out the lingerie she wants to wear, and we discuss poses and the vibe she wants for the shoot.
An hour later, we’re finishing up the shoot, and I’m feeling like I’m about to vomit. I am at the point where I’m not even going to clean up the studio when she leaves. I can deal with it tomorrow. My bed is calling me.
Another wave of nausea roils through me, and I have to swallow down the extra saliva gathering in my mouth. My forehead is clammy, a sign of impending doom. The only perk right now is that I’m currently wearing a thin bodysuit, so at least I’m not sweating through my clothes.
We finish up, scheduling a time next week to go over the images, and decide which ones she wants to have printed. After saying a quick goodbye, she’s gone.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I’m dashing toward the small bathroom, heaving the measly breakfast of a banana and toast I was able to eat into the toilet. My stomach clenches and my eyes water as I get sick, cursing my own existence the whole time. I fight the urge to lay my head down on the cool tile floor, because, gross. My eyes start to drift close as I hold myself over the toilet, threatening to give into the overwhelming exhaustion I feel.
“Marley?”
I shriek, immediately flinging my arms out in front of me in an attempt to hit this unknown person. Am I being kidnapped? This is not how I wanted to go. A hand rests on my forearm, and I kick out my leg in an attempt to break free. I know I should have locked the door behind my client, but I had other, more pressing needs.
Hopefully, my kidnapper likes an overly exhausted, sick girl, cause that’s what they’re going to get.
The kidnapper grunts, but I don’t open my eyes.
“Marley, it’s Beau!” he shouts. “Open your eyes!”
At the sound of his familiar voice, I do what he says, immediately opening my eyes and halting my attempt to maim him. “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“I came to talk to you,” he says, slumping down on the floor next to me. He leans his head back against the wall, tugging at the roots of his hair. “What’s going on, are you sick?”
I nod, leaning back against the wall again. I realize I’m still in the deep purple lace bodysuit, but honestly, I can’t find it in me to care. “I think so. I’ve just been really tired and nauseous the last few days. I probably just have a bug or something.”
Beau’s dark eyebrow raises as he glances at me. “Let’s get you home. I’ll drive. I don’t think you're in a good place to be behind the wheel.” He stands, offering me his hand. I grasp it, glancing down at the toilet with a groan. I quickly flush it, even though I know Beau has more than likely already seen the mess of vomit.
I nod, feeling slightly grateful for his presence. Driving right now sounds like the very last thing I want to do. “I need to change.” I steer myself in the direction of my office, and grab my leggings and sweatshirt off my desk. Beau follows me in, standing at the corner of my desk.
“Can you… Can I have some privacy?” I ask.
Beau hesitates. “I don’t want you to get sick or something again.”
“Beau, I’m fine.”
He raises that brow at me, silently calling me on my shit.
I groan. “Ugh, fine. Just, turn around, please?” I beg, using a swirling motion of my finger. He does, shoving his hands in his pockets, and kicking the door shut. Once I’m sure he’s not looking, I throw my sweatshirt over the body suit, and then work on pulling it down from underneath it. Now that I’m feeling a little better, I’m cold as hell, and thankful I have something cozy to climb into.
I shimmy the bodysuit off and snatch my leggings from the chair I laid them on, tugging them up my legs as quickly as humanly possible. I jump, hiking them up and over my stomach. Sudden dizziness causes me to break out into another clammy sweat, and I drop down into the office chair. “Woah, head rush,” I murmur.
Beau rushes over, clasping my head in his hands. He pushes my bangs out of my eyes, his own eyes searching into mine, with such concern and care, I fear I might burst into tears.
What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t regulate my emotions for shit, feel like utter crap, and I’m so tired I could sleep for a week straight. Though, this doesn’t feel like a normal stomach bug. What could possibly be going on that I feel so crummy?
My chest grows hot, stomach turning for a completely different reason. Beau must reach the same realization as me, because both our eyes widen, and Beau’s cheeks pale of any color.
But... no. There is no way I could be. I mean… he wore a condom, and I’m on birth control. My eyes flit back and forth over his face, watching for any sort of reaction. He stands up straight, clearing his throat.
“Marley,” he grits out. “Are you,” he coughs. “Are you pregnant?”
Blood drains from my face. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it until just now. You wore a condom, right?”
He nods. “Yes, but… not right away, remember?”
“Oh god,” I say, dropping my head down to my hands. I shake my head in my hands. “I can’t be. I mean, I’m on the pill. I never miss a day.”
“You could be,” he says.
“No. I’m just sick, that’s all. We’re overthinking this, having second thoughts about what we did.” I lift my head, frantically waving my hands back and forth. My heart is pounding in my chest, a sense of panic overwhelming me.
“I have never had second thoughts. You’re the one that ran that morning. You’ve avoided me for two months, Marley.” His voice is strained. “Are you late?”
“I don’t have a regular cycle.” I don’t have the mental means to try to explain to him that I only get a period once every three months due to the birth control I take. Tears well in my eyes. “I need to go home. Sleep this bug off.”
Beau nods, but I can tell he wants to say more. He watches me closely as I lock up the studio, turning the lights off as we leave. Instead of fighting him on letting me drive, I let him open the passenger door to his vehicle, helping me in and making sure I’m buckled before he closes the door.
The uncomfortable silence drags as Beau drives. I lean my head back against the headrest, letting my eyes close. I’m so fucking tired.
I feel the car slow to a stop, and my eyes flutter open, expecting to see my small twin home in front of me, only to see the glowing lights of a chain drugstore. “What are we doing here?” I ask, turning my gaze to Beau. He stares straight ahead, face a blank slate.
“I…would you take a pregnancy test? I was already planning on stopping to get you some ginger ale, and other things, but since we are here…” He takes a deep breath. “All the symptoms and timing add up, so I thought maybe it might be a good idea. You can say no. I trust your judgment. You know your body best.”
I nod, knowing he’s completely right. “Yeah. I’ll take one.”
He nods in response as he climbs out of the car. Panic squeezes my throat, fear that he might see someone we know in the store. “Use the self checkout!” I call.
Mind whirring, I try to think back to the last time I got a period and if the timing would line up. Then I think about my birth control, did I really take it every day? Did I miss any days?
I wrack my brain. When I got home and unpacked from the wedding, I couldn’t find my birth control pack, but I shrugged it off, and opened a new one. Where did the other one go? The fact that I can’t remember is startling. I am always on top of my pills.
Tears begin to stream down my face, because I really could be pregnant. With my best friend's baby.
The man himself strides out of the small drug store, a plastic bag in his hand. He looks as cool as a cucumber in his flannel jacket and jeans, not minding the late fall cold. The only thing that gives away the potential stress he feels is his hair. He must have pulled it into a bun during his time in the store, but it’s already falling out in places, likely from being tugged on.
I’m full on crying now, because I don’t want to cause him any more stress than I already do. I know that I’ve avoided him since Josie and Andrew’s wedding. But I’ve also avoided everyone. I’ve dug myself into a deep hole, only ever being this low once before.
I don’t let myself think of that night though. Instead, focusing on now. Whatever that test says, I need to man up and talk to Beau. I need to apologize for blowing him off like that.
Beau hops into the car, instantly seeing my tear streaked face. “No, don’t cry, Mar. It’s okay. Whatever it says, it’s going to be fine.” He reaches over, cupping my cheeks, wiping away the tears.
How is it possible that even after treating him like shit for two months after we had sex, and being rude as hell to him in the time before, that he still cares for me?
I shudder, dropping my head to his chest over the center console. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop,” he murmurs. He kisses my cheeks, the top of my head, anywhere he can. He takes my cheeks again, pulling me off his chest. “Marley, no more running from me. I can’t take it.”
I nod, gasping as he holds me close again.
“Let’s get home, yeah?” he asks. Shakily, I pull away from him, settling back into my seat as he drives out of the parking lot toward my house.
If it wasn’t an inanimate object, I’d swear that the box inside that plastic bag was mocking me for my errors, and certainly losing the best person I have in my life. What will happen if I’m pregnant? What will happen if I’m not?
I can’t think about all the plausible outcomes now. There isn’t enough time in the world for that.
Beau reaches his hand across, grabbing mine from where I was gripping my sweats in between my fingers. He doesn’t say anything, just squeezes my hand three times.
When we get to my house, I get out of the car, and try to dig through my bag for my keys, but Beau is already unlocking the door with his extra set. I’ve locked myself out of my house a few times, so I’ve made sure that he, and my parents all have an extra key.
Walking into my quiet house, I flick on a few lights, immediately running to the bathroom as another bout of nausea overtakes me. Beau runs after me. I attempt to close the door behind me, but he beats me, pushing through it as I crouch down, trying to hold my hair back as I vomit.
Nothing comes up, just bile, and the bit of water I’d drank in the car. I startle when Beau’s hand rests on my back, the other gathering my hair in his hands. He soothes me softly, all while rubbing my back. When I’m done, he gets a washcloth from the drawer, wetting it with cool water and placing it on the back of my neck.
I take my time standing, allowing myself time to catch my breath. Beau speaks before I can. “I think that before you take the test, we should talk.”
“Okay,” I murmur. “I’ll meet you in the living room.”
I wash my hands, and instead of heading right to the living room, I take a detour to my second bedroom where my suitcase is stored. I have to search it and see if the old birth control pack is in there. I have to know.
I grab it from the closet, immediately unzipping it and digging through the inside pockets. When there’s a crinkle of plastic, my fingers start to shake. I grab the packet, pulling it out of the zippered pocket. Inwardly, I die a little, because the packet isn’t empty. There’s four pills left. I have the twenty-one day pack, so it’s not even like I’ve missed four days of placebos, which wouldn’t mean anything. I missed four actual days.
This is all my fault. I’m ruining Beau’s life, all because I somehow forgot to take my pills over the wedding weekend. I rise to my feet, leaving the suitcase in the middle of the floor as I head toward the living room, pill pack in hand. Beau sits in the middle of my couch, hands folded as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. He doesn’t look upset, more… contemplative.
I clear my throat. “I think you might be right,” I say with a shaky voice. I offer out the pack to him. He takes it, looking at those four pills, his emotions masked.
“Sit down,” he says. “I still want to talk.” He sets the pill pack to the side without another glance at it. I sit down cross legged, pulling a blanket off the arm of the couch, and covering my lap with it.
“If you are pregnant, this may not be the way either of us had planned on things going, but it’s not going to change my plans for the future, for our future.” He pauses, reaching under the blanket to take my hand.
“I don’t regret that night. If anything, I regret that it didn’t happen sooner, that we lost out on all that time. I gave you time, but I’m done. I’m about to become the clingiest motherfucker you’ve ever met.”
I chuckle softly. “Beau,” I start. “You don’t have to lie. I should just take the test, and we can go from there.” I take a deep breath, saying words I don’t want to say, but know he needs to hear. “I haven’t been with anyone else. If I am…” I trail off.
“Stop,” he interrupts, holding his hand out. “I never questioned it, nor would I. The test doesn’t change anything for me. Either way, I’m not stopping until you’re mine.”
His words make my pulse thready, because these are the words that I’ve been dying to hear for years, only now, it feels… tainted. Like he’s only saying it to be the good guy. Nevermind the fact that I had no idea I could possibly have been pregnant until we realized it at the same time.
I don’t respond, simply stand from the couch and grab the plastic bag on the kitchen counter. With confidence I definitely don’t feel inside, I pull the box from the bag, noting that Beau bought not only one, but three different kinds.
He sheepishly walks over. “I wanted you to have options in case you didn’t want to believe whatever the result is.”
“Thanks,” I say. I grab two, the digital, and one that is the classic two pink lines. On second thought, I grab the third one too. Never can be too sure.