Page 139 of Under the Bed
A tear leaks down her cheek, wetting my palm.
I lean in to lick it. I’m a selfish, sadistic bastard. She’d do well to remember that.
“He wouldn’t have hated the idea of me procreating. I get why you’d hate it just the same. Why you’d try to kill our baby.” It doesn’t matter that my body heats at her touch. At her hand on the side of my neck. I’m pissed. Gotta remember that. “I even understand that now isn’t the right time. But I don’t give a fuck. You’re not taking Plan B. Ever.”
A sting on my wrist. An ache in my shin. She’s clawing at me. Kicking me. Screaming into my palm.
Hearing her apologize for it will be the worst. Her pity will eat at whatever sanity I have left.
“You will love me, damn it.” I haul her off the wall, dragging her deeper into the alley. Behind the building. Behind the bushes. I killed a person behind a similar one last night. I’m going to force Shiloh to love me here on this gloomy morning.
“You will have our baby.”
We’re both crouching, both breathing hard. With one hand in her wet hair, I push her head until she’s looking at the ground.
“In a few months,” she gasps when I remove my hand from her mouth. “All I’m asking for is a few months. I do want your baby. Please, listen to me.”
I should.
Because she isn’t apologizing to me. Doesn’t tell me that I’m the problem.
There’s noI’m sorrytumbling out of her while I press my middle and index fingers together in front of her face. While I use them to shove her bottom lip down.
So yeah, I should listen.
Problem is, I’m too wrapped up in my emotions. Too far gone for that. I never handled so many of them. All at once.
They’re bearing down on me. Punching my ribs from the inside.
My temples throb. My head spins. God, the pain.
Is this what people babble on about when they talk about heartache?
I’m glad, then, to have been born a freak. To have had twenty-six years of being free of that bullshit.
“I don’t care, Kaleb. I will never give a fuck about what anyone else says or thinks about them.” Breathless pleas. Tears in the corners of her eyes. I don’t let up, even though her speech is garbled with my fingers in her mouth. “I’ll love them with my whole heart. Always. But please.Please. You can’t believe that this is the right thing to do. It’ll make running damn near impossible. We won’t be able to blend in. I won’t be able to run. So many things could go wrong. You know this.”
“I know I’ll protect you.”
“I know”—breathe—“you’ll try.”
The world ceases to exist. Images upon images assault me, as vivid as if they’re a movie.
As if they’re my life.
My beautiful Shiloh, growing our baby in her womb. Her skin stretching to accommodate the tiny thing.
Her palm rubbing her beautiful stomach while she has her feet up in my lap. They do that in the movies. Massage pregnant women’s feet. It alleviates the pressure, and yeah, I’ll do it for her.
Then—movement from inside her body.
We’re sitting in a home with a view of the ocean. Free. Careless.
Us.
Something isn’t just moving anymore. They’re kicking.
I abandon her feet. Put both palms on her belly.
