Chapter Thirty-Eight
Marisa
“Glory and Gore”- Lorde
Justin’s face is red, his jaw ticking as he stares at the ceiling. Groaning, I toss the sheets off me and climb out of bed, nearly tripping over Cobain on my way to the bathroom. “Justin, I’m telling you, there’s nothing going on.” I flush the toilet and wash my hands before going back to the room and crawling in the bed. I scoot across the mattress and go to lay my head on his chest, but he rolls over with a huff.
“You’re acting like a kid.”
He sits up in the bed and glares at me. “I’m sorry, Marisa. I’m sorry if it bothers me that my girlfriend, oh wait, mypregnantgirlfriend is flirting with a fucking celebrity.”
“Oh my... ” Shaking my head, I sigh. I pretend it upsets me, but it really doesn’t. I like him jealous. I like him all angry and caveman. “He is just a fan.”
“Yeah, and you know what, Marisa,” he narrows those steel blue eyes of his, “I know all about people who arejustfans. So, don’t feed me that bullshit.”
I fight the smile that wants to break out over my face. “I mean, what do you want me to do?”
“Stop feeding into it. Tell him you’re not meeting him when he comes into New York, or better yet,” he points to my stomach, “tell him your pregnant. See how big of a fan he is then.”
“You are something.”You are something, Justin. But we both know that.
He flings himself back on the bed with a huff and drags his hands over his face. “I mean, some guys are into fucking pregnant women, there’s porn sites for that shit. Milking. Hell, those milking books sell for a reason. Guys are sick.”
“You would know.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Look, you want me to block him?” I shrug.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus, you know, you really are insecure.”
“Oh fuck you.”
“Fuck you!”
“I’m going to fucking sleep.” And he rolls back over. I want to shake him, yell at him. Remind him of how many times I put up with him screwing around, but I know he’ll only say he was single then. It doesn’t count. He’s on edge, bless him. I know everything that’s happened recently is taking its toll on him, and I saw the bitterness slowly leaking from him like a damaged nuclear reactor this afternoon. His limelight has been stolen and he’s a sad little panda. I’ll let him have his little hissy fit. Besides, it’s cute that he’s worried about Ed. He’s worried about Ed... my mind starts to wander down that twisted and thorny path.Whyis he so suspicious? I mean, sure, there are messages, but nothing racy. No fucking jazz hand emojis. My heart pumps violently because they always say the accuser is usually the guilty one. What if Justin’s suspicious because he’s still being dirty whore Justin instead of sweet, swoony boyfriend Justin? I haven’t checked his phone in days, not since I told him we are expecting. I place my hand over my stomach and worry mounts in my chest. I can’t have this entire thing ruined because I’ve become lax and stupid. No one likes the story where the woman ends up alone, raising a bastard baby. They want the wedding, the radical change. The bad boy gone soft. I glance at Justin and he’s already snoring. His phone is on the nightstand by his side of the bed. I get up and tiptoe around the footboard and pick up his phone, but it’s dead.Of course it’s dead.
Cobain hops onto the bed, his heavy weight causing the entire mattress to bounce. Justin shifts, mumbling in his sleep as he stretches his arm out. I watch as he feels around. He lifts his head and looks at the empty bed, then around the room, his gaze freezing on me now standing at the foot of the bed.
“Shit,” he says. “What are you doing?”
“I had to pee.”
He glances at the clock. “Again?”
“I’m pregnant. Hormones make you pee.”
He lies back with a groan and pats the bed. “Come back.”
Rolling me eyes, I walk to my side of the bed, climb in, and snuggle up next to him. He wraps his arm around me and tugs me against his warm body. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my hair.
“It’s okay.”
And it is okay, but I still have to make sure he’s behaving. I just don’t trust that he’s not going to mess up this ending.
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