Tragedy On Silverdale Road

Shits

"Fuck!"

"Violet, I said it would be uncomfortable."

"Make it sound more convincing next time."

The doctor tries to pry my vagina open with his fingers as gently as possible. One step to checking if I'm really is pregnant is to see if the cervix is closed off. I completely underestimated the uncomfortableness.

"Please try to stay still. It will be over before you know it."

"Fuck off."

➖✖➖

Bryson keeps an arm on me the entire walk from the gang house to the tavern. I don't understand why I asked to come to the trashy, hot box known as my best friend's tavern and bar, but I did.

The pure stench of rotten egg punches me in the face before Bry can open the door. On autopilot, I drop to my knees and vomit into a half dead bush. Screw that damn pregnancy test, a bitch knows when she's pregnant. The signs are pretty common around here. Women have babies like rabbits around here. I'm surprised Sylvia only has one kid, she was a wild thing twenty years ago.

"Kitten?" Bryson shouts. Dumb cunt, I'm only two feet away. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I can't help it that--." My body curls slightly as I heave into this damn bush. He drops to his knees and pulls my dark hair away from my face. "God damnit!"

My fiancé stares down at me, his jaw locked with a small tick on the left side. "You can't come to the tavern until we know for sure you won't miscarry."

My jaw drops. Who is he to tell me what to do? Bryson Jones is a lot of things, but he'll never be the boss of me. Ever.

"No."

"No?"

"No!" My chest burns and my stomach aches but I refuse to allow this man to boss me around. "This is my body. I haven't done anything to harm myself besides fight with you! Antwon is my best friend, I love coming here. I'm not going to stop."

At this point Ander and Rage stand at the entrance, similar emotionless expressions on their faces. My face is wiped clean of anger, so I stand. I stand, dust my knees off, and navigate around Bryson to the direction of my home.

I hate him sometimes. We go in this big circle of I want him and I can't stand him. He's bossy and possessive, but that's what makes me love him. Fuck this shit, I just want an Italian BMT from Subway.

"Midnight!" His voice gives me shivers. "Baby come here."

"I don't fucking want to talk to you right now, Bryson."

His fingers curl around my forearm and a strange sense of contentment rushes through me. What the hell? "Baby listen to me. I fucking love you. I fucking love you and that baby so listen to me."

I hate that I love him. I hate that I let him have this control over me, but I can't let go. "I'm listening."

"That place is basically a fucking hot box. It's not good for my-- our baby. I want him to get big and strong like his daddy. For his sake, stay out of the tavern for a little bit."

My back is still to him, but his words hit me hard. I can't lose another baby. Not again. Not ever again. I love Bryson. I love my baby. My heart is pumping so hard my ears are ringing. What do I say back to that? How do I possibly express my gratitude for his caring?

I turn to Bryson. His hand falls from my arm but I move closer. My left hand caresses his cheek, the ring softly scratching his facial hair. "We're getting married."

His hand slowly takes mine from his face, our fingers intertwining. "I know."

"No, baby, now. We're getting married now."

His mouth becomes a taut little 'o' at my words. "Do you want to?"

"Yes. Let's get married now."