Temptation [h.s.] ✔

Chapter 56.

"I have to be calm. I have to keep okay for the baby."

He leans forward again and rests his forearms on the table. "The thing about addiction, Liv, is that it knows no bounds. It will destroy everything in its path if you let it—including a baby.

The power of it is stronger than anything. If it had a total hold over you, you'd be powerless to stop it. Think about that."

I shake my head. "The baby needs me."

"It does. That's correct. But maybe you need you, too. Maybe your addiction isn't as strong as you think and your hormones have only served to heighten your emotions."

"This isn't about my insecurities."

"On the contrary, I think it's very much about them. Think about it, Liv. You haven't known each other long. You'd barely touched on a relationship before you found out you were going to be parents. That's a huge upheaval on people who have been together for years and planned a baby, let alone a brand-new couple who were surprised by one. Now, I'm not saying call Harry and live happily ever after. You both have issues you have to work through, and perhaps some time apart is for the best. I'm saying stop and think about what's really affecting you, and for your own sanity, look past what you perceive as your addiction. You can't hide behind it for long."

+        +        +        +

"Thanks for the ride," I say, getting out of March's car.

"Any time, Liv. Remember what I said, and call me, okay?"

I nod and wave as he drives away. I step into the lobby and hold my cramping stomach.

Agonizing hunger pains are assaulting my stomach, but the sharp cramps say that I'm not eating any time soon. They say that I'm about to hug my friggin' toilet yet again.

I've kept water down for an hour.

Go me.

I run into my apartment and go straight to the bathroom. I dry heave into the toilet, gripping the sides. I stay still, letting it run its course, and wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead. 

Then I flush the bile down and walk back out into the front room.

I don't expect Harry to be sitting on my sofa.

But he is.

All six foot two of him. Complete with messy hair, a stubble-covered jaw, and eyes that pierce my heart.

Four days since I canceled my doctor's appointment to avoid him and he turned up with ginger cookies. Four days since I looked into those dark eyes I adore, brushed his fingers with mine as I took the package of cookies, breathed the same air as him.

"What are you doing here?" I manage, feeling my stomach twist in a very different way. Can my stomach get a break? Anyone?

"You look bloody awful."

"Yeah, vomiting will do that to a girl," I snap, turning away from him and getting a glass of water.

"The biscuits don't work?"

I swallow and shake my head. "Nothing works." I bring the glass to my lips to wet them, making sure I don't swallow any.

"You didn't drink any of that," he says quietly, standing next to me.

I set the glass down, ignoring the warmth flooding my body at the sound of his voice. "I don't feel like vomiting it up yet."

He brushes his fingers down my pale cheek and I step back, the movement killing me.