Never Truly Living

Chapter 4

It happened one day as she stepped out of the bath. She had wrapped her hair in a towel and then reached for her bathrobe, only to realize she had left it in her bedroom. So, she pulled the towel around her hair down to wrap around herself, when she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror.
She devoted very little energy to looking at herself in the mirror these days. Only a cursory glance before stepping out of the safety of her flat. She didn't much like to, or enjoy looking at herself lately.
Her body had become something close to alien for her. It was used to get around, utilitarian for her, no longer something to be fussed over. Once her bruises and scars had faded, she stopped paying much attention to it. She couldn't make herself care about her appearance or figure anymore. It didn't matter to her anymore.
What she saw in the mirror gave her pause, and very slowly, she turned to the side. What she saw was more pronounced that way. A spike of panic poked through her dam of emotions, making her pulse quicken. She brought her hand up to a small swelling in her stomach. She stood up straighter, and sucked in her stomach as much as she could. The little swelling didn't go away.
She stared at her frowning reflection, her blue-green eyes staring wide at her. She hadn't noticed the small bump since it was barely there, just a small bit of swelling. Tons of possibilities ran through her head, she ran her hand over the small bump in her abdomen. But one possibility kept going to the front of her mind. That possibility was making hard for her to breathe.
Vesper stared at herself in the mirror, noticing that her chest was slightly fuller, barely noticeable, maybe a half size bigger. But noticeably larger, despite the weight she'd lost and been unable to put back on.
Her mind was running light years ahead, her breath coming in short gasps. No, they would've found it. They would've tested me for it. They would've told me, unless... Then a thought struck her, and it all made sense. If the circumstances were different, she might've laughed.

The night before that day, in their fancy hotel room in Venice, their final night together. She was shaken at seeing Gettler on the canal, and the two of them had a touch more champagne than they should have. They were careless, the forgotten box of condoms was left in one of their bags on the floor. Then they did it again the next morning. It was stupid, she knew, but they were so in love and she was so concerned with the fact that she would need to betray James, and that she could possibly be killed.
But before that, they'd been careful. So careful. It must have happened then.
She'd must have gotten pregnant the day she almost died in Venice, and that's why the doctors hadn't caught it. It was too early, they probably tested her when she arrived, but it would've come up negative, even if they tested her a week later. It was probably too early to show up. And no one would've known.

Her numbness and detachment from reality had meant she simply didn't notice the changes in her body. She had been connecting the lack of her period over the last few months to the trauma from Venice, the healing of her bruised and broken body, and the emotional trauma she had.
But now, she realized with a sickening, sinking feeling, she had been completely wrong. James Bond had given her a souvenir of their beautiful, yet far too brief time together, and he could never know about it.

She didn't know how long she'd been crumbled on the bathroom floor. But she was in shock, she was shocked right to her core. Her body had healed, and she knew her mind would too, eventually.
But now, she felt so broken, hopeless, and so, so numb. She felt as if those emotions were crushing her, pushing her down.
The feeling of guilt filled her, it was a different guilt than the one she'd felt before, this one made her, for the first time in all these months, want to cry. She wanted to break down into sobs. This guilt surprised her with how strong it was, it sliced through her numbness and cut her into her bones. She wanted to cry for this child, who could never meet their father and would be cursed with a mother who could never be completely there, never truly living.
She felt so helpless, trapped in this state of survival. Her future never never certain, her past never true. She had no real freedom. What would MI6 do if they found out? What would M do to her? She couldn't tell her. She knew that much.
She had no idea if it was even safe for her to see a doctor on her own. Would MI6 be keeping tabs on her medical records? Could they do that? She had no idea. She couldn't even think. She was freezing, her hair was still soaking wet and she was naked, crumpled in a heap on the cold tile of her bathroom floor.
And for the first time in a long time, she thought about James Bond. She remembered the way he had found her that night in Montenegro. Cold, sitting in the shower in her dress, how he came and kissed the blood of her hands, how he held her and let her cry. He had saved her that night, the night she started falling in love with him. Oh, how she wished he was here to save her now. She didn't care how it was weak, how thoughts of him were off-limits, and dangerous.
She loved him with all her heart, she still loved him. She wanted the firm warmth of him next to her, she wanted to hear his deep voice assure her, wanted to feel his strong arms around her.
Suddenly she wondered about what James would think of her now, laying helpless and broken on the bathroom floor, too numb and detached from reality to realise her condition, to give their child the care they deserved. The thought of this scorn spurred her into action.
She stood up, quivering slightly, and left the bathroom to see the flat completely dark. She walked into her bedroom, surprised to find it was nearly ten o'clock. She'd been in there for several hours.
She went to her dresser and pulled on a pair of simple pajamas. She shut the blinds and crawled into her bed, shutting her eyes against the unbidden images that came.
James and her, on the beach, him telling her he loved her. James in his wheelchair after they'd transferred the money, when she'd realized the kind of man he was and how deeply she was in love with him. The immediate need and longing she felt for him at that moment. The memory of his face swam in her mind and stole her breath. She felt the dam she worked so hard to keep up, crumble.
Every single emotion she had pushed back these past months threatened to burst out. She tried to hold it back, but the emptiness of her bed, and the room, the emptiness of her life suddenly struck her. She was alone, was to have and raise this child alone, completely independent. And the thoughts struck her, things that would never be; James with their child. James rocking a baby, James reading their child to sleep, the life they had dreamed of.
Then the tears came, she sobbed for the father James would never get the chance to be, she wept for the child in her womb, and she wept for herself, her unlucky, numb self. She sobbed like she never had before, cried until she had no tears left, her throat ached and her head throbbed. And when she was spent, she slipped off into sleep.