𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

39 || Lifesaver

Her fingers softly, hesitantly brush through my hair as she urges me to respond.

I don't regret it. But something I've experienced a total of three times in my life settles in my chest at the realization. It's that same something that occurs when adrenaline floods into the bloodstream and puts the human body on high alert.

Panic.

I slowly rise to my full height,

Like I'd said, I'd experienced the sensation of panic a total of three times. The first was fourteen years ago, the other two were in the past month, at her expense. Now, she was doing it again.

I toss the shirt onto the ground, and stare down at her. "I regret being careless enough not to use protection with you."

"I'm clean." A light, bitter laugh pushes the few feet between us farther apart. "Not all of us whores go around having unprotected sex. Although, the same can't be said for manwhores who can't keep their dicks in their pants." Accusation filters through her eyes, that beneath the moonlight, sparkle an emerald green I can't seem to forget.

I let out a humourless breath. "I'm clean." I didn't need a test to tell me so.

"That's surprising." She spits.

I wonder how surprised she'd be if she knew just how clean I was.

But I don't get to share the details of my sex life with her because she turns and makes a move to leave.

My hands itch to stop her. Instead, I stand my ground and desperately try to ease away the panic burning bright in my chest. "Are you on any contraceptive?"

She stills and grits her response, "No." The silence between us grows heavier until she turns and pins me with a hard stare. "Is that a problem?"

Behind the venom in her tone, lies a stubborn woman who's more likely to act out than think rationally.

That sense of panic bursts into something so heavy, my lungs begin to constrict and I feel on the brink of a claustrophobic episode.

It's a reminder that this woman isn't one I should want. We wouldn't ever work.

I don't let her see the way I'm slowly losing my mind. I simply offer a controlled shrug. "You'd be a terrible mother."

She doesn't offer a rebuke. She simply stares at me until she can't stand the sight of me anymore and quietly makes her way to the doors that lead into the bathroom.

I watch her but even then my vision begins to blur, my hands shake as I try to regulate my breathing. It doesn't seem to work, that is until she speaks in a voice so small it l forces all my undivided attention to go to her.

"I do." Her hand squeezes the handle of the door, as she looks to the ground.

"You do what?" I breathe.

I don't know what's worse, the pressure in my chest that leads me to believe I'm on the brink of death, the fact that she doesn't look at me or what she says next.

"I do regret it."

. . .

My wife locks herself in the bathroom.

I lock myself in the bedroom after managing to slip into a nearby secondary bathroom and shower.

I don't bother turning the lights on, nor do I bother letting anyone in to have it cleaned. I barely manage to get dressed.