Demons x Malum

twenty eight •

monday, march 9, 2015

twenty eight •

"how'd you get out of school?" whitney questions with a laugh, her legging covered bum hitting the passenger seat.

I let out a fake cough, receiving a smile from the blond beside me in return, "I'm sick."

"funny." her words mix the sound of my phone vibrating.

michael: where's my baby? :(

me: I'm sick at home :/

michael: can I come by later?

me: id rather you not. I don't want to get you sick :(

michael: you took care of me when I was sick, besides, I'd catch anything if it meant I got to kiss you ;)

me: as tempting as it sounds, I'm holding my foot down. I don't want you to be contaminated. I'll see you soon xx

I turn my phone on silent, my gut filling with guilt, as soon as my hands find my steering wheel.

"boyfriend?" whitney chuckles, turning the radio station to something more pleasing to her own ears.

"yeah."

"god, it's so weird to say boyfriend to you." whitney shakes her head, pushing light colored hair out of her face.

"you gotta problem?"

"you tryna fight?" whitney challenges, raising her eyebrow up, a playful grin lacing her lips. it's nice to see her happy after yesterday. "but no problem, its just different that's all."

"not many gay guys around school, huh?" I chuckle along, speeding along the highway to where her appointment is at.

"not really, just you, michael, luke, and ashton. it's kinda funny that your all friends too."

"luke's not gay."

she snorts, "oh yeah, that's why I caught ashton practically eating his dïck off the other day."

"no fücking way," I retort, gob smacked that my best friend wouldn't tell me when he got a good old fashioned blow job – whether it be from a girl or boy.

"yes fücking way. he was moaning way to loud for what those janitor closets can reduce."

"that's funny as fück."

"tell me about it." whitney giggles one last time, before turning the music up, and causing a silent ride the rest of the way.

+++

"whitney hall?" whitney stands, pushing down the wrinkles in her t-shirt, and taking one step before stopping.

"I can't do this." she retracts, sitting back down in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, and shaking her head vigorously.

"yes you can, whit." I run her back gently, hoping to calm the shaking girl beside me.

"come with me. please?" she looks to me with wide eyes, her forehead creasing with worry, and I can't help but fall into her trap.

"let's get this shït over with." whitney and I stand, taking drowsy steps toward the women doctor standing by the dark wooden door.

"whitney, and, you are?" the women to which I don't know the name of, searches the clipboard she holds for any remnants of pen that inks the page with my name.

"this is calum hood, my boyfriend." whitney smiles, and the petite women nods.

"a-alrighty then. shall we get started?" the doctor fakes her smile, for nobody wants to be here right now, obviously for different reasons. the doctor is forced to give immature teenagers pregnancy tests, whitney may or may not be pregnant with a douche bag's baby, which only leaves me – the idiot that will have to explain this mess to an insecure michael.

"we shall." whitney chuckles sadly, opening the heavy door and stepping through, the brunette doctor following close behind but making sure to glare at me before shuffling close behind whitney.

"room 93." (a/n *winks*) the doctor states, watching a very nervous whitney open the door, and step into the florescent lighted room.

"we're going to make this very quick, so stay still." I don't pay attention much going on, only knowing that I'm here for the sake of whitney, and will definitely have some issues with michael later.

"I'm pregnant."

+++

michael: don't talk to me again.

me: what're your talking about?

michael: don't play that innocent card with me. my cousin saw you with whitney at a pregnancy care center or some shït.

me: it's not what it looks like princess, I swear.

michael: when were you going to tell me? tomorrow, next year, never? when where you going to tell me that whitney is pregnant?

me: your being too rash rn michael. just let me explain.

michael: no. just,, fück you, calum. I'll see you around.

me: bye...

+++
well son

looks like you fücked up

love you all - meagan