You are not hearing this, you tell yourself, you are not hearing this! You envision the look on Henry's face if you decide to tell him this—you have to tell him this. You shake your head, wanting to put your head over your ears.
"What do you mean?" You ask the doctor. "It's been eleven weeks, and I'm here, what's the problem?"
"We cannot give you the injection until we know you are not pregnant."
"But—"
"I know this is an inconvenience, but we took blood and urine and we see the depo provera is substantially weakened in your system and it hasn't been twelve weeks. Come back in two weeks and test, and if you're negative, we will give you the shot."
You gasp. "Doctor—"
"Your injection seems to be weakening after an estimated eight weeks."
"Eight weeks?!" your eyes fill with tears, shaking your head. "So—"
"So, you need to be careful after eight weeks instead of ten or eleven," he nods. "I'm sorry, it's the best we can do."
Stella calling your name breaks into your thoughts. Your misting vision clears as you look at the ring on your hand. "Hey, you okay?"
You don't want to talk about it. You don't want to talk to anyone, not even Henry.
"You're scaring me," Stella whispers, taking your hand. "I won't tell anybody." She looks around and whispers even softer. "You and Henry fighting?"
We might be, you think.
"I see the way he looks at you," Stella encourages. "I'm sure you will work it out, okay?" She smiles. "If not, we'll beat him down with bags of potatoes!"
You hug her and she slowly brings her arms around you. "Thank you!"
"No problem," she says slowly. "Whatever it is, it's gonna be okay, alright?"
You nod, half believing her words. This was major.
You meet Henry at his trailer as you have every Friday for awhile now. You see him and you try to brighten.
He smiles and you smile, not quite trusting your voice yet. He kisses you in greeting and says, "Let me get my stuff. Stay here, Kal."
"Hey, boy," you say softly, petting him. "Hard day at the office?" You laugh softly as he licks your face in greeting.
He drives you to his home, and you sit as he starts a fire. "Did the shirts arrive today?"
"Uh, yeah, I got a notification on my phone."
"You really want to dress for the party?" he asks, laughing softly, bringing you a glass of wine and going back into the kitchen.
"I thought it'd be fun," you shrug. "Besides, we're just wearing shirts, really."
"Yeah, District 12 shirts."
"I thought it'd be simple, and it won't really feel like a costume, you dress up enough as it is." You sit, thinking of the party next weekend. Would he even want to go? How is going to react--
"Okay, what's going on?" He stands over you with a wooden tray of bread, butter and cheese with grapes.
"What?" you look up from your glass. Sometimes the man moves too quietly, you think.
"You're remarkably quiet," he smirks. "Everything okay?"
Your eyes drop to your lap, and your smile fades. How do you tell him?
"Wait, you had an appointment today, right?"
You can't look at him at first, but when you do, you regret it. He looks upset and angry and you want to melt into the floor.
He sits next to you, and looks at the glass of wine in your hands. His jaw tightens. "Okay. Start talking."
"I have to wait two weeks to take the shot." You stare at the fire.
"Why?"
"Because the drug weakened in my system."
"Shit."
"Henry—" you reach for him and he stiffens. "Henry!"
"If you knew that the damn thing didn't work—"
"Hold it," You raise a hand. "You think I actually knew that?"
"How could you not?"
"Easy enough," you say. "I don't normally do this. I don't sleep around!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I haven't been in a lot of relationships, especially like we are."
"You mean, unprotected-reckless?"
"Reckless." You repeat. "So I'm a reckless choice?"
"I didn't say that--" he shakes his head.
"I have my own shit, you know!" you snap. "I don't need you-have a place of my own back home, and I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you!" Tears sprang to your eyes, ruining your declaration of independence.
"I didn't say you couldn't," he says, coming close.
You back away, and he whispers your name as he extends his hand.
"I- I don't want it like this!" You shake your head. "I want you to want me..." I hit my chest hard, making him flinch. "for me! I don't want to be some burden, or a problem or—"
"What do you think that ring means?"
"I don't know!" you say, wiping your tears furiously. "Stella gasped when she saw it, said she'd tell me later, but we didn't have girl time this week—"
In two strides he has you in his arms. "I know you are not like that, alright? You don't need me, but you want me."
"Yes—"
He raises your hand with the ring on it. "Think, sweetheart, this is a—"
You look at it. "Triquetra."
"Know what it means?"
"Father, Son, Holy Spirit."
"Yes, that's the Catholic definition."
You take a deep breath. "Earth, sea and sky?"
"Well, that would be the pagans," he smiles gently. "But this is a promise ring. It means you are exclusively seeing someone who loves, honors and protects you."
"Not obey?" you joke.
He laughs. "Oh, that's an entirely different ring!" He kisses your ring. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together, alright?"
You look up at him hopefully. You've never felt so vulnerable, so wonderful, thrilled and scared.
"Come here," he purrs, closing his arms around you. You put your head on his chest and listen to the strong and steady beat of his heart. You close your eyes. "Now, what did the doctor say?"
"Going forward we should be careful after 8 weeks."
"Eight?!" he repeats.
"Yeah."
He takes a deep breath and sighs, "Alright."
"What if—"
"Let's wait and see, alright?" he says, looking down at you. "Whatever it is, we'll face head on."
You cuddle by the firelight and watch random movies, much like last weekend-plenty of kisses and hugs, but no sex. You try to be understanding, realizing that abstinence or protected sex would be the way to go until the follow up, but you miss how he feels, and at a time like this, his touch would be the ultimate comfort. He took it easy on you when you dueled and introduced archery instead, something he promised he would do, but there were mixed messages all around. Was he not touching you because he didn't want to-because now you represented a possible change in life? Was he not touching you because you are now precious and fragile, and he wants to be sure his seed stays intact? Was he being nice until he knew for sure and planned on making you his latest liaison?
During the weekend you kept looking at the ring. He gave it to you, didn't he?
After he falls asleep, you lay awake. You sniff his arm, which is draped over you. You run your cheek along it, kiss his hand and close your eyes to sharpen your other senses since your sight doesn't come into play.
Then he stirs.
You gasp softly as he turns you onto your back, and kisses you tenderly. You release a whispered cry of relief as your arms fold around him, welcoming him. Your heart aches for him. You rub your cheek against his stubbly one, and you are breathing hard. His body presses against you, his hips between your legs, his mouth at your throat, as your fingers stroke his back and neck. You want to say it, you want to, and you feel like a coward. You arch to him, tears coming to your eyes as your mouths finally meet and mate. He kisses them away.
He grinds against you and as you kiss, he unzips your hoodie and pushes it off your shoulders. You help him get his pullover and shirt off, and you return to each other's kiss desperately. With one hand he unfastens and unzips his jeans to remove them, and before you can do it, he tugs successfully at your leggings, sliding them down your legs. You feel shy as the air feels cool between your legs, your panties already wet. He trails kisses up your legs, his fingers caressing you intimately and making you raise your hips and remove them. You spread yourself under him in offering, feeling emboldened by need, by vulnerability, by love.
He crawls over you slowly and kicks his underwear off. You hear the telltale sound of ripping packaging and feel him shift his weight. He kisses you deeply as he gently moves inside you and begins to move. He still feels so good—his whole body, every sight, feel, and scent, his touch—close as before. He will not leave you, you believe it now.
Though you appreciate his making the adjustment, you wish you could feel him again. You know how much larger the tip can be than the shaft, how he surged and glided inside you so deeply and your body clasped him even as he seemed to widen and fill you. You could feel his main vein sometimes, throbbing as he controlled it, taking you both higher till you exploded together. It held him back, held you apart, and you found his embrace tighter, his kisses and touch more passionate.
"Love, honor, protect." He whispers against your lips before gently kissing your ringed hand. He intertwines his fingers with yours.
"Love, honor, protect," you whisper back. You lean up to kiss him holding him with your other hand. And no matter what, you would. Come what may.