Kayla: 8 weeks pregnant
The elevator arrives at the fourteenth floor and the doors slide open, revealing a small foyer where I am greeted by white walls, a brown leather chair and in the middle a round, dark wooden table. A bunch of lonely flowers that look like they were once beautiful hang lifeless in a vase of discoloured water on the table, next to an empty ash tray. Beyond that, there is a window with a view of the Long Beach skyline that looks out past the city. In the distance, the blue waters slope peacefully over one another, saying goodbye for now to their aggressive and angered waves that sprayed a salty, ice cold mist during the wintery season. A gentle breeze enters through the window and strokes my skin as it passes, sending a cooling shiver down my spine. It's a stunning scene and I momentarily stand paralyzed by the view, sinking in the beauty of the city beneath me.
There is a large mirror that hangs on one of the walls and I take a long, hard look at my face. My skin is usually naturally tanned, but now I look pale faced with dark circles looming around my eyes, making my grey eyes appear overly large. Everyone always says that pregnant woman have this glow, but then why do I look sick? If not haunted. I place my purse on the table and retrieve my lip gloss and apply a glossy layer to my lips, before pinching my cheeks and hoping for a little colour. I scowl with frustration at my brown hair which hangs motionless down my back, and my only option is to restrain my disobedient hair into a ponytail and hope that I look somewhat presentable.
Gathering up my purse, I desert any attempt to make my face look more appealing and nervously make my way towards the door. I freeze in my steps; maybe I shouldn't be doing this. Damion's going to freak, but how much and how far, I have no idea. Will I be able to face rejection? Abandoning my thoughts, I knock tentatively at the door and pray a silent prayer.
Seconds later, the door flies open, revealing Damion and holy hell, he's been working out. He's in black sweatpants that hang loosely at his hips, showing off the brand of his boxer brief, and a grey sleeveless T-shirt which is dark with sweat. He grasps the towel that hangs around his neck and wipes the trickling sweat of his forehead; no one should ever look this good after a workout.
"Kayla," Damion finally speaks and I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching the rate of my heart. His eyebrows are raised in surprise and his mouth slightly hangs open, "I-I wasn't expecting you, is everything okay?" he stutters, driving his fingers through his tousled hair.
It takes me a moment to find my voice. "Um, actually," I mutter before tearing my eyes away from his intense scrutiny, my cheeks flushing as I stare blindly down at my knotted fingers.
"Do you want to come inside?" he asks after a pause, looking at me in expectant. I nod, and he steps aside, his eyes following me as I hurry inside.
He closes the door and I follow him through to the vast living area, a spacious but cosy room with a floor-to-ceiling window which overlooks the city. Two, large, navy blue sofas which could each hold four adults comfortably, are faced opposite each other in the middle of the room, surrounding a large, squared rug and a glass centre table. An oversized television with built in speakers is positioned in between both sofas at the far end, and to my surprise, leaning in the corner of the room is an acoustic guitar, which looks like it has caught dust from its lonely abandonment. Tucked in the corner and next to the great windows is a glass dining table seated for six, with plush black chairs.
This is a pretty big and lavish apartment for only one person. Oh shit! What if has a girlfriend? A wife? Maybe even kids? It's never crossed my mind before. My eyes scan the room for toys or any female possessions but there are none. There is a large photo of him and two beautiful blonde women hanging on the wall. Who are they? He's never mentioned his relationship status to me before, but surely he can't be married or have kids, he seems far too young and doesn't look like the settling down type of guy.
On the right beside us is the kitchen, and Damion leads me inside. All white with grey and red worktops and another table, but this one small and intimate that seats two. The kitchen isn't as tidy as the dining area but it's understandable, I mean he's a guy. An opened box of pizza rests on the worktop, surrounded by crumbs, and the sink is overflowing with day's worth of overdue washing up.
"Would you like me to take your jacket?" Damion asks, turning around to face me. I shake my head and wrap my jacket tight around my stomach. He slips his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and sucks at his bottom lip, awkwardly looking around at the kitchen and then back at me. "Sorry, the place is a bit of a mess," he looks down at his sweatpants, "And I've just been working out," he explains.
"It's okay," I smile shyly; "I should have called first."
"Well, would you like a drink?" he then asks. I blink at him and he continues, "Tea, coffee, water, juice?"
"Yes, water, please," I murmur.
He nods and makes his way around the medium sized kitchen with ease, fishing out glasses whilst I stand watching him, feeling out of place. I take a seat at the table and stare down at my entwined fingers. How on earth am I going to break this to him?
"It's really good to see you again, Kayla," he says simply, his voice warm and soft as he pours me a glass of water, and for some strange reason I find myself blushing. My heart begins to pound at a frantic tempo and I don't know whether it's because of my hysterical nerves, or simply the way that he said my name, pronouncing every syllable ever so delicately and making it sound a billion times better than it is.
"You too," I finally respond, blushing once more as I nervously tuck a loose strand of hair from my ponytail behind my ear.
He looks away with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips and his eyes are alight humour, as if he's enjoying some private joke. He places the bottle of water back into the fridge and I watch his every move. I am utterly thrown by the sight of this man; he looks so good with his hair unruly and his shirt damp with sweat. My memories of him did not do him justice, he's not purely good looking - he's breathtaking. And I'm here, sitting in his kitchen, about to announce that I'm pregnant with his chid. My eyes roll to the back of my head as I sink into the chair, reality dawning on my purpose of being here, not to lust at this epitome male beauty but to break the news that I'm having his baby.
"Here." He hands me my water and our fingers brush ever so briefly, a current zapping through my body like I've touched an exposed wire. It must be the nerves.
"Thank you," I mutter, my voice soft and wavering. He looks down at me and cocks his head to one side, regarding me intently, and I think he's trying to suppress a smile. My cheeks flush once more and I roll my eyes at myself. Will you get a grip, Stewart.
I bring the cold water to my lips, sucking at the glass like a baby taking its first sips as I slowly swallow the water, buying myself time as I consider how I'm going to tell him. Damion, I'm pregnant with your baby. I'm having your baby. You got me pregnant. There's a soon to be human growing inside of me and it's because of you. Okay, maybe not the last one.
"You okay?" Damion asks as he leans back against the counter top, his voice soft as he tilts his head to the side once more, gazing quizzically at me. "You seem a little out of it," he mutters.
"I'm fine," I murmur, as I bring the glass from my mouth and to the table, simply staring down at is as my fingers twist furiously around its frame. Fine? I should probably tell him now that I've got his attention; he seems calm and relaxed, so maybe he won't go bat-shit crazy after all.
"Is everything with that old boyfriend of yours all right?"
"Yes, things are fine."
"Is everything at work okay?" Damion continues to probe.
"Yes."
"Kayla, then what's wrong?" he questions, his tone a little more forceful, "It looks like you haven't slept for a couple of nights."
Well, thanks. My voice is lost somewhere deep in my throat and I simply continue to play with my fingers. A sad and terrified melancholy grips and tightens around my heart, and I have an overpowering urge to cry. He stands a small distance from me with his eyes firmly locked onto me as I look up at him. I'm not going to cry, I mustn't cry. Reciting this mantra several times in my head, I attempt to hold back my tears, but they have a mind of their own.
Tears pool in my eyes and then spill down my face, like a river breaking its banks, allowing a torrent of tears to stream down my face and I can no longer hold back. I take a deep breath, steadying all that I have left of it; it's now or never. "I'm pregnant," I whisper, my voice hoarse from unbidden tears.
He stills, every muscle in his body freezing as he gazes at me, and very slowly all colour drains from his face. "What?" he whispers, ashen.
"I'm pregnant," I choke, and my tears start afresh.
His brow furrows with disbelief and he simply stares at me like I'm an exhibit in a freak show, or a mad woman speaking a foreign language. Eyes wide, he shakes his head in incomprehension, "How?"
How ... How? Does he really want me to go through the details? I gaze down at my knotted fingers, tears still cascading down my cheeks. Now I wish I never tied my hair up, because at least I would have easily been able to hide beneath it and not cry with my full face on show and exposed to his scrutiny. I want to wail, not a lady like whimper but a howling at the moon type of crying. I feel so embarrassed ... so stupid. I take a deep breath to suppress the urge, but the growing lump at the back of my throat expands, allowing anew tears to gush from my eyes as I sob into the palm of my hands.
"Is it mine?" he questions, his face showered with confusion.
I nod and his stance changes immediately, his eyes hardening to stone as he runs a hand through his hair, tugging it as he does. He looks around the room, as if he's lost all sense of direction and then stalks out of the kitchen and into the living area, leaving me alone with the silence. My mouth falls open and my head darts to the door in confusion. Oh shit . . . Where's he going?
I wipe my cheeks with my hands, trying to calm myself, but more disobedient tears fall in protest. There are the sounds coming from the living room, like bottles clanking against one another and moments later, Damion returns into the kitchen, looking shaken as he clutches hold of a golden brown alcohol, labelled Bell's Whiskey.
The bottle loudly clanks against on the worktop as Damion retrieves a glass from the cupboard. I sit small and afraid in the chair, just watching at him, unable to speak as I watch him pour himself a glass of whiskey, filling it quarter way. Fuck, he seems mad – really mad. He then takes a swing and winces, closing his eyes as he brings the glass back to the worktop, lowering his head as he exhales. He places both hands on the edge of the worktop and then reopens his eyes, looking to the ceiling as if he's looking beyond the rows of apartments above him and into the heavens to God himself.
"Shit!" He bangs his fist against the table, making me jump as he drives his hand through his hair. He exhales and shakes his head before turning to face me and my heart tightens as I gape at him, a million and one expressions evident on his face.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, sounding more of a soundless choke.
He looks at me and his clenched eyebrows soften. Deeply exhaling, his strolls over to the table and deeply exhales before pulling out the other chair and sitting opposite me. My head lowers, not wanting to meet his gaze at such a close proximity and he simply sits staring at me, not saying a word.
Moments pass and whilst tugging at my bottom lip, I apprehensively meet his gaze, sitting up and squaring my shoulders in preparation for what he's about to say. His eyes that colour the ocean are soft as he fixes me with his stare. Both elbows rest on the table and his fingers hover above his chin, every now and again tracing his lips as he continuingly stares, blue eyes to grey.
"When did you find out?" he finally asks, his voice gentle but his face impassive.
"Yesterday." He winces and closes his eyes, lowering his head as his fingers take charge, massaging deep into his temple like he has a burning headache. Did I say something wrong? "I'm sorry," I mutter.
"What have we done?" he then asks, shaking and raising his head. My eyebrows rise in surprise to see that his lips are twisting up in humour, as if he's trying to restrain a smile. I bite my bottom lip, trying to suppress a laugh but uncontrollable giggles break free. He smiles, a wide toothed smile and he joins me, both of us curling over in laughter like we've been told the funniest joke. After minutes of hysterical laughing, my smile fades and my heart grips with fear as realisation dawns; he's right, what have we done? We're having a baby... My eyes begin to prick with tears and my chin begins to tremble.
"This isn't a joke," I then sob, and Damion's eyes flash open and they widen in alarm. His smile fades from his face as he sees the afresh tears in my eyes. "We haven't even known each other for five minutes and now we're having a baby together, Damion. This might not be a big deal to you because you can simply laugh it off and pretend that none of this is really happening, but it is to me and I'm scared." My voice breaks as a tear sashays down my cheek, "I'm really scared." He gapes at me warily and I think he's speechless, his opened mouth closing as his Adam's apple disappears into the back of his throat. "You need to think real long and hard about this because we're having a baby, and yes, it is yours."
I grab my purse and turn on my heel and without giving him a second glance, I disappear from the kitchen into the living room and walk towards the door, ignoring the tears that are sashaying down my face. When I reach the door, I hear the sound of the chair scraping against the Kitchen floor as Damion sprints from the kitchen, running towards me. "Kayla, no, wait!" he calls, but I ignore him. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand fumble with the door lock with the other, my fingers feeling like they've turned the consistency of Jell-O. Why won't this damned door open?
Damion grabs hold of my arm and spins me around to face him and for the first time since he found out I was pregnant, his blue eyes are deepened with fear. He loosens his grip before momentarily closing his eyes. He reopens his eyes, "Look, I'm sorry. This is a big shock for me, too, and I'm sorry that I don't know how to react to all of this. I've never really thought of what my reaction would be when I'm told that I'm going to be a Dad." He exhales, "Just calm down and let's go sit down and talk about it, leaving now isn't going to make things any easier." He's right ... I look up at him and it becomes clear; the fear writ large in his eyes is the same that reflects mine.
My shoulders relax and his lips turn ever so upright with relief as my tense body softens under his grip. I nod, and he lowers his hand away from my arm and steps aside, where I walk past him and back into the living room and taking a seat at the edge of one of the sofas. He joins me, sitting at the opposite sofa with the centre table between us. He places his elbows on his knees and rests his head on his enclosed fists.
We sit in silence, only the ticking sound of the clock to be heard. "Do you want to keep it?" he finally asks, breaking the silence. I nod and he cups buries his head into the palm of his hands, "It's just that I'm not ready to be a Dad and we don't even know each other, like how are we supposed to bring up a kid?"
My brows pucker together in annoyance. "And do you think I'm ready to be a Mom? I know this is bad timing and I could list a million and one reasons why I'm not ready to have this child, but we're the ones that have fucked up and it's not this baby's fault and it shouldn't have to deal with the consequences."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"Me? It didn't take me alone to create this baby."
"I know, I'm sorry," he mutters, gliding his hands through his hair and pulling as he does. "So how certain are you? Cause I mean, I know those things can be wrong sometimes."
"Pretty certain, I'm sure about seven tests won't lie."
He opens his mouth to respond but his mobile, which I didn't notice was there before, begins to vibrate against the glass centre table. We both stare at his iPhone as a picture of a red haired girl, her lips the same deep red as her locks smiles, tugging at the corner of her lips appears on the screen under the Caller ID 'Rosie'. His eyed widen in alarm and he snatches the phone from out of my view, clicking decline and shoving it deep into his pocket. He coughs and shuffles in his seat, gliding his hands against his thighs as if ironing his sweatpants into his skin as he glances at me. He has uncomfortable written all over him.
I burrow my brows; I'm guessing that caller wasn't a sister. I shouldn't be bothered, he has his own life. I look away and clear my throat, tightening my ponytail as I stand. "Look, I should really go. I think you just need time to think about it and so do I," I say as I pick up my purse, avoiding eye contact.
He quickly sprints upright and comes to my side and clasps onto my arm, "Look, Kayla," he pauses as in search for the right words to say, "Please, just stay for a little longer." His phone begins to sound again and the bright light glows within his pocket. He tenses his jaw and continues, "We can't just, um" he glances at his pocket as it continues to vibrate, "leave, things like, uh."
"Why don't you just get that? It's probably important. Don't let me stop you, I'm going anyways," I say.
"No, no, no," he says as he follows after me. "Okay, listen to me. This is going to sound crazy and I know this is probably the last thing that you want to do, but just hear me out." I pause and turn to him, my eyebrows raised in expectation. "Move in with me," he suggests.
I pucker my brows at the absurdity of his suggestion and I shake my head. "I can't do that."
"No, look it's a great idea," he says, his head nodding in agreement. "There's nothing we can do about that's happened and you're right, we've got to deal with the consequences. If we're going to bring this thing up," I frown at him as he continues, "I mean the baby, then we need to get to know each other and I need to be there to support you.
"I just can't, moving in together is not going to solve anything, I don't want to just barge into your life like that."
"But you already have and you can't change that. Look," he says, and extends his arm, "I've got enough space."
"It's not about space..."
"Then what's stopping you?"
"The fact that I just about know your name..."
He pauses and through a sigh he says, "Please."
And in that moment, I see utter sincerity written in his eyes as they stare directly into mine, and almost automatically, I close my eyes. Questions on end swirl throughout my mind but I'm just going to ignore them, just for now. I mean what's the worst that can happen? A lot of things. I reopen my eyes to see that he's still staring at me and my cheeks fill with the slightest bit of colour as I look to the ground.
"Okay," I say, before returning my gaze to his, "Okay, let's do it."
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Chelcia x
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