This Man Confessed
Page 28
‘I’m okay.’ I step back and pick my bag up from where I dumped it.
‘You’re not okay, Ava.’
‘Something hasn’t agreed with me, that’s all.’ My hand is twitching by my side.
‘For fuck sake, lady! You’re at the fucking doctor’s, so don’t tell me you’re fine!’ He clutches at his hair and shouts as he swings his body away from me in frustration.
‘I’m not pregnant.’ I blurt quickly, but then suddenly contemplate the horrific thought of him not wanting me if he thinks that. My heart constricts painfully in my chest. I feel sick again.
‘What?’ He’s quickly facing me, his eyes shocked, his body twitching. He really does want this badly.
I fight my natural reflex, trying desperately to keep my hands by my side. ‘I’ve had it confirmed, Jesse.’
‘Then why are you throwing up all over the place?’
‘I have a bug.’ My excuse is feeble, but by the look on his face, which I’m definitely not mistaking as devastation, he believes me. ‘You failed. My period came.’
He doesn’t know what to say. His eyes are flicking all over the bathroom, and he’s still twitching. My fear is only strengthened by his reaction to my lie. I’m confused, exhausted and utterly heartbroken. No baby equals no Jesse. It’s all very clear now.
‘I’m not happy about this. I’m taking you home where I can keep an eye on you.’ He takes my hand, but I pull it away, bristling immediately at his comment. He’s not happy? He wants to keep an eye on me? What, to check if I’m bleeding?
‘You’re never happy with me.’ I look him square in the eyes. ‘I’m always doing something to upset you. Have you thought that perhaps you would be less not happy without me around?’
‘No!’ He looks horrified ‘I’m worried, that’s all.’
‘Well, don’t be. I’m fine.’ I snap, leaving the ladies in a complete haze.
I walk out of the Doctor’s, straight into the chemist outside of the surgery and hand my prescription over the counter, then sit myself in a chair and watch as Jesse paces up and down outside with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. Returning my body forward, I notice the pharmacist glancing up at me every now and again, and it’s then I realise he’s probably thinking that I eat my pills. The temptation to explain myself nearly makes me stand and approach the counter, but he calls my name, and I’m approaching to take the paper bag from him.
‘Thank you,’ I smile before making my escape, but only to go and face my brooding man outside.
‘What’s that?’ His eyes are fixed on the bag.
‘Back-up pills.’ I hiss in his face. ‘Now we know that I’m not pregnant, I want to stay that way.’
His shoulders slump and his head drops. I’m battling consuming guilt at his reaction to my news, but I have to ignore it. Sidestepping him, I start walking away, my legs a little shaky, my heart pounding relentlessly in my chest.
‘You’re not coming home, are you?’ he calls after me.
I squeeze the bulge back in my throat and march on. No, I’m not going home, but the plan was for just five days so I can avoid being caught lying to him, then worry about the hospital when I get an appointment. But his words carry an air of finality, and more worryingly, he’s not demanding that I stay with him. If I remove this baby from my life, it’s becoming quite obvious that I’ll be removing Jesse, too. That thought alone has my emotions taking hold. A life without Jesse?
I walk against the breeze, my face wet with tears.
Chapter 9
The empty feeling was inevitable. The hollow, desolate, miserable feeling was inevitable. But the overwhelming guilt that has swamped me was not so expected. I fought off twinges here and there, when he was in front of me, looking so defeated, but now I’m consumed by it. And I’m furious for feeling like this. The lack of urgency to chase my scan appointment is also screwing with my mind. It’s Friday. It’s day number four without Jesse. My week has been a steady torture, and I know it’s never going to get better. My heart is slowly splitting, each day widening the crack until I know I’ll probably cease functioning. I’m close already. What hurts the most is the lack of contact, leaving me wondering if Jesse is drowning in vodka, which also means he’s probably drowning in women. I jump up from my desk and run to the toilets, throwing up immediately, but I don’t think this is morning sickness, or anytime of the day sickness. This is grief.
‘Ava, you really should go home. You’ve not been right all week.’ Sally’s concerned voice comes through the cubicle door. I heave myself up on a sigh and flush the chain before exiting to splash my face and wash my hands.
‘Stupid bug hanging around.’ I mutter. I glance at Sal and admire her grey pencil skirt and black blouse. She really has transformed. The dowdy A-line skirts and high necked shirts are a distant memory. I haven’t asked, but with this consistent new attire, I assume dating is going well. ‘Are you still seeing that internet bloke?’ I ask. I would refer to him by name, but I have no idea what he’s called.
‘Mick?’ She giggles. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘And it’s going well?’ I turn and lean against the sink, watching as she starts brushing down her skirt, then proceeds to smooth her high ponytail.
‘Yes!’ she squeals, making me jump. ‘He really is perfect, Ava.’
I smile. ‘What does he do?’
‘Oh, some sort professional nonsense. I don’t pretend to understand.’
I laugh. ‘Good.’ I was just about to say be yourself, but I think it’s a little too late for that. She certainly isn’t the old Sal anymore. I hear my phone shouting from my new desk. ‘Excuse me, Sal.’ I leave her in the mirror, re-applying her red lipstick.
Approaching my new, L-shaped, hardwood desk, I ignore the deep seated disappointment because I’m not hearing Angel, but I can’t ignore my exasperation when I see the caller is Ruth Quinn, my tiresome but infectiously enthusiastic client, whom I have spent way too much time on this week.
‘Hi, Ruth.’
‘Ava, you still sound terrible.’
I know, and I probably look terrible, too. ‘I’m feeling much better, Ruth.’ That’s because I’ve just emptied my stomach again.
‘Oh good. Can we arrange a meeting?’ She doesn’t sound so concerned for me, anymore.
‘Is there a problem?’ I ask, hoping to God there isn’t. I’m trying to keep this project as smooth as possible because even though Ruth seems pleasant enough, I predict a tricky customer if things don’t go her way.
‘No problem. I just want to clarify a few details.’
‘We can do that over the phone.’ I prompt.
‘I would prefer to see you.’ she informs me. I sag in my chair. Of course she would. She always prefers to see me. Her final invoice is going to be astronomical. One hour here and two hours there. She’ll have spent more money on my time than on the actual works. ‘Today.’ she adds.
I sag further on an audible groan. I am not ending my shitty week with Ruth Quinn. I practically started it with Ruth on Tuesday, and I’ve had a mid-week interlude on Wednesday. Anyway, it’s three in the afternoon. Does she think she’s my only client? I wouldn’t mind, but she spends ten minutes clarifying what has already been clarified, then the next hour feeding me endless cups of tea and trying to convince me to join her for drinks.
‘You’re not okay, Ava.’
‘Something hasn’t agreed with me, that’s all.’ My hand is twitching by my side.
‘For fuck sake, lady! You’re at the fucking doctor’s, so don’t tell me you’re fine!’ He clutches at his hair and shouts as he swings his body away from me in frustration.
‘I’m not pregnant.’ I blurt quickly, but then suddenly contemplate the horrific thought of him not wanting me if he thinks that. My heart constricts painfully in my chest. I feel sick again.
‘What?’ He’s quickly facing me, his eyes shocked, his body twitching. He really does want this badly.
I fight my natural reflex, trying desperately to keep my hands by my side. ‘I’ve had it confirmed, Jesse.’
‘Then why are you throwing up all over the place?’
‘I have a bug.’ My excuse is feeble, but by the look on his face, which I’m definitely not mistaking as devastation, he believes me. ‘You failed. My period came.’
He doesn’t know what to say. His eyes are flicking all over the bathroom, and he’s still twitching. My fear is only strengthened by his reaction to my lie. I’m confused, exhausted and utterly heartbroken. No baby equals no Jesse. It’s all very clear now.
‘I’m not happy about this. I’m taking you home where I can keep an eye on you.’ He takes my hand, but I pull it away, bristling immediately at his comment. He’s not happy? He wants to keep an eye on me? What, to check if I’m bleeding?
‘You’re never happy with me.’ I look him square in the eyes. ‘I’m always doing something to upset you. Have you thought that perhaps you would be less not happy without me around?’
‘No!’ He looks horrified ‘I’m worried, that’s all.’
‘Well, don’t be. I’m fine.’ I snap, leaving the ladies in a complete haze.
I walk out of the Doctor’s, straight into the chemist outside of the surgery and hand my prescription over the counter, then sit myself in a chair and watch as Jesse paces up and down outside with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. Returning my body forward, I notice the pharmacist glancing up at me every now and again, and it’s then I realise he’s probably thinking that I eat my pills. The temptation to explain myself nearly makes me stand and approach the counter, but he calls my name, and I’m approaching to take the paper bag from him.
‘Thank you,’ I smile before making my escape, but only to go and face my brooding man outside.
‘What’s that?’ His eyes are fixed on the bag.
‘Back-up pills.’ I hiss in his face. ‘Now we know that I’m not pregnant, I want to stay that way.’
His shoulders slump and his head drops. I’m battling consuming guilt at his reaction to my news, but I have to ignore it. Sidestepping him, I start walking away, my legs a little shaky, my heart pounding relentlessly in my chest.
‘You’re not coming home, are you?’ he calls after me.
I squeeze the bulge back in my throat and march on. No, I’m not going home, but the plan was for just five days so I can avoid being caught lying to him, then worry about the hospital when I get an appointment. But his words carry an air of finality, and more worryingly, he’s not demanding that I stay with him. If I remove this baby from my life, it’s becoming quite obvious that I’ll be removing Jesse, too. That thought alone has my emotions taking hold. A life without Jesse?
I walk against the breeze, my face wet with tears.
Chapter 9
The empty feeling was inevitable. The hollow, desolate, miserable feeling was inevitable. But the overwhelming guilt that has swamped me was not so expected. I fought off twinges here and there, when he was in front of me, looking so defeated, but now I’m consumed by it. And I’m furious for feeling like this. The lack of urgency to chase my scan appointment is also screwing with my mind. It’s Friday. It’s day number four without Jesse. My week has been a steady torture, and I know it’s never going to get better. My heart is slowly splitting, each day widening the crack until I know I’ll probably cease functioning. I’m close already. What hurts the most is the lack of contact, leaving me wondering if Jesse is drowning in vodka, which also means he’s probably drowning in women. I jump up from my desk and run to the toilets, throwing up immediately, but I don’t think this is morning sickness, or anytime of the day sickness. This is grief.
‘Ava, you really should go home. You’ve not been right all week.’ Sally’s concerned voice comes through the cubicle door. I heave myself up on a sigh and flush the chain before exiting to splash my face and wash my hands.
‘Stupid bug hanging around.’ I mutter. I glance at Sal and admire her grey pencil skirt and black blouse. She really has transformed. The dowdy A-line skirts and high necked shirts are a distant memory. I haven’t asked, but with this consistent new attire, I assume dating is going well. ‘Are you still seeing that internet bloke?’ I ask. I would refer to him by name, but I have no idea what he’s called.
‘Mick?’ She giggles. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘And it’s going well?’ I turn and lean against the sink, watching as she starts brushing down her skirt, then proceeds to smooth her high ponytail.
‘Yes!’ she squeals, making me jump. ‘He really is perfect, Ava.’
I smile. ‘What does he do?’
‘Oh, some sort professional nonsense. I don’t pretend to understand.’
I laugh. ‘Good.’ I was just about to say be yourself, but I think it’s a little too late for that. She certainly isn’t the old Sal anymore. I hear my phone shouting from my new desk. ‘Excuse me, Sal.’ I leave her in the mirror, re-applying her red lipstick.
Approaching my new, L-shaped, hardwood desk, I ignore the deep seated disappointment because I’m not hearing Angel, but I can’t ignore my exasperation when I see the caller is Ruth Quinn, my tiresome but infectiously enthusiastic client, whom I have spent way too much time on this week.
‘Hi, Ruth.’
‘Ava, you still sound terrible.’
I know, and I probably look terrible, too. ‘I’m feeling much better, Ruth.’ That’s because I’ve just emptied my stomach again.
‘Oh good. Can we arrange a meeting?’ She doesn’t sound so concerned for me, anymore.
‘Is there a problem?’ I ask, hoping to God there isn’t. I’m trying to keep this project as smooth as possible because even though Ruth seems pleasant enough, I predict a tricky customer if things don’t go her way.
‘No problem. I just want to clarify a few details.’
‘We can do that over the phone.’ I prompt.
‘I would prefer to see you.’ she informs me. I sag in my chair. Of course she would. She always prefers to see me. Her final invoice is going to be astronomical. One hour here and two hours there. She’ll have spent more money on my time than on the actual works. ‘Today.’ she adds.
I sag further on an audible groan. I am not ending my shitty week with Ruth Quinn. I practically started it with Ruth on Tuesday, and I’ve had a mid-week interlude on Wednesday. Anyway, it’s three in the afternoon. Does she think she’s my only client? I wouldn’t mind, but she spends ten minutes clarifying what has already been clarified, then the next hour feeding me endless cups of tea and trying to convince me to join her for drinks.
