Deep (Stage Dive 4)

“Nice double negative. No, Ben.”

A grunt of dismay.

“Go to sleep.”

The world seemed still, almost perfectly quiet. A car passed by outside and the wind blew around the building. Everyone else would be fast asleep at this hour. I studied the water mark on the ceiling, the shadows cast by the dodgy old lamp on my bedside table. For some reason, being alone with him in the dark seemed too dangerous. The light could stay on.

“I’m gonna be a father,” he said, eyes closed.

My whole body tensed instantly. “So I heard.”

“Wasn’t planning on having kids.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

Drunk or not, he sounded so definite, so sure. It was like a dagger to my heart, the pain overwhelming. It hurt to breathe. “Not even when you were a little older?”

A sharp shake of the head in the negative.

Well.

I didn’t know what to say. My throat constricted and my eyes stung. He’d had little more choice in becoming a parent than I had. We were both being thrown into this, and there were plans more than mine being disrupted. Still, he wasn’t the one whose body was being hijacked, for all intents and purposes. Not that I hadn’t had the option to end the pregnancy. I did, but I hadn’t taken it. My heart had made its decision and there was no going back. Still, it was hard not to be all bitter and betrayed over his announcement. I didn’t even have the luxury of being able to get blind rotten drunk. And believe me, dealing with all this sober sucked. My rational mind coughed up so many plausible, reasonable excuses for him—he was surprised, he was drunk, give him a chance to think things over, blah blah blah.

But fuck them all. Fuck him.

I’d kind of already been expecting the worst, to be in this alone. Now I knew. Twice he’d disappointed me; this couldn’t be a surprise. Nothing had changed, not really. I slid a hand over my stomach, spread my fingers over the ever so slight bulge there. It might have just been my imagination, but I could feel her already getting busy in there, growing away. We’d be fine. We’d manage.

“Didn’t want to settle down,” he continued. “And kids, they need stability and shit. Time, energy, all those things.”

“True.” My voice sounded hollow, an emotionless echo.

At least I had the apartment paid up for the foreseeable future. Reece could no doubt use me more in the shop. I was fortunate there. Probably be best if I dropped out of school and started saving. Given how many days I’d been missing due to the puke-o-rama of morning sickness, my grades wouldn’t be rocking this term anyway.

I swallowed hard.

“Like my life the way it is,” he said, voice slurring at the edges.

“Yeah, I did too.” I gave my stomach a pat. “Sorry, Bean.”

“Like my freedom. Being able to jump on a plane and go jam with a friend or play on their album. Things were perfect the way they were.”

“Hmm.”

“Couldn’t stay away from you.”

“Why not?” I asked, honestly curious.

“Don’t know. You just … you stayed on my mind.”

“And other women didn’t?”

“Not like you.”

“No?” Perhaps booze boy was back to wanting sex. Given my heart got stupid the minute he appeared, it was hard to tell.

He exhaled hard. “Wanted you, but … you were my friend too. I mean, really my friend. You didn’t want nothing but me. To talk to me, to spend time…”

Silence.

“I knew you wanted more, but you didn’t push. Missed you when you were gone and I couldn’t tell you shit, talk to you about stuff.”

My turn to sigh.

“Liz?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we gonna do?” He sounded almost afraid.

I gave in and rolled onto my side, all the better to watch him. If only he looked worse in profile. Instead, the dominant nose and plush lips seemed almost majestic somehow. The bastard. I inched closer, studying him. Eyelids closed, lips sealed shut. His forehead had smoothed out in repose, the curve of his cheekbones so obvious. I’d never really gotten to stare at him to my heart’s content. All the same old feelings rushed up inside, only now there was more. So much more. A tiny bit of him and me was growing inside my body, making a permanent connection between us. It was kind of terrifying. I wondered if she’d have his mouth or his eyes.

The room stayed silent.

“Ben?”

I waited, but he said no more, his breathing falling into a deep, even pattern. Then the snoring started. I reared back in surprise. Holy fucking hell. He had to be kidding me. I covered my head with the pillow, resisting the urge to smother him with his. A chain saw duel to the death would be quieter than the commotion currently going down in his nasal region.

“Ben,” I cried into the pillow, throwing in a scream or two of frustration for good measure, and more than a couple of tears.

This guy and me, we were doomed from the start.

* * *

“Time to wake up.” I ever so gently kicked the bed.

The man sprawled out spread-eagle across it didn’t even move. Sadly for him, Sleeping Beauty’s time had come.

“Ben!”

His head shot up, eyes dazed and confused. “Huh?”

“Wake up. It’s nearly eleven.”

I set his coffee on the bedside table, then wandered over to the other side of the room to sip my own. Also to throw back the curtains, because I’m mean on broken dreams and limited sleep.

He blinked, yawned, and shied back from the light of day like a vampire. The dude definitely didn’t sparkle, however. Nor did he smell particularly fresh.

Out of all the many fantasies I’d had about him, his waking up in my room looking like roadkill hadn’t featured strongly. Yet, even with his clothes and hair all askew, and stinking of sweat and beer, there was just something about him. Something magnetic, urging me to get closer, and closer still.

Stupid me. Probably just pregnancy hormones or something running rife.

“Lizzy.”

“Yeah?”

“Ah, shit,” he groaned. “Davie listened to me. He should have just dumped me back at my hotel.”

No comment. “Coffee’s there beside you.”

“Thanks.” Slowly, he sat up, rubbing at his head. Then he looked around the room, taking it all in as if for the first time. Which it pretty much was. His eyes lingered on the cheap Japanese woodblock prints I’d picked up at the markets, and my stuffed bookcase. The stack of laundry waiting for a day when I wasn’t busy feeling like I was about to start yet again puking my guts up. No doubt the scene was a dramatic comedown compared to what he had to be used to. I’d imagine chandeliers, marble, lots of splendor. Glamorous models in the place of one pasty-faced girl with wet hair and old jeans and an equally worn sweater that’d shrunk in the wash.