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Chas shook his head. "No, we’ll reach out to her. That doesn’t have to be her reaction. For all you know she might not even be that scared, just surprised. Give me her number, Raf, and at least I’ll call her, so you’ll know."
Raf pulled out his cell phone, unlocked it, and opened Ashley’s contact information; he shoved the phone at Chas, unable to speak, knowing that if his worst fears came to pass, it would gut him.
Chapter 14 - Ashley
It was a relief that she didn’t have to work the next day, being Saturday, because if she’d had anything she needed to do, she would have failed. It was bad enough her friend had driven her home asking prying questions after she’d fled, but Ashley had been mute, too busy replaying in her head. She was either hallucinating, which was definitely not good, or something really worrisome had happened up there in Raf’s office. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know which.
If she hadn’t been pregnant, she likely would have drunk herself into a stupor and then crashed hard. Instead, she knew she’d had a glass with dinner, so she did the next best thing—she curled up with the latest season of a new show she was enjoying and watched it until she fell asleep. The television was still on when she awoke Saturday, doing the fade in and out screensaver thing it did whenever she fell asleep watching a movie or episode.
It was weirdly disjointed, her memory of the night before, both because she’d had multiple upsets in the same day and because she’d watched something that was fantastical in nature. Her first instinct was that she’d dreamed it all, at least until she reached for her phone and found two voicemail messages, six missed calls, and an increasingly agitated series of lengthy text messages from Rafael.
That told her that she hadn’t imagined anything.
Ashley closed her eyes for a moment, trying to talk down her morning sickness, as though her state of mind had anything to do with the fact that she was pregnant and her stomach was unsettled by the rapid changes. She now had boxes of simple crackers in her nightstand, by the armchair in her room, and an ever more numerous selection in her kitchen. It was a shame she couldn’t eat more than that most mornings.
When she had eaten a few crackers and her stomach settled, she picked up the phone again and read his text messages through in more detail. She wasn’t ready to hear excuses, at least not in his deep voice that felt like a physical caress, not yet, so she couldn’t listen to his messages, even if those were timestamped earlier than the texts.
The fact that his texts said 'I can explain' instead of 'why did you run?' told her she hadn’t been hallucinating, however much she wanted to believe that what she’d seen wasn’t possible. Which left her with yes, it had happened, and yes, there was something going on with the father of her child. She didn’t want to dwell on it, but what else could she do? They’d been off to a good start up until he’d found out she was pregnant. If only she could take back the last couple weeks, or even go back a month and reach out to him the instant she knew she was pregnant.
With a glass of water, more crackers, and her eReader in hand, she lay back down but set a hand on her stomach instead of starting a book. She couldn’t have the child of a monster, could she? A momentary thought of ending the pregnancy hit her with enough revulsion that it almost brought back up the little she’d put in her stomach. No, that wasn’t an option.
Even if it was still a long way off, she couldn’t imagine having anything to do with her child’s father now. But would her baby be the same as he was, whatever that was? Maybe she should tell him she’d sign over her rights after the baby was born? That didn’t feel right either.
She couldn’t very well tell Miriam what she’d seen, her friend would think she was nuts. How could anyone advise her? It wasn’t like she could google 'what to do if your baby daddy is a monster'.
A text message beeped and she reached over to shut off her phone, only to find it was from an unknown number.My name is Dr. Charles Brenton, I’m a friend of his. He gave me your number last night. He’s worried about you. I’d like to call you to talk, but only if you’re up for it.
Ashley stared at the phone. She didn’t doubt who the 'he' implied was, not after everything yesterday and ignoring his calls and texts. But did she want to talk to a doctor… wait. A doctor? And a friend? The timing was a little too eerie to be coincidence. She slowly typed out a reply.I’m not ready for it, but thanks. Did he tell you what happened?That was about as politic as she could be on the subject. If this friend knew what had happened, he might know something about whether or not her child would… No. She wasn’t going to think like that.
The little trio of dots that popped up on her phone told her a response was being written, but it felt like ages before the bubble popped up.I’m not an OB, but I can answer your medical questions. If you mean about his office last night, yes to that too.
Ashley threw her phone on her nightstand. She would have to call this Dr. Brenton later; it would be the only way for her to reassure herself about all the new unknowns related to having this baby. That he knew she was pregnant was what she’d expected. That he knew what had happened later… she wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not. Did that mean Raf still had regular friends, and it was safe for her to be around him? Or was it that there were more strange creatures out there than she’d ever imagined?
She’d seenTwilightback when it was all the rage, not that she’d seen all that much that wowed her, but the whole genre of paranormal fiction wasn’t about real creatures. Vampires were a literary criticism of greed, lust, and vanity, among other things that she could think of. Werewolves were primal urges, both protective and raging. The whole point of gothic noir fiction had to do with digging into horror and death beyond the obvious, even if romantics had blown it out of proportion.
Now she was forced to wonder if she wasn’t just being closed-minded. If Dracula had existed, wouldn’t that be a story she would want to tell the world? For that matter, if she wanted to tell someone what she’d seen in Raf’s office, wouldn’t she have to use some sort of metaphor if she wanted to be understood instead of taken for just a hormonal pregnant woman?
The phone ringing made her jump. She reached for it, but yanked her hand away when she saw Rafael on the caller ID. She couldn’t handle that conversation yet; she let it go to voicemail again. Only once the screen went dark again did she pick up the phone to see if his friend had said anything else. It looked like this Brenton guy knew to back off when she said she wasn’t ready, at least. Hopefully Raf hadn’t taken that as permission to start calling her again, because he was out of luck until she’d wrapped her head around this.
She saved the doctor’s contact information for another time, but at least she would have it when she was prepared to deal with it—nothing said that had to be right now or even today. Pregnancy was nine months; she had time.
Then her stomach fell. This pregnancy would still be nine months, right? That was a pressing enough question she wanted the answer to now. She started typing another message to Dr. Brenton, only for her phone to ring again in her hand; it was a near miss between her thumb and the green button. This time she declined the call directly, hoping he’d get the picture.
I do still have nine months, right?She set her phone on her chest as she flopped back down on the bed. This was going to have her unable to eat until she found out, not that she was particularly hungry. She was going to have to figure out some better method of getting nutrition, because she knew for certain she wasn’t feeding her child enough of whatever was best for healthy growth.
The beep of the incoming text message was actually cut off by her ringtone as Raf called her again. Irritated beyond belief, she picked it up this time. "Raf, you’re smothering me. Leave me alone. Stop calling. If I want anything, I have your number." And she hung up, before he could get a word in edgewise. As soon as she pulled the phone away from her ear, however, she was swamped with a wave of melancholy out of the blue. Pushing Raf away felt wrong, even if she knew it was right for her at the present moment. Whether she liked it or not, he was the father of her child, and all her mixed-up emotions regarding him wouldn’t change that basic fact.
Another beep of a text message was Raf this time. She frowned, anger surging through her until she saw the first part in the notification pop-up:For your safety, please don’t tell anyone I’m the father. My money makes me a target…There was more to the message, but she wasn’t interested in reading it right now. The warning was enough; now that he’d pointed it out, she understood the repercussions of being a billionaire’s baby mama.
She winced at the term; it was current pop culture, but it still sounded ludicrous in her head. Whatever. The mother of Raf’s child could be targeted to get leverage over him, for blackmail or extortion. That made sense, and she wasn’t all that keen to be claiming him at present anyway. She hesitated before opening the message, but finally did. Rather than let her irritation show, she simply typed out10-4, and sent it. She had seen it, she understood, and now he could go back to leaving her alone.
The rest of the message was now visible, and she frowned when she skimmed it.For your safety, please don’t tell anyone I’m the father. My money makes me a target for unpleasantness. When we get to the point where it may become known, I know someone who can either find a bodyguard for you or at least install state-of-the-art security wherever you’re living.
The last sentence stymied her. A bodyguard? That was ridiculous, she didn’t need a bodyguard… did she? But the 'wherever you’re living' phrase reminded her that he’d wanted her to move in with him, and the fact that he’d included it meant he wasn’t ready to acquiesce to her current living arrangements.
She closed Raf’s message, not wanting to dwell on it for too long, but saw that Dr. Brenton had replied to her query about the length of her pregnancy.Roughly, though can be closer to 36 weeks instead of 40. Anticipate early.
Well damn. Four weeks less would be eight months, not nine. It was still more than six months, which should have felt like a long time, but somehow any reduction in the length of her pregnancy was bringing the inevitable closer. What the inevitable outcome would be between her and Raf by then, she had no idea, but it wouldn’t be the simple life she had worked so hard to build.
