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“I love you,” he murmurs, but I don’t know if he’s talking to me this time. Tears build inside my eyes as he cradles my empty womb, reminding me, reminding us, who we are and what we have been through.
His breaths become strained, gruff, as he starts to move inside me, deep and meaningful and with a painful amount of sentiment. Sliding his face over to mine, he kisses me. Our mouths dance and moan at a collective pace.
He is so gentle with each thrust and withdraw that every pulse of his cock ripples through me. The movements slow and rhythmic.
Time passes by, and he keeps himself close, deep, keeps his lips caressing mine and his hand protectively over my abdomen. My heart aches, and I hope one day. . . I hope that one day it doesn’t still hurt like this.
As I feel my orgasm building through my muscles, forcing my body to tighten in preparation to unravel with sensation, he speeds up slightly. And I know he wants to comewithme. I let out a loud groan, so he eats at my mouth, enclosing my sounds within our kiss.
I come hard, shaking and tensing, and as I do, he suddenly loses a bit of control, his own climax consuming his movements and confusing his pace. My pussy clenches around his cock, wringing his release out. The palm holding my abdomen presses up harder, and I know he can sense his cock pressing on the other side as he comes inside me.
When he lies on my back, letting most of his weight press on me, he says, “He can still have siblings. A bit of you. A bit of me. We’ll give him siblings.” At those words, at the way they were uttered with a hoarse, strangled tone, I erupt, sobbing without restraint. Now he has acknowledged the thing that broke us up. And he doesn’t know. . . he doesn’t know that I can’t fix it. Can’t give his boy a sibling. I gasp for air around my fitful cries. “I’m so sorry,” he says, peppering kisses all over the nape of my neck. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, baby. I’m sorry you went through that alone. I’m sorry you thought I blamed you. All these years. I didn’t blame you.”
Shaking my head against the pillow, I weep.
I blame myself.
Because I can’t give him siblings.
I can’t give you what you want, Bronson.
Shoshanna
Seventeen years old.
The park isempty today and I’m glad. Trees sway gently in the breeze, but the sun is out, bright and happy when it has no right being so. Its heat doesn’t reach me either.
Hugging my knees to my chest, I bat my arid eyes slowly. They burn, the hours of crying have left them rough and dry. The tears now caked on my cheeks, the salty streams pinching at my sensitive skin.
I look like hell.
I know I do.
Broken capillaries dot my eyelids from the violent sobs and I’m cold. Colder than I can remember ever being. Goosebumps race across every inch of my skin as I rock back and forth on the grass, just focused on breathing, on the air entering me and then leaving my body.
My hollow body.
My empty body.
Inside my abdomen, cramps and spasms take over. The flesh having been disturbed—violated. Wincing, I squeeze my eyes shut to the feel of the punches of pressure inside me. Between my legs, I bleed out the little bits that protected him for nearly three months. It couldn’t protect him though.
I couldn’t.
Dad confiscated my phone yesterday, but I found it a few hours ago in his overnight bag, with several missed calls from Bronson. And now, it vibrates in my clenched fist with a call, but I don’t dare answer it.
I don’t have much time.
The truck is at our house.
I snuck away, but he will surely be looking for me. The growl of Bronson’s motor bike echoes in distant streets, the sound racing towards me, soaring through the air like a warm protective coat of armour no one can break through.
My armour.
My bottom lip wobbles.
It doesn’t sound like freedom today. . .
Within seconds, the Ducati is screaming into the carpark. The bike doesn’t even completely stop before he kills the engine and leaps from it, sending the heavy machine into the ground where it slides a few meters along the bitumen. He races towards me, throwing the helmet from his face. His movements, desperate and riddled with fear.
