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So much so that this becomes the first morning where I wake up before him.
In fact I jump up from the bed and run to the bathroom when, along with waves of pain in my pelvis, I also feel a surge of nausea. While I’m throwing up in the toilet, Ledger rushes in and I wave my hands at him, telling him silently — while puking — to go away.
But he comes even closer and, dropping down to his knees, he holds my shivering, shaking body in his arms. He pulls my hair back as I empty my stomach. When I’m done, he helps me flush the toilet and stand up on trembling legs. He opens the tap at the sink and I throw water in my face and brush my teeth.
All the while slowly dying inside.
And all the while he stands behind me, rubbing my back, majorly concerned — I can feel the tightness in his body — but patient to what I need in the moment. I wipe my face with the towel that he hands me and I think that I’m okay now. I think I can calmly tell him what’s going on but when our eyes meet in the mirror, I can’t stop it.
I can’t stop the tears or the sob that bursts out of my mouth.
And he spins me around and plasters me to his chest.
He cages me in his warm embrace and I sob and shake against his sturdy frame as I tell him in broken and sputtering words that I just got my period. I don’t know how I was expecting him to react to this news but all he does is rub my back some more while chanting, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”
I dig my nails in his bare chest and sputter, “S-she’s…”
That’s all I manage to get out but he doesn’t mind. He keeps doing what he’s been doing, rubbing my back, squeezing my body to his, lending me all his warmth while making shushing noises.
But I try again, looking up. “She’s not… She’s not h-here.”
His jaw clenches and it makes me sob even more.
He’s disappointed, isn’t he?
Of course he is.
He wanted this as much as me, but all he does is wipe my tears and says, “It’s okay. We’ll —”
“No, it’s n-not,” I snap, or rather try to while also hiccupping. “She’s not here, Ledger. I’m not pregnant. I-I thought I was when I didn’t get my p-period but it was just late and it’s here and she’s n-not and I…” I look up at him with pleading, begging eyes. “What if… What if there’s something wrong with me?”
It has occurred to me in the dead of the night, see.
That even though I want this badly — and I’ve always wanted this badly — there are no guarantees. And what if something is actually wrong. What if…
He squeezes my body, breaking my thoughts. “There is nothing wrong with you.”
And he means it.
I can tell.
What I thought was disappointment on his face is actually determination. He’s firm in making this happen. In fact, he has absolute faith that it will happen.
And I want to melt then.
I want to melt into his chest, his warmth. His words.
I want to let him reassure me and then carry me back to bed and keep me in his arms forever.
But I can’t do that.
I have to say something to him. I have to tell him something.
“Listen,” I say, getting my misery under control and putting my hands on his harsh jaw. “I know you want this. I know you want her. But…” I take a deep, shaky breath and forge ahead. “If I can’t, for some reason, for any reason, give her to you then I want you to go find s-someone else, do you understand? I want you to go out there and find it with… some other girl. Who could —”
I don’t get the words out because he swoops down and captures my mouth in a kiss, effectively shutting me up.
Which is both good and bad.
Because I don’t want to talk about him building something with another girl. I don’t want to even think about that. And I know how selfish that sounds, given that I can’t build anything with him.
Because my period isn’t the only reality that we have to face, isn’t it?
We have other things coming and soon.
My period is late again.
And I wake up with slight nausea for the third day in a row.
After last month, I know what it could mean but I also know what it couldn’t. There’s one way to find out but I’ve been afraid.
What if it’s not what I’m thinking?
What if all my hopes are for nothing?
Even so, I can’t hide under the covers forever, can I?
So I make myself climb off the bed and go to the bathroom. I open the medicine cabinet and get out the simple test that’ll tell me the truth — well, 99% of the time: a pregnancy test. Something Ledger bought tons and tons of without me ever putting it on the list.
