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We’ve fucked repeatedly with nothing between us.
Does she want another baby?
I don’t know how I feel about that. A part of me tries to humour the thought, the possibility, but the rest of me shuts it down completely.
I can’t fathom the possibility right now.
“What?” she asks with another flick of her épée to my other shoulder. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
Her balance hand fists over her belly. “Stop looking at me like that!”
What? “Like that?”
“I don’t want your pity.” She goes for a straight lunge to my stomach, but I block her with my blade.
“You think I pity you?” Twisting my sword, I circle around her blade until her arm falls to her side. Stalking her backwards, towards the fireplace, I let her words settle with my errant thoughts. “You’re impossible to pity. You have too much strength…too much resilience for that.”
“Then why…?”
Harsh breaths fill the air in the absence of words.
“What?” She circles back round, obviously attuned to my intention of cornering her. With a flourish she pushes forward, her blade butting mine and skimming down until the tip touches my throat. “Spit it out!”
Every fucking word that pops into my head feels like a kick to the teeth. It’s impossible to vocalise my thoughts without sounding like a complete and utter cunt. Without being a moron.
But in spite of knowing how they will sound in the open, they sound a lot worse silent between us.
“We’ve fucked. Repeatedly.” Stupidly, my stare flickers down to her belly. “Without precaution.”
My heart hammers in the quiet around us.
We both pause.
There’s a silent stutter in time, like the world around us can’t believe I actually verbalised my thoughts.
“I-I…ah…” Arabella shakes her head.
“What does that mean?” My tone is another fucking mistake.
I’m not pissed. I’m confused and frustrated that we have to have this conversation. We’re a married couple struggling to have a discussion fuck buddies would shrug through.
“It means you don’t have to w
orry. It’s not a problem…I’ve taken care of it.” Shaking, she turns on her heels, her épée flaying the floor with her frustration.
There’s no way I’m letting her walk away from me without clearing the air. This wasn’t meant to turn into an actual fight between us. But she’s got so many walls around her that every one I manage to crumble is reinforced by another behind it.
She’s a fortress of stone. A maze I can’t seem to be able to navigate without damaging it.
I lunge for her with my hand, rather than my sword, but before I can stop her she spins to face me, the point of her épée pressing to the middle of my chest with the blade threatening to fold in on itself as I continue pushing towards her.
Taking a step back, she doesn’t retreat her weapon. Even as I step to the side, she continues her assault.
She’s scared. Emotionally petrified.
We keep finding each other butting heads when we’re on the same side. We want the same things.
Why are you so fucking stubborn?
