What if she is pregnant?
The thought flickers in my head, but it doesn't scare me the way I thought it would. If she's pregnant, I know I'm going to do the right thing. I'll be there for her and our baby. There's no doubt in my mind.
“You doing okay in there?” I ask. I'm getting impatient. I want to know the answer.
“Yeah, just another minute or so.”
The wait is killing me. It feels like she's been in there forever. The bathroom door finally opens and Sia comes out with tears her in eyes.
“What does it say?” I ask anxiously.
Her lips spread into a big smile as her eyes turn to glass. “It's negative, I'm not pregnant.”
“That's. . .” Pausing, I swallow hard and force a smile. “That's really good.”
“Yeah, I'm so relieved. I've been under a lot of stress lately, so that must be messing with my body. But I'm glad I don't have to spring a baby on my parents, I can't imagine what that conversation would be like.”
“Right, that is a relief,” I say, but inside I don't feel the same.
My stomach sinks, the weight in my gut now an ache. I can't explain it. There's a feeling of disappointment that she's not pregnant. The thought of her carrying my baby was exciting, even though I know this is probably best.
Why am I doing this to her? I've thrown a wrench in her world. It's not fair to her.
Maybe I'm just being selfish. Maybe I'm thinking too much about what I want, about what would make me happy, and not enough about how I'm screwing up her life.
After getting back to her house, I go right to my room. Her parents don't want anything to do with me, and I know I've worn out my welcome. I can feel the tension every time we come and go. The hate filled glares they throw at me. The condescending words, the little quips to point out how I'm beneath them.
I've caused her nothing but trouble.
This isn't what I set out to do. I came chasing her, not to destroy her.
She's the best thing to ever walk into my life. I've never felt this way about anyone, but I can't be the reason for her relationship with her parents to crumble. The sneaking around is going to get back to them, it's only a matter of time. It's not fair to her, but life isn't about being fair. You can't control what other people do, you can only control what you do.
And I'll do anything for her, anything at all. Even if that means having to walk away.
When I go to bed that night, I lock my door so she can't sneak in, and spend the night tossing and turning. I hear her at my door as the handle jiggles. I want to open it so damn bad, but I don't get up. I pretend to be asleep as she whispers my name through the door and taps gently.
It takes every ounce of strength for me to resist her. It's not about us and my desires anymore, it's about doing what's right for her.
I watch as the shadow of her feet moves away from the door. My chest constricts, hoping she won't hate me for what I'm about to do.
In the early morning hours as the sun is just about to come up and the sky is a dusty blue color, I write a note and slip it under her door before I leave. I have to do this while she's asleep. I can't face her.
I'm not as strong as I thought.
I know if I see her, I won't go through with this. I can't guarantee that if she opens her door right now, I won't drop to my knees and beg her to leave with me. I can't guarantee that if I see her face, I won't steal one more touch, one more kiss, one more night, until there's nothing left for me to take from her.
Siobhan is worth letting go if it'll make her life easier.
No matter how much I hurt, my pain is worth it for her to have the happiness she deserves.
13
Siobhan
Waking up the next morning, I yawn, reaching my arms up over my head and stretching. I didn't get to see Mark last night. His door was locked. It hasn't been locked once since I started breaking my parents’ rules, but I'm sure it was just an accident.
He probably fell asleep. It's possible he locked his door to take a shower, and then dozed off.
It was an emotionally draining afternoon, even if the end results worked in our favor. I'm not pregnant. It's a weight off my shoulders, and my stomach is finally settled. I don't feel like I want to throw up anymore, and my heart has stopped galloping in my chest.
Pushing up in bed, I stand and head to the bathroom, my eyes still sleepy. As I come back out, I spot a folded up piece of paper on the floor at my door. Arching a brow, I walk with wobbly steps, and pick it up.
It's folded, my name written on the top in scratchy letters. What is this? I think to myself, sitting back down on the bed. Running my finger across the folds, I'm already smiling.
It's from Mark. It has to be.
My parents would never do something like this. They have no problem telling me what they're thinking or feeling to my face, regardless of how insensitive or negative it might be.
My body begins to warm as I unfold the note. My stomach flips with excitement as I see his words on the paper.
Sia,
This isn't how I wanted to say goodbye, but I think it's the best for both of us. I can't let you ruin your life because of me. I'm not who your parents want for you, and I don't blame them. I'm just a simple man with nothing to offer you.
You have the world at your fingertips and I'm just a paper cut that stings your entire family. It's not fair for you to have to choose between what you have and what I'll never be.
I'm sorry I can't tell you this in person, but I know if I see you I might not be able to get the words out. You've risked enough these past few days, now it's time to go back to the lives we know. It was fun while it lasted, and I'll never forget it.
Just don't give up on doing the things you love.
—Mark
My stomach drops, and tears are streaming down my face before I read the last few words. I didn't expect this. I thought he had maybe written me a few sweet words, maybe he was going to apologize for falling asleep and have some sexy date planned for us today.
Instead I get a gut punch and a million feelings I don't know what to do with. I didn't ask for this. This is the exact opposite of what I want. I want more of him, not less.
It can't end like this.
I need a chance to talk to him. He needs to know how I really feel.
I pull my phone off the charger and find his name and call him. It rings only once, then goes to voicemail. Hitting redial, I call him again, but the same thing happens. Over and over.
Damn it!
I pace back and forth in my room, squeezing my phone and willing it to ring. I need to talk to him. I have to. I can't just let him go without telling him the truth. About how I've never smiled like I smile with him. About how my heart skips and my belly flutters when he's close. About how this time together has given me a new look on the world. He needs to know all of it.
The airport. . . I need to go to the airport.
Quickly I throw on some clothes and grab my purse. I’m running through the lobby within minutes of reading his note. Ignoring anyone and everything else around me, I dart to the edge of the sidewalk, and throw my arm out, flagging down a taxi.