Creed: Chapter 17

Every day, I hurt.

Every day, I try to move on.

Every day, the scab is ripped off to reveal the unhealing wound, making it bleed anew. Because every day, Creed messages me or leaves me a voicemail. He let me go that day at the penthouse, but he refuses to let go completely.

Sure, I could get a different phone, block him, or delete the messages without reading or listening to them.

But I don’t.

Maybe I’m a masochist, looking for my sadist to come and rescue me from my hell.

Maybe I’m a broken half, missing her other half because I know how incredible and right it had felt to be whole and fulfilled.

Whatever the reason, I’m a sucker for punishment.

Plus, I’m late.

Not late, as in, late for an appointment or late handing in one of my school assignments.

I’m late late.

My menstrual cycle is notorious for being irregular, hence why I take birth control pills to try to regulate it, even when I wasn’t sexually active. Well, until the copious amounts of sex with Creed.

I try to rationalize my lateness. Even on the pill, taking it religiously, my cycle is still sometimes wonky. Plus, I’ve been under excessive stress for the past two months, living in mental and emotional pain. I’m not nauseous. My breasts aren’t tender.

I’m not pregnant.

But the test remains in the box, unopened, because I can’t bring myself to take it.

Glancing at my phone, I bite my lip and re-open Creed’s message from today. It’s a picture of a butterfly, the sunlight shining to make the wings look nearly translucent with bronze and copper spots. His message accompanies the picture.

On the very edge of the picture is undeniably one of Creed’s tattoos. The fact that the big, muscular, inked man noticed the butterfly and patiently and slowly approached it to snap a close-up picture… Well, that does something to my heart and ovaries.

I love him so much and want to bear his children.

But on the wings of that thought is my family… his family.

And the loving peace that fills me with the thought of bearing Creed’s children and being his for the rest of our lives shatters. Along with any pieces of my heart that had possibly started to mend themselves.

My phone rings, and I roll over on my bed to answer it. “Hey, Sylvie.”

My twelve-year-old cousin has discovered her love of phones and a good old phone call. She’ll be thirteen in two months, and I know her teen-snark attitude will soon appear, so I embrace this time with her.

“You still sound sad, Soph.”

I had gone home for Christmas break and hiding my heartache from my family had been impossible. Abuela watched me closely but never pressured me to open up after I told her I was fine. Antonio almost broke me down because I suspected he, out of all my family, might have the most chance of understanding. We love who we love is his life’s mantra. However, even with him, I clammed up.

“So sorry, Syl. Let me go put on my happy panties.”

“Ew.” She giggles, making me feel a bit lighter.

“How was your day?”

“You mean, how was the dickwad at school today?”

The dickwad is a boy in Sylvie’s class who’s trying to get her attention by doting on her. And by doting, I mean doh-ting. I imagine the definition of ‘smitten’ to have his picture beside it with hearts for eyes.

“Is having a seat saved for you at lunch and doors opened for you so bad?”

“Bitch, please,” she says, and I spit out my water as I sit up with a laugh. “Independent, strong women don’t need a man to do things for them.”

“True.” I smile. “It’s nice, though, sometimes, especially when they show you they care; having someone dote on you.”

She huffs. “Is that why you ditched whoever’s ass, Soph? Because they didn’t dote on you?”

Creed had doted on me; he worshipped me, actually.

He loved taking care of me, whether it was aftercare with sex, washing my body and hair in the morning, or making our meals while I studied. That week with him had been amazing. Magical. It’s unfathomable how, in that short time, I fell ass over tea kettle in love with a man I hardly knew.

Maybe it was love at first sight if that existed. But whatever the rationale is, it doesn’t matter because it had happened.

And it was doomed from the start.

“Are you there, Soph? Earth to Sophie.”

“Yeah, you little turd-nugget, I’m here. And no, I didn’t ditch someone because they didn’t dote on me. I didn’t ditch anyone.”

“Don’t lie to me. That’s a sin. Both a God sin and a cousin sin.”

Shit, she pulled the ‘cousin sin’ card.

“We…” I bite my lip to stop it from quivering. “We just weren’t compatible,” I admit to her, not hiding that my hurt and sadness lately is because of a romance wound.

I squeeze my eyes shut because what I’d just said was a lie, AKA a cousin sin. Creed and I are compatible in every way. We’re so right for each other… except for who our families are.

“What I mean is, we… we could never work,” I finally settle on.

The need to talk to someone chokes me. I can’t talk to Ollie because I can’t reveal who I was involved with. I can’t talk to Zac for the same reason, plus I’m a hypocrite regarding the advice I still insist he needs to follow. I can’t talk to Abuela, nor does Antonio feel like a safe option. And I certainly can’t talk to my almost thirteen-year-old cousin.

Especially if I might be pregnant.

“Is that why you’re so sad, Soph?” she whispers. “You love them, but it’s like… forbidden? Like Romeo and Juliet?”

Soulmates. Star-crossed lovers. Families—at least one family—who will never understand or accept it.

That about sums it up.

I blink my sudden tears away. “Something like that.”

“That sucks.” She sounds aghast. “You deserve to be happy. Just like you always say, we deserve to be happy and to make choices that help enable that.”

“You do deserve to be happy.”

“You do, too.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I know I do.”

“Then what’s one thing you’ll do today to work toward that?”

I chuckle at her drill-sergeant-slash-motivational-speaker tone.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she continues, “but you need to commit and follow through with it.”

“Sheesh, kid, you’re really getting into this.” I laugh lightly again, but I’m struck by her maturity like I always am.

“My school counselor says I have potential, Soph.”

Her words are so serious and slightly awed.

“You do, Syl. You do, and don’t you ever forget it.”

“I won’t. But… Wait, Isabel is trying to whisper something to me… Oh my god!’ Sylvie shrieks. ‘The dickwad is here,” she hisses quietly, showing me her range and that while she had been counseling me on my need and ways to be happy, she still is a young girl. “What do I do?”

I smile, speaking seriously. “You be the real you with him. But be kind.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “Kind and nice is all you got? You want me to channel my inner-Sophie-goodie-two-shoes?”

“Yes, brat, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“You’re so lame, but I still love you. Bye!”

She hangs up so fast, I guess she’s more excited that ‘the dickwad’ is there than she’s letting on.

I toss my phone onto my bed, then stand and stretch. It’s Friday night, and Ollie finally went out after trying to convince me to go with her. Again. The girl is anything if not persistent.

Drinking the rest of my water, I stare at my phone lying on my bed before I snatch it back up. Turning it over in my hand, I bite my lip.

A goodie-two-shoes… lame.

If I truly were those things, I wouldn’t be standing in my dorm room on a Friday night, wondering if I’m pregnant and not able to take the test because I can’t stand the thought of being alone if the results are positive.

Squeezing my eyes shut as a pang of longing for Creed nearly buckles my knees, I turn my phone in my hands again. Unlocking it, I open his text and stare at the gorgeous butterfly.

A creature that symbolizes transformation and represents hope and new beginnings.

Like the universe is trying to tell me something by Creed sending that today.

Or you’re desperate and reaching, grasping for anything that has to do with him.

Taking a deep breath, I type a message, my finger hovering before I finally click send. It’s gone now; I can’t take it back.

No, ‘hey’ or ‘thanks for all your messages.’ Just a simple yet loaded question. If he is in the city, then maybe…

What? It’s a sign?

My phone dings with a notification, and my heart pounds.

Guilt rears its nasty head that I’m causing us both pain and that I haven’t responded once to any of his messages in two months, but I shake it off.

He’s in the city.

I initiated contact.

What was I thinking? Could I ghost him now? Again? Would he let me?

I stare at my bag, which has the unopened pregnancy test in it.

Panic brews as I pace the dorm room. The notification of another text from Creed sounds, grounding me for some reason and easing my rising panic.

The memory of the heartbreak etched on his face when I left him comes back with a vengeance with those words. My hands shake as I type.

I watch as he receives the cryptic yet loaded message and reads it. Immediately, the three dots appear.

He understands the subtext of what I said. No questions, only a commitment to be here for me.

He didn’t tell me to fuck off, especially after I’ve ignored his persistent daily efforts to reach out to me and am only doing so now because I might be in a jam. A jam, like being a single mom.

You’re my good girl… You’re my angel… You’re mine…

Those words of the past rattle me right to the cellular level.

Gripping my phone, I hold it to my lips. I’m not sure just what exactly I’ve done.