Nothing like a little puke to kill the good vibes.
“Fuck,” I moan as I clean myself up in the bathroom. I’ve never been so humiliated before in my life. What the hell is Arsen thinking right now? The poor guy just fucked me into submission and then suddenly I’m puking in the bathroom like he repulses me or something. I need to explain that it’s not his fault. I’ve just been going through some weird nausea issues lately.
I come back out into the bedroom wrapped in a towel feeling completely chagrined and awkward, only to find it totally empty.
“Arsen?” I say, poking my head out into the hallway. There’s nothing, no reply. I pull on my clothes and frown at the bed.
His stuff is gone. No jeans, no shirt, no shoes. Nothing at all.
I’m feeling sick again for a totally different reason as I head out into the main room. He’s not in the kitchen or in the living room. Nobody answers when I call his name.
The fucking dickhead’s gone.
I slump against the couch and stare at the windows. Did he seriously just ditch me after fucking me again?
I don’t even know how to feel right now considering I did just vomit the moment we finished.
Can I really blame him for running away? I mean, I just had some of the best sex of my life, and then I ruined it by getting sick the second his dick pulled out of me.
That’s not the best look, all things considered.
“Fuuuck,” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut. I’m trying not to cry, but this is absolutely pathetic. I swear, this has to be rock bottom.
He used me for sex. At least, that’s how I feel. He could’ve stuck around to make sure that I was okay, but instead, he ran the hell out of here the first chance he got.
I slink back to my own apartment, feeling filthy and disgusting. I shower, but that doesn’t really help. Mom’s awake, but she doesn’t ask where I’ve been. Lucky for me. I don’t even know what stupid lie I’d come up with. Oh, nowhere, just banging the hot murdery neighbor again, no biggie.
Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Every time he wants to get his dick off, he’s going to call me up? And the fucked part is, I can’t really turn him down.
Not after what I saw.
I wanted it tonight. No doubt in my mind. The second he looked at me again, I wanted his hands on my body and his lips against mine.
But what about next time? What if I’m not interested anymore? I start to feel cold all over, and I retreat into my room, my face buried in my pillow. Wet hair soaks down my back and gets my sheets damp. Fuck, I’m so far over my head right now that I’m pretty sure I’m drowning.
Arsen murdered a guy. I watched him do it. Now I’m sleeping with him again, and I don’t know where any of my lines are. If anyone asked me a few weeks back, I would’ve said there’s no way I’d ever fuck and suck a murderer’s dick.
Guess I don’t know myself all that well.
My phone starts buzzing. I can barely work up the energy to look at it, but the stupid thing is insistent. I’m cursing as I grab it, ready to throw it across the room, but the name on the screen makes me pause.
It’s Arsen.
What the hell does he want? Already horny and ready for another round?
“What do you want?” I snap at him.
“Come to your door.”
I sit up straight. “Sorry, what?”
“Your apartment door. I have something for you.”
“You have—” But he already hung up. I glare at the phone, heart racing. What’s going on right now? I thought he ditched me after getting what he wanted, but maybe I was too fast to judge. I sneak out of my room, feeling like a stupid teenager again. I don’t want my mother to catch me talking to Arsen. I reach the door and gently ease it open, and there he is, lurking on my threshold.
He shoves a paper bag from the pharmacy on the corner into my hands.
“Take those,” he says. His expression is hard to read. It’s like he’s pissed but also concerned.
“Take what? Look, I’m so sorry I got sick earlier, I just—”
“Take them,” he repeats. “I’ll wait here.”
“In the hallway?”
“I can come in if you’d rather.”
“I don’t even know—” I open the bag and words fail me.
They’re pregnancy tests.
Two of them. Different brands.
“Take them,” he says and leans up against the wall. “I’ll wait.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, barely able to keep from shrieking. “You think I’m pregnant?”
He looks at me like I’ve gone absolutely insane. “You don’t?”
I open my mouth to tell him that obviously I don’t think I’m pregnant because that’s impossible—
But it makes sense.
We weren’t careful that first time. I thought I had my days down right, but if I screwed up and he came inside of me while I was ovulating, that would explain everything. My nausea, my weird aches and pains, all the physical problems I’ve been ignoring the last couple of weeks.
I feel like a robot as I shuffle back into the apartment and close the door behind me.
“Who was that?” Mom calls from the living room. “Were you talking to someone?”
“Just a neighbor,” I say woodenly. “No worries. It’s fine.”
She says something else but I don’t hear it. I close the bathroom door, lock it, turn on the shower, and take out the tests.
My heart slams in my skull. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. I follow the directions and leave the stick on the counter while I get started on the second brand. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
This can’t be happening. Here I was, moping in my room thinking he abandoned me, only for the truth to be so much worse.
He thinks I’m pregnant.
And he’s right.
The first test stares at me with its mocking little symbols. I read the instructions a dozen times and they never change.
Pregnant. I’m pregnant.
I don’t need the second test to confirm it, but it does anyway.
I’m numb as I shove the tests and the boxes back into the paper bag and shuffle out into the hall. Mom’s show is turned up loud and she laughs at something on the TV. I feel like I might be sick again, but this time, it’s not morning sickness.
Because that’s what it’s been, right? Morning sickness.
I’m so freaking stupid. I should’ve seen this sooner. It’s just that I don’t have much experience with sex and I’ve been so distracted by my mother’s cancer that it never even occurred to me.
He’s still in the hall where I left him. Arsen stares at me with those dark, stormy eyes of his and runs a hand back through his thick, dark hair. It’s something he does when he’s agitated, even though he doesn’t show it on his face. When did I start noticing his mannerisms? I don’t know, but the silence stretches between us.
“Positive,” I whisper.
He looms over me. His face twists into something—agony? Anger? Then he grabs my arm and drags me to his apartment.
“What are you doing?” I gasp at him as he takes me back to his place, slams the door behind him, and hammers the bolt closed.
He keeps his back to me, his hands against the frame. His back rises and falls as he sucks in air. I’m reminded that he’s a killer, that I watched him murder a man not that long ago, and he’ll happily do that to me. I won’t even put up a fight.
So many regrets. I let my mom down. I screwed over my dad. Vadim’s going to have to get a job, but that’s probably for the best. Mostly my parents are going to suffer because I won’t be around to make money and help out the family anymore, and that’s on me.
I got selfish. I screwed a serial killer and now I’m paying the price.
No more exploring, no crawling into drain pipes, no sneaking through open doors, no going anywhere.
Just dead.
He turns, his jaw flexing.
“Stay here,” he says.
“Sorry? What?”
“Don’t leave my apartment. Don’t open the door for anyone but me. Do you understand?”
“Who else would come here?” I ask, stomach bubbling with worry. “Arsen, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean—”
He holds up a hand. “This isn’t your fault.”
That’s not what I expected him to say. His face suggests he hates my fucking guts right now, but he’s not blaming me.
“I should’ve figured it out sooner.”
“You’ve got other things on your mind. I knew it the second you got out of bed earlier. The tests were for you.”
“This is crazy. What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to stay in my apartment until I get back.”
“Then what? I can’t have your baby. I can’t—” I’m breathing fast. Gasping for air. The reality of my situation hammers down on me.
If I thought things were bad an hour ago when I was afraid of being his fuck doll plaything, now this is even worse.
He comes to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. His grip is tender like he’s doing his best to comfort me. I stare up at him and bite my lip hard to keep myself from freaking out. He holds on and watches, and I struggle to get myself under control.
“I’m going to take care of this,” he says quietly. “Stay here and don’t answer the door for anyone, no matter what. Do you understand?”
“Take care of it… how?”
“You’ll see.” His expression is terrifying. Like he hates himself and hates me too.
Then he lets me go and turns away. He flips open the lock and steps into the hall. I want to go after him, but I feel trapped and stuck, and he doesn’t give me a chance to say anything.
The door slams shut. I’m alone in his place again.
Alone and carrying a killer’s child.
