Revealing Kane

30 - Surrounded

I have six weeks to go in my pregnancy, and I am tired. I still have several shoots weekly, even if I've asked to slow down some. My body simply wants me to rest more. I have to listen, right?

John and the rest of Duran have been busy in the studio. They've also recently been to Paris to shoot two music videos. I'm glad he's working, but here's the thing. I know he's doing drugs. I know I shouldn't harp on him about it because it will only cause a row. As long as he comes home each night, I have to not care. Even if I worry he is harming himself. I don't mean like cutting or being suicidal. No, I mean long-term. What it's doing to his body. I don't want him to be sick later in life because of what he's doing now.

I must say that since my birthday, John has made a point of us having time together. We talk about everything, which is so good for our relationship. I find out so much more about him and his life before me. He's been to so many places and seen so many things. I'm fascinated by his history.

As for the baby, all is going well. It is growing right on schedule and continues to beat me up from the inside regularly. No, we have not found out its sex. Maybe next pregnancy we will, but this time, we want it to be a surprise. Neither of us really cares as long as it is healthy.

We often work on the nursery together. It's almost finished, but the details are still coming together. But we haven't had many discussions on names for the baby. It's something else that will happen when it's time.

John is home from the studio, and I immediately realize he is in a foul mood. Today, I had a small shoot for a maternity catalog, so I'm home early. Dinner is cooking, and I'm in the nursery folding and putting away newly laundered baby clothes. John enters the room and sits in the rocking chair I placed by the window. I can feel him watching me as I work.

"Why is there so much green and yellow?" he angrily asks, so I give him a dubious look.

"Well, hi to you too," I say as I put the folded yellow onesie into the drawer.

I shove the drawer shut, and it gives a muffled bang. I push my bulk to my feet and turn to my obviously annoyed husband. I go to him and plant a small kiss on his cheek, which he leans into slightly.

"Hi," he says petulantly, like a scolded child.

"To answer your question, the clothes are non-gender specific colors because we don't know the baby's sex," I explain, purposely adding some cheer to my voice in the hope of bringing John around.

"Why don't we know?" he asks, sounding accusatory.

"We decided we wanted to wait until the baby is born to find out," I remind him, but he scowls at me.

"You mean you decided," he snaps, and I can't hold back my surprised gasp.

"No, John," I argue. "We decided that together months ago."

"I don't remember agreeing to that."

"Well, you did," I snap and push past him to leave the room.

That quickly, he gets up, grabs my arm, and yanks me to him. I gasp loudly, surprised at his strength and how sharply he pulled me. His eyes blaze into mine, and I wonder what he will do next.

"Don't talk to me like that," he growls, and I scoff at him.

"If you're going to act like an ass, I will treat you like one," I tell him, my tongue sharp.

"Don't," John warns again and even gives my arm a little shake.

"Stop it. That hurts," I tell him, trying to wrench my arm from his grip.

What is wrong with him? John is never physical with me. Unless he's on something. That has to be it. It's either drugs or alcohol making him nasty. We're back to this place again.