Mr. Murphy's Mattress

xxi. I Think

You were reading through Cillian's journal, which you had gotten with his permission, and you'd been reading it all day long.

You had already known you were to marry an extremely talented man, but reading it up close, in person, the original versions, was far more mind-blowing.

His soul bled out onto each page, you were written over some. It felt like you were opening his mind and crawling inside to have a nap.

On your favorite pieces, you attached sticky notes expressing your admiration for him and his work. When he came into the office to find you reading, he rolled up his sleeves and walked behind you.

"Hey," he said softly, gently massaging your shoulders. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm all ears," you replied, closing his journal and looking up at him. Your eyes met, your face falling into his hand where he then caressed your cheek.

"I have a job opportunity as a screenwriter for BBC," he explained, his eyes dancing about your face. "I'd be making about 13 thousand pounds a month."

"A month?" You gasped, holding onto Cillian's arms. "That's great, honey."

"Would you be okay with me working full-time?" He then questioned, tilting his head as he knew your initial reaction would be kind of disappointed.

"Well..." you started. "Cillian, I.."

"I know," he whispered. "This is why I'm asking you. Because I feel like you need me, and if you need me, I wanna be there."

You clicked your tongue and stood up, moving closer to him. You cupped his face in your hands and sighed. "I want you to do what you feel is best, in your heart. But, let me ask you something."

"Go on," he whispered.

"Is screenwriting for a news channel what you want to do for the rest of your life? I mean, you're incredibly talented..."

Cillian thought for a moment. "I suppose you're right..." he agreed. "But right now all that matters to me is that we have this roof over our heads and we have a full meal on our plates, and on our baby's plate."

He kissed your cheek gently, wrapping his arms around you.

"If you want to do it, then I'll support you unconditionally," you assured. "Take your time thinking about it."

"Thank you." He smiled and pulled you into a warm embrace, nuzzling his nose into the top of your head to take in your lavender-scented hair.

"I need to talk to you about something as well," you said nervously.

"What's up?" He asked, gently rocking you in his arms as you stayed in the embrace.

"I think I might be pregnant," you confessed, to which Cillian pulled back and held your hands. "I need you to check."

-

"Fuck, how long do these things take?" He asked, pacing around the bathroom as you stood leaning on the sink anxiously.

"About two minutes," you answered.

He stopped walking, froze in place, and looked up at you.

"I'm pregnant," you whispered. Cillian slowly nodded before pulling you into a tight, safe hug.

"You're okay," he said softly, rubbing your back. "This is exciting, isn't it?"

"I don't know," you sobbed, beginning to feel your eyes burn with salty tears. They came flooding down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, wiping your tears and slowly walking you to the bed. "Lay down, princess."

You obliged and he laid beside you, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close to his chest. "I don't know if I can handle another," you cried.

"You don't have to," he assured, rubbing your back slowly. "You don't have to."

You cried into his shoulder, creating a wet spot from all the tears into his shoulder. "I'm terrified," you whispered, still hiccuping and sniffling from sobbing.

"Hey," he said firmly, pulling back from the hug to cup your face. "You're okay. You're safe, I'm right here, and nothing's gonna happen that you don't want to happen." His words were refreshing, but your body still shook tremendously.

"We talk about our love for the 50s but we are damn lucky to live in a time where abortion is accessible," Cillian half-joked, tickling your chin to force a grin out of you.

"Barely," you sighed, wiping your eyes. "In America it's awful."

"Aren't you glad you're with an Irish man?" Cillian nudged you, causing a giggle to escape from your mouth.

"So glad," you agreed. "But are you sure you'd be okay with an abortion?"

"My love," he chuckled, placing his hands on your hips. "Your fragile body has dealt with enough. Believe me, I know you're a strong woman but I understand it's a lot."

"We should watch ourselves," you mumbled. "In bed, I mean."

"I thought you were on birth control," he pointed out. "But sometimes it doesn't always work, and I suppose this was one of those rare instances."

His thumb traced down from your cheek to your lower lip and he kissed you slowly. "I think I'll get a vasectomy," he whispered to himself, watching as you cracked with laughter.