Clay's Unwanted Blondie

Chapter 47

๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙BROOKE ˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑

HER WEEKLY RESULTS WERE OUT.

And normally Clay would have been the one holding her hand right about now, his hard knuckles rubbing against her soft ones, his warm smile taking away the anxiety.

Right now however there was no anxiety because she felt numb.

A few weeks of crying and understanding why her life was the way it was had left her a shell of her former self.

The person holding her hand might have thrown piteous eyes her way, might have asked if she was hungry or needed everything but you know what Brooke saw?

Liars.

Left, right. Every damn place was filled with liars.

"T—They lied, Andria. All that time, everything. I can't...it can't be true. Henry Adams is not—he's not my father. Alistair is!"

"Brooke"

"Why are you not shocked? Why are you not telling me it's a lie? Why are you looking at me...like the way HE did? You? You knew?"

"Brooklyn—"

The conversation had been too much to bear and Brooklyn retreated in the nearest room her sister's apartment could offer.

"Everything will be okay, Brooke. I know it will. You just have to fight, okay? Fight for you", Andria nudged.

Brooklyn gazed forward at the empty seat infront of them, at the laid out posters on the pastel walls 'Don't fear cancer, fight it' 'Don't Fight Alone' 'Early Cancer Early Treatment Early Cure'.

And just to the right, last the cancer posters was a huge wall clock that ticked with every passing moment like the wallow cutting her piece by piece and like a bad omen that hung low it almost foreshadowed her time in the world.

Though with everything that had happened to her the past week there was no bad omen that would surprise her anymore.

Clay Cervantes had done a lot more damage than the disease eating her.

God, every time she replayed their last conversation, replayed every moment they were together she felt like she'd been chewed up, stepped on and spit right out to die.

Trying to pick up the pieces of her heart that lay broken in her gut was the hardest thing ever because it hurt.

Thinking of Clay Cervantes hurt.

Loving Clay Cervantes hurt.

Hating Clay Cervantes hurt.

And leaving Clay Cervantes was like a blow to the teeth.

But he promised to leave and in the heat of the moment she wished the earth would open and swallow him.

Maybe then, she wouldn't feel like this because deep down no matter how far he was, she would always feel him, love him, hate him, want him.

Dr Ramos entered his office five painful minutes later carrying the usual mambo jumbo of 'chemo's going well, so far so good...' in a crisp white folder.

The minute he sat behind his desk, his eyes roamed between Andria and Brooklyn.

Brooke could see the question burn hot in his eyes.

Where was Clay? The guy who asked questions about every progress like he was the one who was sick.

Where was Clay? The guy who held her firm as they anticipated a breakthrough with this disease.

And most importantly why did she look like a teenager who'd been dumped on Prom night.

Saggy eyes, puffy nose, hair out of place, her heart ripped out and torn in half she wore it like an ornament.

"Doc how's she doing?" Calandria broke the spell.

Dr Ramos cleared his throat, confused yes but even beneath that confusion was something else.

Something etched in his face that Brooklyn noticed the minute his hands lay on the white folder he'd strutted in with.

"Everything looked fine after your last dose of chemo. Well better than okay. The results however uh—"

Why was he stuttering? He never stuttered.

This doctor might have been insensitive at times but he, no matter what oozed hope to his patients.

Why was that hope lost as he glanced between the two of them?

Why did he keep staring at those papers as if he couldn't believe what was written on them?

And why in a long time did she feel like her world was about to be broken to more pieces than before.

"We ran the tests again. Checked for error. Thrice but they came the same way Mrs Cervantes"

Calandria's body had already leaned forward, the ruggedness of her breathing causing more tension than the lines on the doctor's forehead.

"What's going on Doctor?"

Brooklyn spoke, her voice weary and tired.

If she spoke any more words, she was very sure she would break down in buckets of tears.

That's how it felt after he left.

Tears. More tears.

Feeling sick. Puking non-stop.

The same fevers from before.

"There's no easier way to say this but I believe you are pregnant, Mrs Cervantes"

The air thinned.

Silence engulfed the space before it was broken.

"What? Is that even possible? How's that possible?"

Calandria's high pitched voice slashed the air like a knife on cheese.

Pregnant? Everything stilled. Breathing became hard as the word echoed like a Benediction through her ears.

Pregnant?

No, she—she was never going to be pregnant that was the deal.

That was her curse and she had accepted it albeit bitterly.

Yet, they checked the results thrice? Thrice? And it came back pregnant?

No. No this was a joke. It had to be.

One cruel sick joke.

"Continuing chemo while you are pregnant might risk pregnancy loss or birth defects. The only alternative is we stop chemo for the mean time till you reach your second trimester or—"

"I want the baby"

The four words came out like a whisper as her hands encircled her tummy, bitter tears pooling in her eyes.

"Brooke we should atleast listen to what the doc has to say first"

"I want the baby"

Her throat dried, her heart sped like a freight train about to go off the rails and when she looked up, she didn't see Dr Ramos.

No, her eyes were so full of tears she could hardly see anything.

And when the tears fell down her cheeks, hot and scathing; it was the first time in weeks she was crying out of happiness.

"I have to warn you, the chances of both of you surviving are slim. Going ahead with this is subjecting yourself to months of seeing haematologists, obstetricians, neonatologists, anaesthetists and pharmacists inorder to manage all the treatments required"

She didn't think. Not even for a second.

"Anything for my baby", her voice croaked, a feeble smile crossed her lips.

"Wait a damn minute, we are not making an abrupt decision—"

"Not we, Calandria. I'm making this decision by myself for my kid and no one... absolutely no one is changing my mind"