Breathe, Tommy (BxB) (Frat)

Ten・Not Peace

"Hi."

I like being a hermit crab. I like being in my shell and, you know, not getting disturbed, but Giana has a whole other agenda. Knocking on the door of my room in the middle of the night is socially normal for her.

I wanted Aidan to answer but when I looked over, his bed was empty as it tends to be multiple nights throughout the week. When the knocking failed to cease to the point I couldn't fall back asleep, I had no other choice but to get up and check.

This leaves me here, hair a mess, sleepy, and not sure what to say.

"Can I come in?"

"Why," I ask.

"Because this concerns you."

I purse my lips, confused, but decide to let her come in. She takes a seat on my bed, looking around and taking everything in, and I sit by her at a safe enough distance, giving her a moment while I struggle to keep my eyes open.

"Do you remember if we used a condom?" There goes the band-aid. "Because I'm pregnant," translating to Tommy shits himself. 

I instantly think back to the party where I got so drunk I ended up in bed with her trying to prove my point to Christian. Then think about how if he wasn't prying into my life with every fleeting opportunity, I wouldn't be partly destroying it in an attempt to preserve it. It would've taken me a little longer to craft this nuclear bomb and I could live with the fact I knew it was coming.

"What?" Scratch, pick, pinch. Scratch, pick, pinch.

"I said I'm pregnant."

Scratch, pick, pinch. Scratch, pick, pinch. Scratch, pick, pinch.

"Hey..."

Scratch, pick, pinch. Scratch, pick, pinch. Scratch, pick, pinch. Scratch, pick, pinch.

"Tommy?"

Scratch, pick, pinch—

She puts her hand over mine, ripping me out of my trance.

"Uh, I... I don't... I don't remember." What have you done? I've never wanted to hear Mom's voice so desperately right now, her saying it's okay, nothing's real, bullies aren't real, pain isn't real, and this isn't real. But everything's real because this is real life and Mom would never lie to me, only tell me the truth and teach me how to handle it.

I have no idea how to handle this.

"It may not be yours." Oh. Oh. "But it may be." Fuck. Fuck.

"How soon can you find out?"

"Seven weeks."

"That long?" Mom, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

"No, I mean from seven weeks pregnant. I think I'm nine."

"If you're nine weeks then wouldn't that have been before the party? How can it be mine?"

"You count it from the first day of the last period. I can book an appointment to do a DNA test tomorrow... today. There's one other person's it could be and I know for a fact he won't entertain the idea of coming, let alone me being pregnant. So it's down to you. If it's not yours then I'll know whose."

Nothing is interesting about the basic white wall opposite me except that it's a blank canvas I can mentally sketch epic holes of nothingness on to vacuum me up from my bleak life navigating the Russian dolls of doomsday. It wasn't supposed to go this far. But it's gone this far. I've gone this far, trying to prove a point that was a lie anyway. And I could put the blame on Christian, say he pushed me that distance by his prodding and prying, but you let him in, and you let him stay for a moment too long.