Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
The word had been through Stevie's mind so many times over the past few weeks that when she said it to herself now, it almost felt like it had lost its meaning.
Except that it hadn't.
Because she was still pregnant.
Her broken and battered body had betrayed her. This was never supposed to happen. They had their shot at this many years ago and they lost it.
Pregnant.
God, she was a fucking idiot.
She knew people had started to notice the changes in her. She'd stop asking Mick for drugs. She stopped going down to hotel bars after shows.
She stopped spending time with him.
She had actually started taking care of herself and she didn't know why.
Why did it matter? They couldn't keep this....this thing that was growing like a parasite inside of her.
They were way too shattered and fucked up to make that work.
There was too much standing in the way.
They were standing in the way.
So why was she still holding on? Why did she suddenly care about when she slept and ate and why didn't she want to take her drugs and fly away?
Why hadn't she already gone to the doctor to have this taken care of?
Mostly, why hadn't she told him?
It was only two weeks ago she went to his room and took his hand and made love to him.
She still couldn't even explain that.
She never wanted to make love to him. It hurt too much. It left her feeling empty and vulnerable and she hated that.
She hated him.
She really, really did.
God, she was even bad at lying to herself these days.
She was vulnerable when she went to him that night. She had every intention of telling him about the...parasite, but when she saw him all she wanted was to be with him like it was before. She wanted to be held and loved and safe and happy, even if just for a moment.
She wanted something she could share with him and it was so much easier to make love to him than to wreck his whole world by telling him about....about their situation.
Her situation.
He wouldn't take responsibility. Not now. Not when it would make them both look so terribly bad to the rest of the world. Not when he could risk losing his girlfriend (he had a fucking girlfriend).
This was never going to work and she knew it.
She picked up the phone for what must have been the tenth time that day and she let her finger hover over the numbers before putting it back on the hook.
She couldn't do it.
This was all she had. It was all they had.
It was all she had of him.
She wanted to hold onto it.
