Addicted z.m

Chapter 31

"You're a little less than a month along," the sonographer informed. "Heartbeat sounds steady. There's obvious movement."

This moment was always portrayed as one of the happiest days of your life: listening to your child's heartbeat and seeing the little pouch they're supposed to form in. . . I was supposed to be feeling this magical feeling, but I didn't. I felt numb.

Zayn clutched onto my hand. I could feel his eyes fall on me every time the doctor spoke. I couldn't look at him. I didn't know what he was thinking, and I didn't want to know. Perrie sat in her own little corner. I didn't know if she was paying attention. I didn't want to know what she thought either. She already had terrible thoughts about me.

"Everything seems fine to me," Dr. Mills smiled wide. She wiped off my stomach and shut all of her equipment down. She gave me a list of objectives to take care of both myself and the baby leading up to the delivery before congratulating me and leaving us alone.

I was still holding Zayn's hand moments after she'd left. Neither of us said a word for several minutes. In that time I had counted just over eighty ceiling tiles and lost count about three times.

Zayn's hand suddenly fell onto my stomach, gently running circles over it. He stared at my abdomen amazed and shocked and horrified and all these beautiful and painful emotions.

"A baby," he whispered. "A fucking baby."

I dropped my hand on top of his, ceasing his motions. "Zayn. . ."

He looked up at me, his eyes a sea of collateral damage.

"Perhaps you guys should go," I said. I could sense the tension between the two of them only growing thick, a knife wouldn't be enough to saw through it. "You guys don't need anymore problems because of me."

Perrie stood, her purse in hand.

"No," Zayn scowled, astonished I would ever suggest he leave. "I'm not leaving you here by yourself."

"Greg will be here any minute," I assured. "And I don't think you should be here when the police come."

"I want to be here when-"

"I don't want you here," I corrected. He looked hurt at my statement, causing me to sigh. "I'm sorry. . . I just. . . I don't want you hearing details."

"I'll be fine," he fibbed.

"No you won't," I argued.

"How do you know?" His face was twisted with aggravation and frustration. His eyebrows knit together and his lips were parted just slightly as his eyes held the superhero role he always felt the need to play.

I smiled, resting a hand in his cheek. "Because I know you. You'll try to keep your cool and then it'll turn out being too much for you. Either seeing me cry or looking at my wounds or the fact that the police are here and not arresting him. Whatever it may be, you'll find a trigger and pull it."

"Well, I have every bloody right to blow a fuze!" he exclaimed.

"See what I mean? You're already so riled up now. It won't take much to set you off."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose whilst absent-mindedly leaning into my hand. "I'm not leaving."

"Well you're not staying in here when the cops come."

He met my eyes defensively. "I won't get mad!" he promised.

"Well, then you'll get sad and full of guilt," I countered. "And I don't think I can handle seeing you cry today."

He took my hand in both of his, his eyes on a mission. "Please," he began to beg. "I promise I will use every fiber in my being to keep cool. Just don't make me leave you. Every time I leave your side, something always seems to go wrong."