Beating For Two

Chapter 24

I thought that mum would stop ignoring me after three days, four tops, but I was sorely mistaken. The rest of that week passed by in silence, or at least mum was being silent; Owen and Ian treated me the same way they always had, which I was grateful for. Not that I'd expected anything else from Owen, but I'd been a little worried that mum would tell Ian what I had told her, but it actually seemed like she'd kept her mouth shut.

Like I'd promised Zayn, I set up a new appointment with the doctor on Monday, April 4th and was then told that everything was just fine, but that I should consider staying home from school as much as I could. Due to all the time I'd spent at home over more or less the entire school year, I just thought 'well, fuck it' and stayed at home more or less all the time except for during my maths classes, which I knew I had to attend to be able to keep up. The date of that doctor's appointment also marked the thirty-third week of my pregnancy. I wanted to cry when she had me step onto the weight scale and measured my weight to seventy-nine kilos. Seventy-nine. But, as usual, she assured me that it was completely normal and that both the baby and I were as healthy as we could be. I was put up for a new appointment on Monday, April 19th at three o'clock and I briefly wondered if Harry and I would have made up by then. Probably not if things were to continue on the same track as they were now.

I didn't ask the doctor about the possibilities of trying to figure out what mutation my body had went through that enabled me to carry this child and she didn't bring it up either. Even though Harry and I were currently in a fight of some sorts, I still wanted him to be there when I was to undergo a bunch of tests, which was why I kept my mouth shut about that particular matter. But then again, I wanted to find out what it was that was wrong with my body – it almost felt a little necessary – and I was afraid the doctors would have a harder time getting any facts as soon as the baby was out of me. I only had about six or seven weeks left of the pregnancy at that point and when I got home from the doctor that day, I actually considered giving Harry a call. I didn't though. I picked up the phone and dialled the number three times, but my nervousness got the best of me every time and eventually, in pure frustration, I flung my phone across the room where it hit the wall before it fell to the floor and remained there.

And then there was the issue of adoption or no adoption. That was yet another matter that I really had to talk to Harry about because it was he who so desperately wanted to keep the baby. I knew very well that doing so would be a bad idea, the worst idea actually, but... Christ, an almost fully developed baby was inside me! He was kicking and moving and I talked to him all the time and he was mine; my baby, my son, not some random couple's. It was frustrating to think like that and when I also had in mind that the last time I'd talked to Harry about the matter, he'd said very clearly that he wanted to keep the baby, it only got even more frustrating because it told me that the only thing that was stopping me from making the biggest and most important decision of my life was... me. I was the only thing that was stopping me. Not that I was a hundred percent sure that Harry still wanted to keep the baby, but then again, just because he was angry with me at the moment, it didn't mean that he'd stopped caring about the baby, did it? Probably not. And my family – mum and Owen at least – also knew everything, even though mum didn't necessarily believe it, so it really was only up to me now. It scared me a whole lot.

Tuesday, April 5th

Thirty-three weeks and one day

On Tuesday in my thirty-third week, I dragged myself to school, thinking that staying at home wouldn't really do anything to help solve all my problems. My stomach was at that point so big there really was no use in trying to hide it properly, so I simply put on the same large hoodie I always wore, put a scarf around my neck and figured that no one would probably suspect anything other than that I'd grown fat. I got a lot of strange looks, but ignored them the best I could by looking at everything other than actual people and it all worked pretty well. I was in a pretty bad mood though, but nonetheless I sat through two classes of maths (what the hell is all this shit?), two classes of history (who the bloody fuck cares about how Christianity spread through Europe?), half an hour lunch (this place and loud and disgusting) and two classes of sociology (why does anyone feel the need to figure out why people commit crimes?). By the time the bell rang and announced the end of the school day, I was so tired and grumpy that I kept bumping into people without bothering to apologize like I usually did.