Queen of the Night

6

Did your mother ever tell you to "think before you act" when you were little? Like you would get mad, and say, "I hate you, I'm running away!" And then come back home after twenty minutes because you didn't really think about where you would be going on your rampage of leaving home.

I was thinking of that now.

I don't really know what I thought would happen if I told someone I wasn't pregnant and then slapped a stick and their hand proving me wrong and then saying "Congrats, it's yours", but in hindsight, I'm kinda regretting that now.

Because now I'm running down the street of my suburban neighborhood with a very pissed off boy chasing behind me.

Do I know where I'm running? Thats a good question.

Um, no, I don't. I'm just kind of living in the moment right now, and now that I'm kinda taking it all in, I've realized I'm getting tired, this probably isn't good for my pregnant self, and Mark is catching up to me real real fast.

We had almost gone in a full circle now, and we're coming back up to my block. We were running so fast it looked like an Olympic race was happening on the sidewalks of the little development. I ran up my steps with Mark literally three feet behind me, and I slammed the door right in his face. Then I locked the backdoor, and ran to the kitchen to look outside. I tried to slow my breathing, and after a while, I had caught my breath, and turned to go upstairs. I took one step out of the kitchen and into the livingroom, and Mark was sitting on the couch staring at me looking really pissed. "Try locking the front door after slamming it shut genius."

I went to sit across from him on a chair. "So why are you still here, don't you have homework? You should of taken a hint and left, I don't want to see anyone right now I'm sick," I said hoping he would maybe just be like 'oh sorry, yeah that's chill, I'll leave now.' But that did not happen sadly.

If looks could kill, I'd have been dead for years because the look Mark was giving me right now was downright nasty.

"You're fucking pregnant. You're having a kid."

"Thanks to you, yeah."

"You can't, I'm not doing this with you."

"That's sweet of you to say, but I don't really care about your feelings honey, this is your fault, and you have to fess up to it," I said. I'm actually terrified right now, but I'm not going to sit here and let him leave, thinking he got past this one.

Mark sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Hunter this is serious. You can't have a kid with me, that's not how this is going to work."

Now I was getting angry. "So what Mark? What the fuck am I supposed to do now? You don't want it? TOO BAD, IT'S YOURS."

"No, you can't have a kid. Get rid of it or something, this isn't happening, you shouldn't even think it is, get this through your skull Huntress, we are NOT having a kid," Mark said looking into my eyes.

"How dare you," I said rising out of my chair. "If you think for a second I'm going to get rid of this kid you're wrong. It's not your decision to make. Let me put it this way, I don't care what you do, but I'll be damned if you think you can just clean this mess up and move on. Now if you want to leave I don't care, just know if you leave now, you leave forever. You don't want to be a part of my life, I don't give a fuck, but you better believe you're going to fess up to this. So if you wanna leave then go now, but know that I won't sit back if you so much as speak a word of this, I will come after you. I'm a lot fucking stronger than you think." We were both at eye level now glaring into each other's eyes.

"Fine then. I'm going now. But if you start to regret this, and you want my help, don't you fucking come near me, because I'll tear you apart. So don't come crying to me when you can't do this," Mark responded.

He turned and left me in the living room of my house. He didn't look back, wave goodbye, or give me one more nasty glare. He left my house and my life just like how he entered it. In an annoying and unsatisfactory move. Leaving me just like how I was before. He just left. I don't know what I was expecting. A fight, some more stress, maybe a bigger reaction. It was like we switched places, where I was looking for him to break and feel something like regret, but it didn't work for me.

I saw him at school sometimes, but he would never look at me. I didn't hear a single rumor about me though. I was too bitter to be thankful. For a couple months I was just like that. Bitter. Angry. But then I moved onto being hollow, and just being alive. As a creature of chaos, when my one crazy adventure was taken away, I was like a shell of my true self. As much as I hated to admit, I missed his constant interaction, I did miss it. I don't like dealing with the consequences of my actions.

After four months, I began to live like how I used to, with the added pressure of getting ready to have a kid. Damon was gone for a while, and wouldn't be back until after I had my baby. I couldn't tell my family because I knew that would put Mark on a list. As much as I hated him, I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't kill him off like that. I had begun seeing a doctor to make sure I didn't accidentally kill myself and the kid in my stomach. This poor baby didn't deserve me as a mother. I would probably be kinda awful, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't try for them.

I was kind of starting to become a pufferfush.

My doctor said it wouldn't become super obvious for another month or so, but there's only so much exercise can do before it's unhealthy and I have to suck it up and be fat. Lucky me, oversized sweaters were a popular fashion choice, and I owned over 34.

Mark didn't ask me once how I was. There was one time he almost hit me in the parking lot, but he didn't even say sorry, he just left. I could of lost the baby for all he knew.

My doctor suggested I get some books, or do some research. She knew I was pretty young, and that the father was out of the picture. She didn't judge me, but could tell I was kind off miffed about the whole thing. She made a lot of cringy jokes at my appointments to make me feel better. Her name was Dr. Toras. She was a kind woman. She had nice tan skin, a good figure, blonde hair that was always in a bun, and blue eyes. She was nice to me.

Life was getting boring, and school was mundane. After a while I figured living alone kind of sucked. I was depressed, and a risk to myself, so I got a dog. His name is Wess, and he's  a mix of an Australian dingo, and some big husky mix. All I really care about is that he's pretty cute, and good company. I walk him everyday, and once he was potty trained, he would sleep with me in my bed. He's pretty smart, and loveable. Wess sometimes eats my toast I make in the morning and I cry because of my hormones. He thinks it's funny, and I fear he's starting to think it's a game. Or at least I think so, I can't really ask him.

At 18 weeks Dr. Toras said she could finally reveal the gender. I didn't know what I wanted. A girl would be nice, because I could dress her up and have girls days with her. A boy would also be cute though, and we could go on little dates, and he could play with Wess. Did I even want to know the gender? Like wouldn't a surprise be fun? I though about it, and I realized that would be awful, because I need to buy dumb outfits for them so I excitedly asked for her to tell me.

"Alright then, congratulations Miss Starton, you're having a baby boy," Dr. Toras told me happily.