ADRONITIS (II) : tmr minho

42: I could be Pregnant

Dawn 42

I don't give myself time to do anything except walk into Minho's room. I know he isn't sleeping. Or, if he is, I guess I will wait for him to wake up. I don't really know what I want to say to him, except that I want to scream. I know I should apologise, but I can't. If I do, I will have to explain myself. He deserves better than an explanation.

When I walk in the room, I can tell he is awake. The blankets are pulled up all around him, and he is lying on his front. Every night we sleep together, he curls into me. Lying on his back, I find myself fitting in the crook of his arm. He can't sleep on his front, as far as I know of.

When the door shuts behind me, he turns around to face me.

"You're back?" his voice is groggy, his eyes barely open. He tries to snap himself to attention but fails. The exhaustion wears him down.

I don't tell him anything. I can't tell him I'm pregnant. So, I sit in silence, waiting for him to continue.

He sits straight up, waiting for me to step closer. His skin is a sickly yellow, and he has sweat through his clothes, and I hate myself for doing this to him.

"Can you talk to me?" He is trying to be here, but he isn't present. His eyes are dull. I imagine though he pretends to be awake his mind is gone. "Are you safe?"

I can't come closer to him. Unfortunately, I mustn't let him in closer again. Not until I can figure out what to do. There is no solution here.

"I can't tell you," I tell him.

"Why not?" He asks back, as he shakes his head. For a second, his eyes open more than a crack. "I just want to help you."

I shake my head back and forth. I can't meet him. Not here, and not like this.

"Dee, lovely, please," he never talks like this when he is awake. It's not fair to do this when he is tired. "Just talk to me."

"I can't when you're that sick," I try to make my voice sound harsh. "Have you eaten this shucking month? You looked like you crawled out of a grave."

"I'm too busy to sleep," he mumbles.

I cross my arms over my chest, as I try to pretend to be mad. "You're too busy for sleep, and you are too busy for me."

"What are you talking about?" He counters, finally managing to pull himself out of the bed. He steps closer to me. I watch his hands itch at his sides, wanting to reach closer. They don't, and I can attribute that to my comment about Ben. Maybe that was unfair, but at the same time, it worked.

I can't talk to you, Minho. I need you here, for me, because I am selfish. I want you to hold me, and I want to pour myself into you. But, Minho, you are broken, and I am not going to shatter you.

"I'm not too busy," he tries to pull me against him. "I'm here and I'm listening."

"That doesn't mean you are healthy." I tell him, pulling myself backwards. It takes all my strength to separate myself from him. He is here, and he is waiting, but he does not know the destruction I bring.

He doesn't answer, instead favouring the silence. I guess there is nothing for him to say. He is quick wit and laughter and work, but he is not comforting, and he is not reassuring, and I know he will need help more than I do if I tell him. I need him to give up on me.

"Nothing is helping!" I shout. I can feel the walls shaking. I hate this. "We are stuck here, and we can't get out."

"Dawn," he offers, stepping closer to me.