When We Met

Thirty Six

|Deborah|

I don't think I like myself anymore. Look at me. I've become a fucking mess of sorts. I look at the stranger in the mirror and don't recognise her. She's scared, underconfident, fevered with morning sickness and pregnant.

Pregnant.

I never thought I'd be stuck in a situation as fucked up as this. I managed to fall for a worthless, shitty asshole and then landed myself in a heap of mess. And I don't even wanna acknowledge the fact that I've hurt my brother in ways uncountable.

Dylan.

You should've seen his face when I told him about Jace and the baby. He tried to comfort me about the pregnancy, but the moment I reiterated what Jace had asked me to do, his face changed colours faster than a bullet hits human flesh. I don't think I'll ever be able to get that scene out of my head.

I hope he broke Jace's nose. That asshole deserves all his bones broken. Fucking coward. At first, I tried to stop Dylan from breaking out of the confines of our apartment. But slowly, I wanted pain for Jace. I don't care if I sound like a sadist. He asked me, and I quote, to not come to him begging for money. Back then, I was too heartbroken to retaliate. I'd just stared at him and stomped out of his place. I don't even remember for how long I'd cried that day.

He first asked me to abort the baby for good and I slapped him shut. I don't know what made me do that, but for some obvious reasons, killing an innocent child has never been on my to-do list. The static touch of my palm against the rough surface of his cheek is a memory I would like to take with myself to my grave. If I tell Dylan about the abortion proposal, he'll flip. There's something about my brother that tells you how much he adores kids. When we were little, we'd talk about how he'd play with my children while I'd totally spoil them with everything I'd have. I know for a fact that he snapped the moment I broke down. I witnessed it first hand. If I tell him more, shit will hit the fan, and even though the thought of battles cries and bloodshed sounds amazing if Jace is on the receiving end of it, I know that being a bigger person in this situation will be the best for me and for my brother.

I'm glad I got it all out of my system. Dylan is the best brother I could ask for and I know that he'll make sure Jace stays away from me. Even though I said shit about his girlfriend, I know for a fact that she is a beautiful, smart and intelligent woman; She's perfect for Dylan. It's been hours since that happened, and I still feel disgusted with myself.

I shouldn't have said that, precisely because I didn't mean it. I just wanted to hurt a man, be it an asshole or my brother. I just wanted to make them feel half the pain I would have to go through. Does that make me a horrible person?

*******

It's been about three hours since I got off the phone with Dylan, and I'm still thinking about our conversation. I lied to him about hanging out with a friend, partly because I heard him cry. I didn't want to see him cry, if you know what I mean. I wanted some amount of space before we could have a real conversation and now, I'm seriously regretting it.

I miss my brother, I miss his embrace. I want him to tell me that this is just a nightmare. Back in our childhood days, I had a major issue of sleepless nights and haunting nightmares, what with my dad's illness. I used to wake up in the middle of the night, screaming at the top of my lungs. Dylan would spring out of his bedroom and shake me up to a point of crying. He'd hold me close to him, whispering soothing words into my ear and lulling me back to sleep. I'd wake up next morning in his arms and push him out of my bed, yelling at him for destroying my sleep.

For the longest time possible, he didn't tell me that he was the reason I could go back to sleep after a nightmare.

And now I'm crying.

I consider dialing his number and asking him to come back home. I almost do so, but the moment I pick up my phone, the doorbell rings. Without any second thoughts, I rush towards the door and pull it open. Within two seconds, my brother wraps me up in a tight hug and kisses the top of my head. I can't help it, I start crying. No wonder I'm hormonal.

"It's alright. You're alright. Stop crying, Deb." He whispers, just like I had imagined a few minutes ago.

I nod my head and without even thinking, ask that one question that has been stuck on my mind since the moment he stormed out of the apartment.

"Did you, at least, break his roasted nose?"

He bursts out laughing, which gives me the assurance of everything being alright.

*******

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