OUR FIGHT

6 • the right moment

* 3 months after "he wants me, he wants me not" *

- SAXON'S POINT OF VIEW -

• • • • • •

As much as I enjoy the night time, I can't say I completely trust the silence that comes with it. Most people find it peaceful, but my fucked up head won't let me see it that way. In the end, there will always be something to break the silence, and in my case, it's never pretty.

So that's why I'm wandering around the house in my Calvin's with a loaded gun in my hand, searching for any sign of threat. I stand on the front porch and look for any suspicious activity in the darkness. When I'm satisfied, I step back inside the house and double-check that the door is locked. Next, I check the garage door, then the basement door, and finally the door to the deck.

As I make my way to the living room, I glance out the windows carefully and grip my gun a little tighter.

A couple of weeks ago I spotted a man lurking in our backyard as I was doing my nightly check. Turns out he was just extremely drunk and wandered off from a bar fifteen minutes away. I desperately wanted to shove my barrel against his head and pull the trigger, but my forgiving girlfriend convinced me to call an Uber for him instead. If it weren't for her, I'd have shot the man right there without a second thought. Ever since that night, I've kept an extra eye on our property.

After making sure the security cameras are running, I trudge back to our bedroom and run an exhausted hand through my hair. It's only eleven and I feel like I'm gonna pass the fuck out.

I pause before placing my gun back inside my nightstand. It's fucking stupid that I have to do this every night just to be able to breathe. I hate letting my paranoia get the best of me, but it's better to be safe than sorry... and I can't afford to be sorry. Not anymore.

I turn my head to the sleeping angel knocked out on the opposite side of the bed. Her back is to me, but if I crane my neck I can just barely make out her bump. Aaliyah is twenty-one weeks — or five months — pregnant. The sight of her petite figure supporting an adorable, protruding belly makes my heart swell with so much love.

I made the mistake of sharing my feelings for her bump because now she teases me about having a pregnancy fetish. Fuck, maybe I do. All I know is she looks beautiful as hell and I should have knocked her up sooner.

Having the most perfect woman and a baby on the way, I have a lot more to lose now than I did several years ago. The thought of them being taken away from me is fucking terrifying, yet it also strengthens my drive to protect them.

Some of my boys give me shit for being overprotective of my family, but I couldn't care less about what they think. I'm willing to take as many precautions as possible to ensure that my pregnant girl falls asleep every night knowing she's safe. In her condition, she can't afford to be worried about any danger lurking in our neck of the woods... so I take on the worry for the both of us.

I'm a very paranoid person, but once the house lights are out and I've successfully checked that the perimeter is clear, a shit ton of weight is lifted off of my shoulders. I can go to bed knowing everything is fine. 

For now.

I smile. But just as I'm about to shut the drawer of my nightstand, a black ring box tucked away in the corner catches my eye. I've been holding on to that little shit for a long time now not knowing when to use it, and I still have no idea what to do with it.