❪ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ❫Brendon nervously chewed on the tip of his thumbnail as he looked at the white stick on the marble countertop. he felt his face burn and his hands get sweaty as his breathing quickened, making his chest slowly increase in palpations. his mind was getting the best of him, making it seem like he was hallucinating and wasn't staring at a pregnancy test at all.
He looked back at the closed door behind him at an attempt to distract his mind from the object just inches in front of him. he thought about his sleeping wife and how-
wait-
she's not your wife dumbass
Brendon shook his head again and ran his hands through his dark strands of hair, feeling the soft ends brush past his skin.
Wife sounds hella cool though.
Brendon squeezed his eyes shut and shook away the little voice in his head. he balled up his hands and held them to his forehead as his incoming headache raged on. that infamous voice in his head has been the cause of many things in his life. Some good, some bad. So, Brendon simply chooses not to listen anymore. For his sanity.
Brendon breathed in slowly and exhaled, calming himself. He thought about raising a child; a small being running around his house. dealing with messes everywhere, feeding it, taking care of it, raising it. the thought of having a child alone made him freeze and shiver from fear and anxiety.
he hated kids.
Brendon wanted to get married. Start a new life with Amara. travel the world. sightsee. spend their days on luxurious beaches and romantic huts off the coast of foreign islands with clear, blue ocean water. not new life as in raising a damn kid.
He slowly walked closer to the one object causing his anxiety, the heart racing, life changing, life ruining, pregnancy test. he blinked multiple times in order to keep his blurry vision weren't manipulating what he was seeing.
As he got closer, his breathing got shorter. Brendon stopped dead in his tracks and slowly lifted his head to look at himself in the mirror. His hair was all disheveled and rough, with the bags under his eyes doing him no justice.
he swept a strand of his hair away from his forehead by his hand and slicked it back into his fluffy head of hair.
Brendon rested his hands on the counter, leaning on them with his head bowed. He wasn't ready to be a father. He didn't think Amara was ready to be a mother either. She's 22 years old. She needs to travel the world, meet new people. Not be stuck raising a poor child.
YOU ARE READING
mr. mafia ━━━ b. urie
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