“Im-fucking-possible.” Oh, I would not say that. It’s possible.
He’s staring at me, his look a contrast between lost and certain. I suck in my tummy and try to look as innocent as possible, while I’m watching it unfold right before my eyes.
Dean turns to look down at us as if noticing us for the first time.
“Chloe’s father just called saying you bumped up his daughter.” My head snaps to see her launch a grin that covers the whole spectrum – from a smirk of conceit to a sneer of triumph.
“You and I both know it’s not possible,” Damion seethes with a fury rage in his eyes. They dart over and hold mine for a beat, knocking the wind out of me – there is no disbelief laced in them … not a single shed of doubt. He’s telling me he knows for sure the bitch is lying. That she’s trying to dig her claws into him.
Lead drops into my stomach. This time I’m the dishonest one.
“You were drunk,” she gasps with a hurt voice. “It happened right there on that chair.” She points to the terrace. I roll my eyes.
Her eyes flicker over and vet me with complete disregard, before looking back at my man, a sly smile on her face. “We had sex, baby. You were so desperate to be with me that you didn’t use a condom.”
“We’ve never had sex.” He takes a step forward and realizing he’s only in a towel, he stops.
“You don’t believe me?” She has tears in her eyes. She just stole the show.
“I love you …” she sobs.
“Quit the crap, Chloe.” He’s angry, eyes glaring and posture threatening, completely unaffected by her outburst. “And. Get. The. Fuck. Out!” he hisses, clearly holding back every ounce of restraint he has.
“Throwing her out won’t make this go away,” Dean interrupts. “The girl has photos … proof … and the press is going to have a field day with this one.” I have to fight the bile that rises in my throat as I think about that. I’m going to be in the middle of this tragic love story. A nice juicy scandal. Just what I was afraid of. And if they get wind of my little secret … oh fuck. I can’t let it slip out … not now.
Chloe shrugs her shoulders and a smarmy expression transforms her features. “This is your baby and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
He bursts out in a howl of cynic laughter. “Do you think you can just come in here and say that you’re pregnant and I would suddenly care about you? That I was drunk and don’t remember sticking my dick into you? That I suddenly would want to be a daddy?” He blows out a loud breath.
“Well, I don’t want to be your fucking baby daddy.”
“It’s your baby,” she tries again.
“No, it’s not. There’s one thing you should know about me, babe … it doesn’t come up when I’m drunk.” I’m thrown by his revelations and grab hold of the wall again. He doesn’t want a baby.
The tightness in my tummy threatens to explode, but I force myself to breathe, to pretend that I’m unaffected.
“So, Dean,” he snorts harshly, “If this one is actually pregnant, go look for the daddy somewhere else.”
“And just tell the fucking press that it’s not mine, that she’s a crazy ass stalker, and that a paternity test will prove it all.” Dean throws his hands in the air and stomps out the door.
Chloe turns to face me. Here we go again.
“He will come back to me!” Chloe straightens her back, her hands in fists. I wonder if she is mentally stable. Or just plain fucking crazy.
“Oh, cry me a river, bitch, and drown in it. Just go while you have a peony amount of dignity left.” I’m killing it and maybe enjoying it a little too much. Well, as they say, payback’s a bitch, and it’s raining coins on Chloe right now.
“I hate you!” Chloe shouts, tears forming in her eyes, but vile that I am, I don’t feel any pity for her. Anyone stupid enough to try and pull a trick like this doesn’t deserve pity.
“You’re welcome to join my hate club, they have a weekly meeting at the corner of Fuck-you Street and Kiss-my-ass Boulevard.” My wit is on par as I hold the door for a furious Chloe.
“Bye now. Don’t trip over your own pride on the way out.” Chloe walks past me, giving her a scornful death stare, her voice imperiously thin.
“You’re going to regret this, I’ll make sure of that.” Her icy stare tells me she’s not lying this time. “And all these snotty remarks are not going to keep him from screwing around.”
“Oh, I know what I say won’t keep him faithful,” I say dangerously, “but this heart and mind will!” Look what a cocky little angel I can be.
The door slams shut behind Chloe with a resounding echo that rebukes through the house.
“Why do girls always think of trapping a guy with a fucking baby?” he asks grumpily.
I’m stuck at a crossroad of uncertainty – to tell him or not, to run or to stay. How will I tell him now? After all this? Anxiously I turn to humor.
I twirl my finger next to my temple and whistle.
“Totally bonkers that one,” I rap playfully, although I feel anything but. “I can actually see now why you two would make a great fit.”
“Oh, no you didn’t just say that.” He lets go of the towel and it falls to the ground leaving his pumped-up junk exposed. “But don’t worry, I know how to punish you, little witch.”
He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder before I can even register a clear thought. Screaming I hit his back with my dainty little fists, panicking that something might happen to my baby.
“Damion, put me down, you’re going to hurt … ” I almost blurt it out.
He drops me quickly, probably shaken by the seriousness of my voice, laced with traces of fear. He looks confused, scanning my eyes for clues. I swallow, hoping he doesn’t find out about my secret. Not until I’ve decided what to do.
“Hurt what?” He’s scrutinizing me with worried apple eyes. I swallow and look at my feet, my brain spinning like a fan to find the right answer here.
“Shirt,” I blabber out, “I was just scared that you’re going to mess up my shirt.” His frown clearly indicates that he knows I’m fucking hiding something.
“I will never hurt you,” he says in a husky voice with sadness in his eyes. “Never.”
I open my mouth to say something to make it better when someone knocks on the door, shouting “Damion! We have to go!”
This time it’s Mark. With one last longing look into my soul, he runs up the stairs shouting, “Coming! Just need some pants.”
Date = 17 January
Place = San Francisco (Mel’s house) (Damion’s house)