7
674 Words
C H A P T E R S E V E N
N O K I D D I N G M A T T E R
.
.
.
AN INCESSANT beep woke me. That and:
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. She'll be fine."
"She doesn't look fine—"
I crack open one eye, a painful smirk on my face.
"Then stop looking," I grin.
Sebastian's eyes lock with mine, narrowing, his expression one of mangled relief, rage and incredulity.
"Are you making jokes right now? Really?" His New York accent thickens in fury.
His face crumpled with lividity, strangely making him more attractive than before.
Despite the situation, I can help but to clench my thighs and bite my lip.
God, that New York accent.
"No?" I sheepishly offer.
Our baby in his arms makes this so much hotter.
"That isn't the type of question that you answer with another question, Layla!"
The doctor excuses himself, seeing Sebastian get frustrated.
His dark hair is mused, the finger pattern he left evident. Guilt washes over me when I see how tired he looks.
"I'm sorry—"
"Yeah, so am I. But sorry doesn't fix this," he points to me.
"Or explain this," he emphatically nods to the sleeping boy in his arms, his twin.
"So I'm gonna need more than, 'I'm sorry,'"
My eyes dart along the walls, looking for a distraction. I settle upon:
"It's a long story,"
"Eighteen months is a long time. Eighteen years is even longer. I'm gonna go on a limb here, and say you've got a little time to spare."
He won't stop, I realize. He won't stop until I tell him.
It's overwhelming; I don't even know how the hell happened.
How the f**k would I explain it?
"Listen Sebastian,"
"Why did you leave me that night?" He interrupts calmly. "And you found out you were carrying my son, why didn't you come back?"
"Why wouldn't you come back with my son?"
To which, I can say nothing. Nothing yet.
Nothing ever.
Nothing that can excuse the hell I put all three of us through.
To excuse the hell still to come.
So, instead:
"How do you know he's yours?"
If you've ever seen a volcano erupt, then you'd understand this moment.
The pressure mounted, I held my breath and waited for the lava to fly and melt me to ashes.
And indeed it did.
Because an active volcano will always erupt.
And a living human will always have a breaking point.
"Yo, don't play me like that! Okay? I don't appreciate it! What am I? Dumb, blind and stupid?"
His mouth balls in anger, his eyes infinitesimally narrowing in offense.
"I can do math. And I can see. Okay? So answer the question: Why. Did. You. Not. Come. Back. With. My. Kid. Layla?"
"I just—! I can't explain it."
"What is there to explain?! I have a kid, it's not just mine! Let's go find the co-owner of this human being! Simple s**t, Layla! That's just simple!"
"Well, it wasn't that simple for me!" I ground out, nearly breaking my teeth.
"I'm the mother. That child was inside me for nine months; not you. And much as I understand this situation is s**t, I thought of him first."
The heart monitors tell my frustration much better than my choice of words.
"I am sorry your feelings are hurt, but at least you have a kid, cause you almost didn't."
Fire.
An unquenchable flame with fire new to choke out the life of whoever hurt his baby enters his eyes an I swear I swoon.
"Who touched my kid?"
Clam up; that what I do. I've gotten medical attention, and an alibi, but I don't need my baby's father incarcerated.
"I'm afraid that's not a question that you can escape. No, it's long story. Or I can't explain."
"You tell me now: Who. Touched. My. Kid?"
"Cause they're not gonna be touching anything else in this lifetime. They'll be lucky if they're breathing."
"With assistance."
- Writer
