CHAPTER653
We walk into the elevator when it opens, and I don’t see a tiny bump in the floor bar as we walk in the door, given that I lost the ability to see my feet weeks ago and I trip and stumble over something sticking out. Arrick drops everything with the speed of light and catches me, even though I wasn’t exactly falling. A flash of complete despair crossing that handsome face as blood drains from his skin. I stare at him like he’s lost the plot and straighten myself out of his overly tight embrace. Unphased.
“Calm yourself, Superman… I was only tripping.” I eyeroll at his over dramatics and yet secretly love that he’s been a walking guardian through all of this. It’s like having your very own protective layer or bubble wrap anywhere you go.
“Don’t do that to me. My heart can’t take much more and as we near the end, I really feel like I might have some sort of emotional breakdown.” Swear I see him break a sweat on his brow and guess he might be having heart palpitations. I pat him on the arm and smile lovingly.
“There, there… It’s almost over, your pain and suffering of not being the pregnant one is almost done.” I droll sarcastically and get the unamused frown thrown back at me as he gathers up our bags and hauls himself in after me to get the door shut.
I stick the lollipop in my mouth, and it tastes vile, pulling it out to stare at it, screwing up my face like the world is suddenly so wrong.
“For the love of god. Is nothing sacred from this weird ass pregnancy.” I toss it into one of the open bags and get another glare from him, obviously because it will stick to whatever I did chuck it on top of, but I don’t care. It tasted like vomit. My taste buds have been hell this week. Everything tastes like cardboard or metal and I can barely stomach most things I love to eat.
“I need to pee.” I announce randomly as the feeling comes at me from nowhere. My bladder giving me that bursting signal like it suddenly decided it required emptying, like right this second. It’s another wonderful side effect of this impending bulge. This ability to suddenly need to empty a gallon of urine at zero minutes warning.
“Only the four hundredth one today, baby.” he answers, and I narrow eyes at him
“Enough of the sass, Carrero… I can still beat you, even in this state.” I furrow my brows at him and poke a finger in his dimple.
“I’d like to see that, really… You can barely reach me over that expansion.” He rubs his hand over my stomach gently and yet … I burst into tears.
Arry just called me fat.
Arrick rubs his hands down his face and exhales slowly. Losing the will to live, little by little with every passing hour of the last seven months. Blowing out air dramatically before even turning to me.
“Baby… I didn’t mean anything by that. You know I mean…” He sighs again and gives up. It’s like he doesn’t see the point in repeating his rehearsed speech that he has to recite three dozen times a day for making me cry at the slightest thing and stares at the elevator ceiling—probably to remind himself for the zillionth time why murdering your wife is not a good idea.
Tears have become my constant companion and I think even he is immune to them after consoling me every twenty minutes for what feels like a decade.
“I won’t be fat soon, then you can stop making me feel bad about it…” I wail, like a crazy deranged weirdo, shoving him in the side. Broken hearted at my husband’s meanness as he stares blankly and prays for the ground to open up.
“I don’t think you’re fat… You’re just a little round right now so you can fit our baby in there. Everything else is still slim and in proportion. You are not fat. I still find you crazy sexy and really attractive.” He pats me on the back, giving the rehearsed response to my ‘I’m so fat’ meltdowns, and I swear it lacks conviction this time. He sighs with relief when the door pings at our floor and picks up the bags again as I keep glaring at him. Upset, hating him again… I had only gotten over hating him for not letting me put sprinkles on my hot dog at lunch.
I follow him sniffing, as he dumps the bags in the hall and work my way past him straight to the kitchen to console myself for him being an asshole. Opening the refrigerator and scouting for cold pizza, or take out, from last night when he had Nathan and Jason over. I pull out a slice and stick it straight in my mouth with the door still open.
“Nope.” Arrick yanks it out of my mouth before I even get a chance to bite it and gets a glare and slap for doing what fucking annoys me.
“Here, eat this instead.” He hands me an apple and I throw it straight back at him, flying over his shoulder in a flash of fury that meets a complete dead pan expression, yanking my pizza out of his other hand and turn on my heel.
“Don’t come between me and food.” I snap
“You ate a three-course meal before we drove the fifteen minutes home. You need to stop eating shit, Sophie.” He is pissed too, touchy boy because I am making life hell, but I don’t care.
One rule; Don’t. Mess. With. My. Food!
“So, you ARE calling me fat?” I gawp at him, previous upset hitting harder, and he flexes his hands in mid-air makes a ‘Gahhhh’ noise and starts unpacking the endless bags of stuff we bought, onto the kitchen counter. “Screw you.” I toss back at him and storm around looking for my favorite cushion to use on the couch. I’m sure I had it in bed but brought it out here earlier. I can’t get comfy anywhere I sit without it.
He riles me up sometimes and kicking him in the head would be great if I had the ability to lift my foot higher than my ankle. I miss being flexible enough to smother him in his sleep.
“I love her… it’s not long… couple more weeks maybe… I love her, I do. I can do this.” Arrick is mumbling to himself through gritted teeth and a rigid posture as he continues pulling out baby things and ignore him. He gives up when he sees I have bought multiple of one outfit in four colors and drops it all back in the bag. I’ve heard this chant like a million times… He switched out his counting to ten for this forever ago, and I stuff pizza in my face and hate on him from afar.
“Can you bring me a Pepsi when you’re done having your womanly moment.” I ask sweetly, and the glare thrown over his shoulder is not appreciated.
“I’ll make you a smoothie.” He answers tartly, and I know this could go one of two ways… Another all-out fight because he is being suffocating or I can let it go for once and focus on the fact we have less than a month of this to endure. Then I can write my memoirs on ‘The Un-joys of Pregnancy’ and get some normal back.
Some women, like Emma. Thrive and glow through pregnancy and make mere mortals imagine it’s the best thing since sliced bread and will walk around beaming and looking enchanting and ethereal. Like a fairy-tale notion of what it’s like to push out a sprog. And then you get the Sophie and Leila’s of this world.
We hate it, we endure it with grudge, we moan endlessly and make our men suffer as much as we are. Every day is like one long dragging reason to complain. Pregnancy sucks in every way, so we make it suck for them too."
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