I’m standing here, wishing to a higher power that I had not heard those words uttered in the room I am in. I send a silent prayer to whoever is listening. I need the ringing in my ears to stop. My sight blurs. Did this piece just say she is pregnant? That she has my man’s baby inside her?
“Show me proof,” I say to her with as much calmness as I can muster. She laughs. Not because I am funny. I mean… Yes I am, but I wasn’t trying to be two seconds ago. She releases another laugh, maybe a snort.
No. I need to stop trying to insult the carrier of his child. Because that is all she is. She is just carrying his baby.
“In the bedroom. The master.” She says as if I was to think they were to perform the forbidden acts in my kitchen. She heads up the steps. I follow.
He knows I am mad. Because he knows me too well. He knows I am pissed off to levels I myself cannot comprehend. He knows better than to lead me to the kitchen at this moment, because the anger in me could make me fashion a formidable weapon out of the tiniest tea spoon. And knowing this, I follow the floozy up the stairs. One, two three… Master bedroom.
She opens my drawer and removes a pregnancy test. Already opened. Already used. I pray once more. But as I look at it, already positive.
A burning sensation begins in the pit of my stomach. The pedals of sanity are fading. I feel them cycling away. I can’t hold this nice face for long. “How sure are we that it is real?” I ask. I can’t believe myself! I dare doubt information as serious as this! But I love this man too much, I can’t help it.
She snorts. Just like the pig she is. “You think I can cook pregnancy positives? I can pee on a new stick for confirmation Your Highness”
I don’t like her tone. She is sarcastic. I don’t like it one bit. I look her in the eyes. She looks at me menacingly. Like a lioness protecting her cubs in the African jungle. Her eyes fiery. Posture alert. She looks as if she is ready to pounce on me. I quickly scan my memory to see if I have ever had any one of my enemies in such a state. Nothing comes to mind.
“Yes,” he now finds words to chip in. “Let’s test again, with all present”
I lift my hand up to his face for him to shut up. I can’t have him speak right now. He will only disorient my line of thought. I need a glass of water. I turn to leave the room.
“Look at the scrawny little bird leaving once more. Take care now.” She says. I block her out. My throat is dry. My eyes misty. I need a break, if only for a little while. If only for a bottle of water.
He tries to defend me against her. She says something about him choosing me over her. My head hurts. I cannot understand the conversation. The room starts spinning so I lean against the door. She is having his baby.
As I feel my heart break, he asks me if I am alright. But what do I tell him? What do I tell the love of my life? That he had ruined us? No. He will raise the child with regret.
I walk out the bedroom door and start down the staircase. One. Two. “Babe?” He calls out to me. “Yes?” “Don’t leave” he says to me. In the same tone he called to me in before I left earlier. He doesn’t know that this time, I am not leaving. He got me back inside, and that is where I was staying, Floozy or not. Oh… Pregnant floozy or pregnant not. I was staying.
Step three. She comes out of the bedroom. “Sharing a moment are we?” Her arms are folded across her chest to try and emphasize her disappearing bossom. I stare at her. Try to see what he saw in her. What he sees in her. She is everything I am not. Loud, slim and messy. Looks like an elongated twelve year-old. Her adolescent years seem to have been lost on her.
Forth step down. She rushes to me and grabs my arm. I look up at her, only because she is two steps higher. He looks at us in despair. “Please let me go”. I say calmly and as a question.
“Leave my house!” She says… Or rather shouts.
I look at her blankly.
She swings her hand, in a motion as if to land on my cheek, but she misses and hurts herself by the staircase railing. Blindly and with rage in her eyes, she swings again, and I know this was a bad one since her throat made a growl-like sound. I step back and watch her fall. She screams. It terrifies me, but I stand there. Watching. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine…
Why did there have to be so many steps? The blood started at around the eighth… Or was it the twelfth. I am not sure. But the trail of the thick and scarlet liquid that once flowed in her veins lines the staircase down to the floor.
He rushes to her, Reaches when there is a pool already. I can’t move. I still stand on the third step, unsure of how to breathe. My eyes fixed on her face which is now strained with what cannot be mistaken to be something else other than pure and agonizing pain.