Chapter 14

I feelsickish every morning for the next week. Once the thought entered my mind, I started counting days backward and realize my period is almost two weeks late.

It's absolutely terrifying.

Not once have Jimmy and I talked about having a baby. He pulls out before ejaculation every single time we have sex, including during my period, so it's quite clear to me that he doesn't want to get me pregnant. I don't want it either. I haven't made it even one year into this relationship, and while it's been working well for both of us, I'm still not at all confident about either my ability to fulfill his expectations or about his feelings and commitment to me.

He's been good to me. No question about that. And he's made changes based on the few times I've expressed upset or unhappiness. So I'm sure he wants this to work as much as I do.

But that doesn't mean it will.

Bringing a baby into it—one neither of us were looking for—seems a surefire way to blow up the tenuous foundation we've been building.

I keep praying it's some sort of long-lasting stomach bug and not morning sickness, but every day I wake up queasy, and my period still doesn't come.

Under different circumstances, I wouldn't worry about that. For years my period was irregular, either from stress or from limited food. It's been more consistent since I moved in with Jimmy, but that doesn't mean it will always be. But still… I keep waiting for cramps that just don't come.

The churning anxiety becomes my constant companion, and it makes me feel even sicker.

Because I don't feel good and am so nervous all the time, my instinct is to be prickly with Jimmy. To snap at him when he asks innocent questions about how I'm feeling and why I'm not eating like I used to and to shy away from him in the mornings when I'm nauseated because sometimes the scent of him or the heat of him makes me feel worse.

I know he recognizes it. I know it's bothering him. His back improved significantly after a few days, and now he's back to his normal physical condition. But he's getting quieter and broodier than he's been since the first month or two after we got together. We go through our normal routines smoothly enough and talk about whatever comes up, but it's starting to feel different. We have sex every night just as we always have, and it's not bad or anything. But it's what I've always considered our "basic" sex. The default. He still lets me start by going down on him, but he usually stops me before he comes. Then he'll fuck me doggie style until I orgasm since that's the position where's it's easiest for me to get there. Then he comes too. The two nights he can't hold back his climax during the blow job, we don't have intercourse at all. Instead, he makes me come afterward with his mouth on my breasts and his fingers in my pussy.

Physically, it's perfectly satisfying. I get the release I need to relax and sleep well, and so does he. But he's been quiet in bed, grunting when he's close but not talking me through it like he sometimes does and never kissing me at all.

It's not his fault. He's reacting to the change in me. He's confused and probably annoyed. I'm not acting the way I'm supposed to, and he doesn't like it. So each day I resolve to do better, to act sweeter, more normal.

To make him happy again.

Not for even a moment do I consider telling him I might be pregnant. It's not close to a definite thing at this point, and even if I am pregnant, there's a strong possibility I'll lose it in the first trimester. It happens to women now even more than it used to, and it's always been a common occurrence.

The whole situation might resolve itself without Jimmy ever knowing about it, so there's no reason to throw our relationship into such upheaval for no purpose.

Not yet.

I have no idea what I'll do if this pregnancy is real and it lasts.

On the Saturday morning a week after it first occurred to me I might be pregnant, I wake up feeling sick again but also resolved to act better, more natural. If I can just push my worries into that dark corner of my mind, maybe I can focus on Jimmy again.

That's what he wants from me. The sweet, soft, generous, supportive, accommodating partner I've always been to him. The one who tries hard to predict his needs. The one who has very few prickles or combative moods. The one who never pushes him away.

I've got to be her again or the worst might happen. He'll not want me anymore. I might end up pregnant and homeless and entirely on my own.

Fueled by new determination, I open my eyes and discover it's still dark in the room. Jimmy is stretched out under the covers beside me. I sit up, breathing deeply to dispel the nausea. I can't let it get in my way today. Other things are a lot more important.

Jimmy shifts his head slightly on the pillow. His breath catches. He's waking up. He nearly always does when I sit up or start to climb out of the bed.

"Y'okay?" he mumbles.

"Yes. I'm fine. Sorry to wake you up."

"'Bout time anyway, isn't it?" He's opened his eyes now and moves his arms out from under the covers. He's blinking up at me in the dark room.

"Not quite time yet." It's not even dawn. We've got a little time before we need to get up.

That gives me an idea. A way to prove I'm the same person I always was with him.

"Then lie back down, baby, and get more sleep. You been tired lately." He's still got that sleepy mumble going, and for some reason it makes my heart clench.

"I'm not tired this morning."

"You're not?" He sounds different. More awake.

"No. I was thinking of something better than sleeping, unless you want to doze off again." As I speak, I pull my gown off over my head. My breasts jiggle slightly from the motion.

There's not much light in the room, but my eyes have adjusted, and I assume his have too. He stares at my naked chest. I hear his breathing speed up. "You sure?"

He sounds hoarse and aroused but also slightly surprised. And it's the surprise that makes me realize how much I've messed up in the past week.

He should never be surprised that I want to do something sexy with him. We don't usually have full-on sex in the morning since we have to get going so early, but I give him quick morning blow jobs fairly regularly.

But he's surprised I want to today.

I've definitely got to do better.

"Yes, I'm sure." I lean over, pressing a kiss on his beard. Then lower on the side of his neck. Then on his shoulder. Then on his right nipple. I draw down the covers to bare his big body. He's wearing nothing but a pair of thin cotton boxers, and his cock is already tenting the fabric.

I don't spend a lot of time on preliminaries because I'm queasy despite my firm resolutions. I pull down his underwear. Stroke him with my hands until his cock is firm and upright, then bend over so I can take him fully in my mouth.

It's worse than I thought—the nausea on top of the thick substance of his erection in my mouth.

He groans loudly and arches his spine up at my first long suck, which is a good sign. He's not going to last very long.

He uses both hands to guide my head the way he always does, but the gentle pressure of his fingers, holding me in place at his groin, is deeply disturbing this morning. It makes me feel trapped. I might vomit and not be able to get away.

Fighting against the panic since this is so important, I fumble under my chin until I can get one hand on his sac. I massage it as I sustain the hard, rhythmic sucks.

He's making rough, helpless grunts and groans—all of them wordless—and keeps holding my head in place as he rocks his hips up into my mouth.

My mind whirls. My heart races frantically. I feel hot and cold in quick succession and break out in a clammy sweat.

On the very edge, I move my hand to push hard against the sensitive spot behind his balls.

He comes with a loud sound that's almost a bellow. His body shakes frantically. There's no way I can swallow his semen right now. I lift my head and take several gaspy breaths as I squeeze him through the spurts of his climax. He comes all over my breasts, and the smell makes me feel even sicker.

"Oh fuck, baby," he rasps when he's finally relaxed back on the pillow. He looks sated and sleepy. "You do me so good."

I force a smile. Surely in his postorgasmic daze, he won't be able to tell that it's fake. "I love doing that for you. And you deserve a good morning. I'm sorry I've been kind of prickly lately. I think it was hormones or something, but I'm feeling better now."

He reaches up to cup my cheek, his eyes heavy and a little smile on his face. "Good. Been worried 'bout you."

It's sweet. And incredibly upsetting. I lean down to brush my lips against his mouth and straighten up before he can hold my head down to lengthen the kiss.

The whole world feels like it's spinning wildly. I'm still being slammed by waves of hot and cold. I climb over his body and off the bed in an urgent rush.

"Hey! Where you goin'? I was gonna do you too."

"I don't want anything this morning," I tell him, smiling so he will hear it in my voice. "I just wanted to do that for you. And now I really need to go to the bathroom!"

"Okay," he calls after me. "But I'm gonna make up for it later!"

I barely hear him. Definitely can't answer.

I run toward the back door. Gurgle when I have to take the time to unlock and unbar it. Then I finally make it to the outhouse in an awkward sprint.

I vomit with painful mostly dry heaves and then burst into tears.

* * *

I must have done a better job hiding my anxiety and queasiness this morning than I feared. Jimmy is relaxed and smiling when he appears fully dressed a few minutes later as I'm washing my hands and face in the kitchen sink.

He comes over as I'm drying off with a towel and wraps his arms around me, pressing his body into my back. He leans down to kiss my cheek. "Thank you, Chloe."

"You're welcome," I say into my towel. "It was a good way to start a Saturday."

"You can say that again." He's still holding me against his front. He tilts his head down to nuzzle my neck and jaw with his beard.

Normally I'd appreciate the affectionate gesture, but today it's really disturbing me. I can't let him see that I was just really sick and still a little shaky.

But I can't pull away. I can't.

"We don't got that much to do today. Thought maybe we could do some fishin'."

"That sounds good." It does. Sitting with a fishing pole sounds a lot more restful than almost anything else I might be doing.

"Then sometime today I'm gonna take care of you the way you did me. Don't think I'm gonna forget about it."

"I know you won't." I turn back to smile at him over my shoulder.

He takes advantage of the position to press a kiss against my lips.

I've done well. I've made him feel better. He's back to his old self and even warmer than usual, probably because he's relieved that I've returned to my typical sweet self.

There's no way I can blow it all out of the water by yanking myself out of his arms, but I really want to.

Instead, I giggle and duck my head as if I'm feeling shy. "Don't you have chores to do before breakfast, mister?"

He gives a mock groan. Kisses my cheek again. Finally lets me go. "Fine. I'll go do my damn chores. Be a lot more fun cuddlin' with you."

I laugh again, my cheeks blazing, and then slump when he exits the house.

Shit. It's almost more effort faking things for Jimmy than all the work I've poured into making this household run.

* * *

We fish in the morning, and then I have to fake falling asleep on the couch so he doesn't get any ideas about sex that afternoon. I usually feel better as the day progresses and normally wouldn't be opposed to sex when we have spare time during the day. A few months back, during the last snow of the season, we were snowed in for a day and a half and ended up having sex four times the first day and twice the following morning since after shoveling a path to the animals, there wasn't anything else we could do.

But today I'm too emotionally shaky to risk letting go enough to have a long afternoon sex session with Jimmy. So I pretend to drift off in a nap. He covers me with a blanket and then leaves me alone. After a while, I fall asleep for real.

He wakes me up a few hours later to ask if I want a bath before we go to dinner at his folks'.

I do. Physically, I feel a lot better after the rest, and emotionally nothing is going to change for me until I find out for sure if I'm pregnant.

He lets me bathe first, and then we pour in some more hot water before he gets in after me. He always washes his hair while he's in the bath. Usually he does it himself, but a few times, when I'm feeling particularly soft, I've done it for him.

I do it for him again today, taking a lot of time to massage his scalp as I work in the shampoo. He sighs deeply as his body relaxes in the warm water. I know he enjoys it.

I realize my mistake after he rinses, gets out, and dries off. He's got a particular hot look in his eyes that's impossible not to recognize.

"We don't have time for what you're thinking," I tell him in an intentionally playful tone.

"Sure we do. I got this mornin' to make up for."

"You can make up for it at bedtime."

"Maybe I wanna make up for it now."

I'm torn. Rationally, I know I should let him, but emotionally I'm terrified that one more blow against my tentative control will cause me to fall apart completely. I'll crumple into a messy heap and blurt out everything to him.

Everything will change. Nothing will be what it was.

And that's a risk I just can't take. Not until I have no choice.

So I force down the flutters of fear and give him a teasing smile. "Well, if you think you can be quick."

"Quick? You want me to be quick?" He's got a warm chuckle in his tone.

"We don't want to be late for dinner."

Still naked, he takes a few strides toward me and scoops me up into his arms. "We won't be late."

He carries me to bed and starts kissing and caressing down my body, spending a lot of time on my breasts because he knows that works best for me.

I was hoping he'd get me off with his hand the way he often does, but eventually he's nuzzling between my legs, hooking my legs over his shoulders so he can really get to work on my pussy.

I don't stop him. I don't resist even though my heart is hammering frantically in fear as much as excitement. He uses his lips and his tongue and even his beard to work me up to the edge again and again without ever taking me all the way there.

I'm squirming and whimpering and huffing out pleasure and frustration. I keep fighting his hold on my hips in my urgency, but he doesn't let me go. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he focuses down on my clit, hitting it hard with his tongue in fast strokes and then eventually closing his lips to apply suction.

I come hard and helpless and messy. I sob with the tidal waves of pleasure and writhe as the spasms overwhelm me. He keeps sucking, sustaining the release until I'm hoarse from my cries.

Then he finally lifts his head, lowering me gently back to the bed. I lie there in an embarrassing sprawl, naked and flushed down to my chest and utterly spent. Unable to take a full breath.

He strokes my quivering belly. "Now then. You should feel better. You really needed that, didn't you? You always try to hold on to too much without letting it go." He slides his hand up to my cheek. "You did real good, girlie."

I burst into tears.

Loud, helpless tears. Right there. Naked on the bed after one of the most powerful sexual experiences of my life.

I can't help it. I really can't. Everything I've been fighting—and also holding on to—for the past week all comes gushing out with my sobs.

Jimmy is shocked. I know he is, even through my emotional storm. He shifts on the bed and pulls me up so I can cry against his chest. He holds me tight, rubbing my back and murmuring that he has me. That it's going to be okay.

I don't know that it's going to be okay. I have absolutely no assurance of that despite his much-needed words.

Because nothing has changed today except I've fooled Jimmy into thinking I'm back to normal.

And nothing might ever be normal again.

Plus pretty soon I'm going to have to explain these tears to him. I have no idea what I can possibly say.

* * *

It's maybe ten minutes later when I finally stop crying.

Jimmy hasn't yet demanded an explanation. He's held me and comforted me and waited for me to settle. But now he starts shifting slightly, adjusting his hips and his arms.

He's going to ask. He's going to draw me back so he can peer at my face. He's not going to take no for an answer.

And I still have no good answer to give him that won't blow everything we have apart.

Deciding the best option is a preemptive withdrawal, I pull out of his arms and move toward the side of the bed. "I'm sorry for the breakdown." I keep my tone as casual as possible. "I don't know what happened."

"Hey!" He grabs for me, keeping me from making it off the bed. "Where you goin'?"

"I was just going to wash my face, clean up, and go to the bathroom."

"Aren't you gonna tell me what the hell is goin' on after that?" He sounds wary and vaguely hurt. His eyebrows are pulled together in a frown.

"There's nothing going on. It was a random breakdown. Some sort of emotional release after all those orgasms. Probably just hormones or something. It didn't mean anything." I keep my eyes wide and my gaze steady. He has to believe me right now.

He doesn't.

His frown deepens. "You're sittin' there lyin' to me right now?"

"I'm not?—"

"Yeah, you are." His posture has stiffened and his expression hardened almost imperceptibly. "Even after what we just… You're still lyin'."

"Jimmy—"

"I thought things were better. You were actin' like we were okay again." He rubs his fingertips against his scalp in an urgent gesture. "But you were just pretendin'. All day you've just been pretendin'."

His breathing is growing louder. More ragged. He's focused on a spot in the air past my shoulder.

"Jimmy, please, it's not like that. Don't make it sound so bad. I was just trying to do… to…"

"To do what?" He meets my gaze abruptly. Fiercely. "To fool me? To make me think things are fine when they're not?"

"No! Things are fine." I'm so upset by both his anger and the pain I sense beneath it that I'm close to tears again. "They're good. I'm just extra emotional or something. Please don't be mad."

"What the hell do you expect me to be? I been goin' along believing you while you been floppin' me around like a puppet."

"No!" The word comes bursting out. "No, Jimmy, it's nothing like that. I'm not trying to use you. I'd never do that. I'm just trying to make you… make you…" For some reason, the final word won't be spoken. Maybe I can predict his reaction to it.

He knows it anyway. "Make me happy? Is that what you been tryin' to do? Pretend so I'll be happy when it's clear as day that you're not?"

"I am?—"

"Stop lyin' to me!" He's not shouting, but he's loud and gruff. Authoritative.

The tone silences me as it always does. I'm still completely naked and I don't like it, so I scramble off the bed to grab one of Jimmy's big T-shirts to pull on.

Trembling helplessly, I stand next to the bed, hugging my arms to my chest. "Please don't be mad."

He's searching my face and body with his eyes, desperately trying to figure out what I'm thinking. He must see something because his expression—his entire presence—freezes. He asks in a raspy whisper, "Are you scared of me, Chloe?"

The horror in his tone is too much for me. Tears spill out of my aching eyes. "No. No, of course not. I know you'd never hurt me."

"But you're scared of somethin'." He's still staring. Still motionless with that unspeakable frigidity that's trapped him. "What are you scared of?"

I open my mouth to deny it, but no words come out. I can't do it anymore. I can't lie to him—not after how much my lies have hurt him. But I also can't tell him the truth.

I'd lose everything.

"Oh my fucking God," he rasps after a long, tense moment, a dark enlightenment dawning on his face. "You think I'm gonna kick you out."

I hug myself tighter and make a whimpering sound. There's no way I can hold it back.

He moves in an awkward rush to get out of the bed. He tries standing, but his legs don't hold him up. He sits down with a jerk on the edge of the bed. "You think that, don'tcha? That if you don't do everythin' right and make me happy all the time, that I'm gonna just kick you out." He's dead white beneath his beard.

"It's not like—" I cut off my own words because the truth is obvious.

That's exactly what I've always believed.

And I've always believed it because it's true. How could it be anything but true?

This self-evident truth slams down on me once again, and with it comes a rush of defensiveness and a flash of anger. "What else am I supposed to think? I'm not insulting you or talking mean about you. That's what we've been from the beginning. That's what this is. We aren't some kind of romantic couple, and don't pretend we are. We're… This… It's… a transaction. You give me food and shelter and protection, and I take care of the house and make you happy. Isn't that what we are? Why are you suddenly so shocked and offended by it?"

He blinks, clearly taken aback by my challenging tone. He's still pale and stunned. His gaze suddenly drops to the floor. "I thought… I thought…"

"You thought what?" My voice breaks on the last word because it almost—almost—feels like hope.

"I thought you liked me," he mumbles. He's still not meeting my eyes.

"I do like you! You've been so good to me, and I've tried to show you how much I appreciate you. But that doesn't change how tenuous my situation is here. This is a good… a good arrangement. But you've got way more power in it than I do. This is your home. Your community. Your people. If this doesn't work, who do you think is going to get kicked out into the cold?"

His eyes shoot up, urgent again but still pained. "You think I'm that kinda monster?"

"It's not about being a monster. It's always been part of the deal. And I've been trying as hard as I can to be who you want me to be so the arrangement keeps working. But you can't be so shocked that sometimes that means not… not showing you every single part of me."

I can't believe I've said all that. That I've blurted out so much that's always been unspoken between us.

But I'm not wrong. I know I'm not wrong.

Jimmy is the one being unreasonable. He can't ask someone to be his woman in a practical deal and then act all sad and baffled when she finally puts that deal into words.

He stares some more. An excessively long time. Then some sort of understanding settles over him. I see it happen. But it's not peace or acceptance. It's a cold, bleak recognition.

"I see," he mutters, dropping his gaze to the floor again. "I get it."

I've messed up. I've really messed up.

He looks stiff. Closed off.

Broken.

And it's my fault. Mine alone. He was never like this until I finally told him the truth.

I should have kept quiet. It's always, always safer that way.

"Jimmy, I'm so sorry." There's a sob in my voice that doesn't break. "I didn't mean?—"

"I know. I get it. I get it."

"It's nothing personal. You understand that, don't you? I know you're a good man, and you've been so good to me. But it's not the same as… as…"

"As a real relationship. Yeah. I get it." He won't even look at me.

So damn it, I start crying again. "But you're upset! The last thing I wanted to do was upset you. But you kept demanding that I tell you the truth, so I… I did. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry." He gives his head a weird jerk and clears his throat. "I wanted the truth and I got it. You don't got anythin' to be sorry about."

"But—"

"You don't gotta be scared. I'm not gonna kick you out. You've done your part in this… this arrangement and more. I'm not gonna kick you out."

"But—"

Whatever I'm hoping to say that would miraculously fix the past fifteen minutes never gets said at all.

Because Jimmy walks out the door.

And me, I cry in painful, silent sobs until I have to run outside to throw up.