Chapter 62: Chapter 62

Chapter 62

ALICIA

Pregnancy hormones suck.

Nah!

Actually, they hurt.

It's like a brain reset took place while you were asleep, and when next you wake, you realize something inside of you changed - and not necessarily for the better - making you act out.

And then you begin to say and do things, totally out of character for you, making your boyfriend wonder if you're indeed the same person he's been sleeping on the same bed with.

But within the chambers of your heart muscles, you know this is the time for you to misbehave, the time to get away with words you ordinarily wouldn't have been able to speak, even in your wildest dreams.

Goodness knows I love Ash to death, but right now he's driving me crazy, treating me like I'm a fragile doll that should not be broken. "Just . . . put the food on the table and stop fussing around me."

He straightens, turns and I'm able to see surprise etched all over his face. He rolls his eyes, actually rolls them, and releases a sigh. "Here I am trying to make you more comfortable and this is how you treat me?"

Love + pregnancy + hormones = Bitch fit loading.

I hold up one finger. "Um. . . can I have one plate of stop the bull crap, with toppings of don't talk to me, don't come near me, don't breathe the same air as me, and don't breathe at all? Thanks."

I watch as his brows raise precariously high before I storm out of the room. Lately, I'm finding out I've got traces of cruelty running through my blood. Looks like Ash is finally rubbing off on me.

As I brisk-walk to the recreation room, something tells me to go back to him, but I can't. I don't have the energy for it. The wind goes out of my sails and I feel vomit rising to my throat.

I try to swallow it down but I should have known better - it's like trying to put a hand over a fizzy drink you just shook. I bee-line back to the room and make it to the toilet, just in time too, as a spew of tsunami-trajectory vomit makes its way past my throat and forces me to open my mouth. . . wide.

You know those disgusting sounds people make when puking, right?

Yeah, well, I wish I were that dainty.

Not joking.

I sound like someone's throttling me and I'm not having it. Yes - complete with thrashing.

I feel - and I'm sure I also look - like a dying eel as I lay spent on the ground. Two months. Just two months have passed, and I've been vomiting like I'm being paid to do it.

Something cool settles on my forehead and I close my eyes as peace steals into my veins. The heat on my forehead immediately vanishes from the washcloth placed on it and I feel better. I open my eyes to see Ash holding back my hair which has slipped from the bun on top of my head and was almost making its way inside the toilet bowl.

Without saying another word, his hands come under my legs and I feel myself being lifted into the air. I close my eyes and settle against his chest, breathing in his scent. I love that he stopped using the musk body wash because it made me feel like puking. Now, he smells like soap, like his tee was just laundered.

His voice rumbles from within him and I don't catch what he's saying. I open my eyes to see him staring at me, a corner of his lips tilted in a half-smile. God, I love his half-smiles. They bring out his dimple.

I'm staring at him, feeling my lips tilt into a smile when another face flashes before me - a face that's eerily similar to the one I'm currently staring at. A face with cold eyes.

I stiffen instantly and Ash notices. As he places me on the bed, he removes the tee I'm wearing because splotches of vomit dot it. I wonder how he's able to stand the smell. "What's wrong, Amore mio?"

I practically melt at his words. "What are we going to do? He hasn't taken the bait since."

It's his turn to tense. It's in the way the muscles in his jaws flex as he grinds his teeth. I know he's frustrated. Heck, I'm beyond frustrated myself but his twin - he's warned me never to call his look-alike that - doesn't want to be found. We've set traps for him severally, but it's either he's extremely smart, or he's biding his time.

He tosses the vomit-stained tee onto the floor revealing my nakedness to his eyes. I watch as they zone in on my fuller boobs, and then flick down to my stomach. He touches my stomach, awe jumping into his eyes at the transformation.

It's still small, but there's a defined bump showing. I'm just three months gone, after all. He bends low and kisses my stomach then places his head against it. It warms my heart to see him connecting with our baby this way. I know it's still a fetus, but I like to believe she can hear him speak to her.

He croons a lot of words to her in Latin, words which sound meaningless to me because I don't understand the language. He confided in me a little about his past. He's of Latin heritage, and from the little he said, his father - now, late - was a deadbeat. His mother left when he was still merely a child. When he later grew older, he heard whispers that she ran away to be with another man, but he never believed it.

His father was a brute to her, always beating her. He said he once witnessed him using a large wooden stick on her body which drew blood. If not for the timely intervention of one of his men - who he later shot - he would have killed her. "Your mind is wandering again."

I blink, and his face comes back into focus. I clasp his hand which is still on my stomach but I'm no longer naked - I'm wearing another one of his tees.

"Remember when I told you about using a safe word. . . ?" He leans close to me, intensity flashing in his eyes as the sides of his lips tilt up with the ghost of a smile. I nod, wondering where he's going with this. "You'll never have to use it because I've got a fail-safe plan."