“Do you need anything?” he asks quietly.
I smile faintly at him and shake my head, “No, the water and cool cloth will be enough.”
He turns to leave and I speak again, “Thank you.”
Zachary glances back at me and nods before leaving the bathroom.
I get up a little while later on slightly shaky legs and make my way back down to the kitchen, thinking that some dry toast might be light enough for my growling and still slightly churning stomach.
When I get down there, I see Zachary standing at the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand and another bottle of water sitting next to him, which he holds out to me, “Here, I thought you might want another one.”
I take it, the condensation on the cold bottle making my hand damp, and I hold it to my forehead letting the coolness seep into my skin before unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. “Thanks.”
Zachary looks a little uncomfortable, and I guess that it must be strange for him to act this way. He is certainly acting calmer and less erratic, the air around him different and easier to breathe in. I could get used to this side of him, and I can only hope it lasts. I lean against the table, still taking small sips the water, neither of us saying anything, and it starts to feel a little awkward.
I break the silence, “Z, how long have I been here now? I’ve tried to work it out, but I lost track. It must be about two to three weeks by now.”
He looks up at me, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s been six weeks, not three.”
52
Zachary
Violet drops the bottle she is holding, and it falls to the floor in seemingly slow motion, landing with a small thud. Water gurgles out from the open top, spilling onto the floor.
“Six weeks?” she asks, her voice is small and shock fills her tone.
I nod, and her face pales and she starts to sway, so I put the mug down and move forward, sitting her on a chair, and holding her in place so she doesn't fall. Violet looks directly at me, and I stare into her eyes trying to figure out what's wrong when they roll back and she goes limp.
“Fuck,” I curse, and pick her up, carrying her to the sofa where I lay her down gently.
I sit down on the coffee table opposite the sofa and watch her, fingers tightly wound in my hair as I wait for her to come round. All sorts of thoughts and emotions are flying through me, all so quick I can’t make them out. The most prominent one that I keep coming back to is concern mixed with a little something else. I look away and scoff, but when I look back over to her it’s there again.
My eyebrows pinch together and I groan, burying my head in my hands. “Shit, this wasn’t meant to happen.”
A hand touches my wrist. “What wasn’t meant to happen?”
I look up and see Violet, her eyes now open and wide with curiosity.
“Never mind me, what was that back there?” I question her, jerking my head at the kitchen.
She bites her lip, and I catch sight of her eyes shimmering with tears as she turns from me, a sob escaping her.
“Violet, answer me,” I order her, working fucking hard to keep my tone gentle.
She shakes her head and doesn't answer, getting up and running from me. I go after her and catch her as she goes to head upstairs. I push her up against the wall and cage her in with my arms. But she still won't look at me, she still doesn't answer.
“Flower, Violet?” I ask quietly, using one hand to tip her face up to mine.
She opens her eyes, and looks at me, with pain, longing, and fear swirling in the ashy depths. I lean closer and press a kiss on her head and then her lips. Tears stream down her face as she kisses me back, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me closer. I lose myself in her, and the kiss. This woman is consuming me and burrowing inside, and I can't stop it. I don't want to stop it.
When the kiss breaks, I press my forehead against hers, closing my eyes and breathing her in. We stay like that for a while. Time passes, it could be seconds, minutes or even hours before she breaks the silence and shatters my whole fucking world with four words.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
53
Violet