Chapter Eight
“Abby,” Rufus says, stroking his hand through my hair. I’m sitting on his lap eating an apple. The show is over and I’ll be getting the train shortly, but we’ve fallen into the habit of me sitting with him for a little while before I head home.
He rarely uses my actual name, so I stop chewing and look at him, wondering what’s wrong.
“Would you consider going on the pill?”
I swallow. Butterflies start rioting in my stomach. I think back to the start of the week when he pinned me beneath him in bed, just to see what I looked like when he did that. I know he meant what I will look like when we sleep together. He hasn’t made any other reference to actually doing it, though every day he’s managed to find some quiet corner of the theater before, after or during the show to make me come. Today he cornered me backstage in between two of my dances and managed to get his hands inside my costume, which is no mean feat considering all the nylons, leotard and layers of tulle I wear. I nearly missed my second cue.
“Would you like me to?” I ask.
“Yes. But what I want isn’t important. It’s your body and your decision.”
That’s why he said my name, I realize. He wants me to know that he’s not telling me to do this, he’s asking.
“I’ve always been careful, but I’d get a blood test for your peace of mind.”
“You don’t have to. I trust you.”
He frowns. “I know you do, sweetheart, and I like that you do, but it worries me when you say things like that. Like the other day when you told me to go ahead when I had you beneath me in bed. That wouldn’t have been safe. I wish you wouldn’t be so reckless.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “But it’s you,” I say, if that explains everything.
“It doesn’t matter. Promise me you’ll never put yourself in danger, for anyone, no matter who they are.”
“I promise,” I say.
“Thank you.”
“I will see my doctor about the pill tomorrow.”
He smiles and kisses me. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Yes.” It’s very grown up, going to the doctor for birth control pills, but I’m excited to do it, not daunted.
“Wonderful. And I’m getting the blood test.”
The next day he’s got a piece of gauze taped to the crook of his left elbow and I’ve got a blister packet of cream-colored pills. I’m sitting on his desk with my socked feet on his knees.
Rufus examines the packet, and then hands it back to me. “What’s your plan for remembering to take them at the same time every day?”
“Plan? They’re labelled with the days of the week. Easy.”
He gives me his sternest look. “Kitten. That’s not good enough. You need a plan.”
“I’ll...keep them by my toothbrush and take one when I finish cleaning my teeth.”
“And if you’re at my place, not yours?”
“Oh. I’ll keep them in my bag, then.”
“You change your bag every day or so. What if you leave them behind in a different one when you’re in a hurry?”
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“I just won’t forget them.”
He pushes my knees to one side and swats my behind. “You could forget them, easily. Anyone could. Why don’t you get yourself a little pencil case and put them in there with your keys and your train card?”