Page 31 of No Going Back

I grab the handle, wheel the suitcase the few steps to the couch, and drop it with a heavy thud that echoes in the quiet dorm. My hands are already trembling as I yank the zipper open… clothes spill out in a chaotic tumble: pyjamas, underwear, a half-empty bottle of her favourite lotion, toiletries rolling across the cushions. I dig through it all, frantic and careless, not giving a damn how invasive it feels. Nothing. Just the usual clutter of someone living out of a bag. I check the side pockets, the zippered compartments… still nothing. Maybe I’m overreacting, maybe Rosa misunderstood, maybe Hannah really did come back for good.

I start shoving everything back in, rough and impatient, trying to restore some order so she won’t know I looked. My fingers brush something hard under the lining as I smooth down a sweater; rectangular and box-shaped. I feel it again, a definite outline. I unzip the compartment, the hidden one nobody ever uses, and reach around behind the fabric. My fingers close on the edge of a box. I yank it free… and immediately throw it onto the couch.

I yelp, sharp, involuntary, then gasp. “What the fuck?!”

Cole

I jerk upright on the bed when Remy’s voice cracks through the quiet, sharp and panicked, just one shout from the living room. It’s not his usual cocky yell or playful laugh; it’s the kind of raw, terrified sound I’ve only heard from him a handful of times in fifteen years. The kind that makes my stomach drop.

I want to stay stubborn, stay in here, bury myself under the covers, and pretend the last twenty-four hours didn’t happen. I need space; I need to breathe without him in my lungs. But I know him better than anyone… that tone means something’s wrong, really wrong. And no matter how gutted I am, no matter how much I want to hate him right now, I still can’t just sit here and let him drown.

I climb out of bed reluctantly, cautiously, hoodie still on, jeans wrinkled from sleeping in them. I open the door slowly, like I’m stepping into a minefield, and walk into the living area.

My eyes go wide. Remy’s on the floor, knees drawn up, head in his hands. He’s rocking slightly, breaths coming in short, ragged pants like he can’t get enough air. Face pale as milk, eyes wide and glassy, red-rimmed like he’s been crying. He looks like he’s about to throw up or pass out or both.

I move fast, cross the room, and drop to a crouch right in front of him. My hands land on his shoulders, firm. “Hey, Remy… hey!”

He looks up, eyes unfocused at first, then locking on mine; terrified and lost.

I frown, heart racing. “What’s going on? Remy… what happened?”

He licks his lips but doesn’t speak. Just rocks a little harder, gaze darting toward the couch like he’s afraid of it. He looks deranged… hair wild, face blotchy, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands.

I follow his gaze. Hannah’s suitcase is open on the couch… clothes half-spilled, things thrown around like he tore through it. And on the cushion beside it… a box, small and white. Ovulation tests, the kind that come in strips. I stop breathing for a second.

I reach for it slowly, mind numb, and pick it up, swallowing hard. My eyes fill instantly, hot and stinging. Why… why does Hannah have ovulation tests? No. They’re… trying for a baby? What?

Nausea rolls through me so fast I almost gag. But then I look back at Remy… he’s shaking, rocking, and terrified. He had no idea, he didn’t know she had these, he probably thought she was still on birth control. Fuck.

I rip the box open, strips inside, some already used. I don’t want to touch anything that might have piss on it, but I carefully slide one out by the dry end. Two lines, clear as day. I look at the instructions on the box: two lines means ovulated.

Fuck fuck fuck. When? When did she take these?

I spot a piece of paper tucked inside the box, crumpled, scrawled in Hannah’s handwriting. I throw the box down, uncrumple the note with shaking hands, drop onto the couch beside the mess, and try to read through blurry eyes. It’s notes… dates of her last period, hormone changes, and login details for an app called, “Period & Ovulation Tracker.” A circled date in pink gel pen: Wednesday 8th July. Hannah came back on Tuesday. I don’t know how many times they’ve had sex since she arrived. Twice? More? Did she… time it? Did she come back to get pregnant?

My heart drops through the floor. She can’t have Remy’s baby. No. Fuck that.

I stumble back to him, drop to the floor right in his space, knees touching his, and grab his face in both hands. “Remy… look at me.”

His eyes flick up, wide and wet. I hate what I’m about to ask, it’s disgusting, and I don’t want to know, but I need to.

“Remy…” My voice is low, careful. “Did you… did you finish inside Hannah at all while she’s been here?”

He frowns, sniffles, and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. Shakes his head fast, small, jerky. His comes out tiny and broken. “No… I couldn’t.”

“You’re sure?”

He nods again, faster. “I couldn’t even get hard… I faked it.”

Relief crashes through me so hard my shoulders sag. Despite everything… despite the anger and hurt… I pull him into my lap. Wrap my arms around his neck, keeping him close. He buries his face in my shoulder, shaking.

He whispers against my neck, voice cracking. “I-I can’t… I’m not ready to be a dad… I’m nineteen…”

I stroke his hair slowly, soothing. “Shh… it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. She can’t be pregnant.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes red, hopeless. “How can you know that?”

“Because she wrote it all down.” I nod toward the box, the note. “And if you didn’t finish inside her…” I pause, throat tight. “She came back for this, Remy. You didn’t know, did you?”