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One of the biggest changes to my life is that I stopped taking the elevator at work. There is too much risk. I could run into Christian and be stuck in there with him. That is something I just cannot handle. Part of me fears that he will somehow, mystically, know that I am carrying his child. I don’t know how. I’m not even showing, but I still worry about this constantly. So, to avoid him, I take the stairs. It hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. The stairwell is quiet, and I’m getting more exercise. It’s almost my new refuge. Almost.
Sipping my morning tea — peppermint to help with nausea — I take a break on the landing between the third and fourth floors. I often stop here to take a few deep breaths and prepare myself for walking into my office. Eileen and Reese have kept quiet about my condition and the circumstances that caused it, but still, I feel vulnerable every day. Here, in the quiet, annoyingly bland stairwell, I can feel protected — hidden even.
Above me, perhaps on the top floor, I hear a door open. Pretty much everyone takes the elevator, so it’s kind of weird. Trying to ignore the fear making my belly more queasy and the prickling of the hairs at the back of my neck, I take another sip of my tea, leaning my head against the hard concrete wall.
The person above me stomps down the stairs. They are obviously having a bad morning. I know that I should get myself moving and out of the way, but I want to savor my last moments of privacy.
“Hiding from me, pet?”
Looking up quickly, I see Christian staring down at me. He has a sneer on his face. His eyes are hot with anger.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”
I head towards the door to the fifth floor, but he is faster. He dashes down the stairs, getting in my face and slamming the door closed when I try to open it.
“Leave me alone, Christian.” Tears are already in my eyes. I don’t want to fight with him, but I don’t know how to make things better. And now that there is a baby involved, I can’t let things get worse.
His body is inches from mine. I can feel the heat. I can smell his cologne. I want, more than anything, for him to take me into his arms. I want him to kiss me. I want him to fuck me. I want things to go back to what they were before. Before I learned how he was with women, and I had to protect my heart.
Sky-blue eyes wide, he looks me up and down. “You look different.”
I start to shake. Please don’t let him guess. Please don’t let him guess. I want to cradle my middle. My hands ache to touch my stomach and protect his baby, but I can’t do that. A gesture like that would tell him everything.
Christian reaches out. He takes a strand of my hair and runs it through his fingers. I smack his hand away — harder than I intend to.
“Don’t touch me!” I shriek. “I’m not yours anymore.”
He frowns. His face turning cold. “And why is that? I don’t want to fight anymore, Mandy.”
There is hope in his words, but I can’t deal with it. There is too much fear in my heart for myself and my child. I don’t want to get rejected again.
“We can’t be together because we don’t trust each other!”
As my words echo in the stairwell, Christian leans back. His face is pale. His mouth is hanging open slightly. I expect him to yell at me. Part of me even wonders if he will grab me or hit me, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything or touch me again. He just drops his head, pushes around me and runs down the stairs as fast as he can.
I want him to come back. I want him to come back so badly that I have to catch myself from calling out for him. The tears I was holding back run down my cheeks. I can’t catch my breath as I sob.
My stomach drops, making my head spin. The stairwell starts to dim out some, so I sit down heavily on the steps. Everything goes dark.
****
“Mandy?!”
I don’t open my eyes at first. I can’t. The darkness is the only thing keeping my stomach calm. Plus, I don’t really want to deal with what happened because I’m not quite sure what did happen.
The floor is cold and hard beneath my cheek. I must be lying on cement, not the usual carpet. Hands grab my shoulders. Big hands. Warm hands. Their grip is tight on me, pulling me upright. One of them moves to my face, cupping my chin gently.
