Chapter 170

Arrick hands me a glass of water in bed and sits down on the edge to look at me. He seems calmer
than when we first got in and practically dumped me in here in a bid to high tail it to the bathroom. My
boy is a bit of a germaphobe with certain things and vomit touching him seems to turn him from manly
caretaker to cringing nauseated man child.

“Feeling better?” He smiles, looking fresh and clean from the very long shower in which he probably
bleached his skin to death. It wasn’t exactly my crowning moment of sexiness, but I have a good
boyfriend who didn’t say anything about me ruining his night or making him take his expensive jacket,
shirt and pants and put them straight in a black bag as soon as he got in the bathroom.

“Much.” I smile and take a sip, now dressed in one of Arry’s t-shirts.

“I think we should have stayed home and let you fully recover.” He watches me drink a little then takes
the glass when I hold it out to him and puts it on my bedside.

“I liked the sex… It was worth it, even if you now hate me.” I grin cheekily.

“It’s out with the jury right now.” Arrick visibly cringes and I can’t suppress the giggle as I imagine him
replaying the horrific moment hot wet vomit hit him in the naked shoulder and ran down his arm. I
should be mortified, but really, he has endured some crazy shit with me, and this isn’t the worst.

“You’re lame, it was just a little bit of sick.”

“Don’t!” He puts a hand over my mouth immediately and shakes his head, his pallor turning much paler
and he looks like he may go straight back to the shower. I swipe his hand away, laughing at him; he is
choosing his words carefully and I frown at him.

“Really? You think that’s worse than your cum…” I start but his hand is straight back over my mouth
with a look that says stop talking.



“That was one time and you asked me to do it… Won’t be ever doing that again. It seemed wrong and
like I didn’t respect you.” He’s referring to our moment of porn re-enactment after a particularly drunken
night of kinky sex where he gave his all, over my boobs at my request. I wanted to try it and see what
the fuss was about; it was sticky, not good and never again. Arrick looked mortified, that he would
shoot his load all over me.

“I guess I was drunker than I thought.” I shrug turning conversation back to the topic to get that guilty
look off his face. Arry gets weird about the strangest stuff and cumming on me is one of those things he
is very touchy about. I don’t know why, he does it inside me every time we have sex and doesn’t seem
to care.

“You know… Janetta… A couple of times, has made a comment here and there in passing lately, about
… That maybe you might be…” Arrick becomes evasive, looking a little uncomfortably and it only peaks
my nerves. He sort of half laughs and shakes his head as though he is being dumb, but it has all my
red alerts lighting up.

“What?” I sound impatient.

“She said your appetite has changed, improved… Your sleeping more and a little bit tetchier with the
moods. I have noticed you being more emotional than normal, hormones up and down and well, don’t
take this the wrong way baby. Your ass and boobs are definitely a lot bigger this past month.”

“What are you getting at? What’s wrong with my ass? Are you telling me I am eating myself fat?” I
almost cry at this, mood spiking and becoming irrationally tearful. In all the years I have known him, he
has never ever mentioned my weight in any context.

“NO!” He holds his hands up defensively and at speed. Looking extremely evasive.

“It’s the fact you got drunk crazy easy, threw up a few times today… Maybe we should think about
possibilities. Like Janetta suggested.” he looks pale, nervous and I have no fucking clue what he is



even talking about.

“What? What are you getting at? When did she suggest anything?” I’m getting agitated with him,
defensive over nothing. I don’t even know why.

“Baby? I think we need to get a test.” he tries to reach for me, but I slap his hand away.

“Don’t, baby, me… What do you mean a test? For what? You think I have something wrong with me?”

Arrick is extremely dead pan suddenly and I know he’s recoiling into that good old emotionally devoid
control, so he can handle something he really doesn’t want to. It only serves to make me more
sensitive and on edge and I shove him in the abs in complete frustration.

“Arrick! What fucking test?”

“I think you might be pregnant.” He just comes out with it, straight faced, tight lipped and I blink at him
as though he has lost his mind.

“You’re an idiot… We use birth control, Arry. The same one I have been using since the first time you
ever had sex with me. Two years on this injection… No babies. It obviously works.” I snap, touchy and
pissed at this weird conversation, all because I wanted sex a little rough and kinky after a few drinks
and I am obviously still unwell.

“Look, this isn’t exactly something I am happy about either… We never planned this or even put it in
the plan, but you might be. Isn’t it better to rule it out?” He looks pensive, not really giving much away in
terms of tone or expression and I scowl at him.

“No, because I’m not, and you’re overthinking my being sick for one day as something it’s not. Stop
being a drama queen, Arrick. It’s not a good quality in a guy.” I slide up off the bed huffily and push past
him, so I am on my feet, refusing to hear this nonsense.



So not having a B. God, I cannot even use the word even mentally.

It’s preposterous. I’m on contraception and I don’t feel any different at all, except a little sick and dizzy.
Okay right now a little hungry because I upchucked dinner and of course I’m tired. It’s been a long
emotional day and I should have stayed in bed.

“Sophie?” Arrick follows me and my temper snaps irrationally.

“WHAT?”

Okay, a little OTT but he’s annoying me with this.

“We’re not done talking…”

Ummm, yes, we are.

I walk out of the bedroom before he’s finished but he’s hot on my heels as I get to the kitchen at speed,
stopping to stare at me when I tug out an array of random foods from the refrigerator to make myself a
sandwich. Grabbing what I fancy.

“Okay, look… I get that you worry, and tonight I clearly shouldn’t have gone out. It doesn’t mean
anything. People get sick and maybe my ass is bigger from staying here as I don’t go to the gym with
you anymore and I like sweet things. I mean Janetta makes me a chocolate dessert almost every night,
and the fact that I’m more emotional. You said it yourself. That living here has made things more
strained and I have not been as happy, so maybe yeah. More emotional in general, but that’s not an
issue when we go home. You overthink, it’s what you do. And you find all possible worst-case
scenarios in every little thing and torture yourself to death. It’s practically your MO. So, while I disagree
with you, I am not surprised that you came up with this dumb ass conclusion when you have mother
hen putting nonsense in your head.”



I slap some filler on my bread and carry on constructing while looking his way and rambling on to cover
how short I was with him a moment ago. Arrick is silently standing at the door watching me with a weird
look on his face and I continue.

“I can’t and won’t be pregnant, Arry, it’s not possible. Besides, we have had a lot of sex in two years
and at some point, a lot of sex in like one day and it has never failed me yet. These past few months
we spent a lot of time apart, so it’s less likely to have happened when you sum it up rationally, really.
And I mean you know, we haven’t missed any birth control and I’m never late getting it either, so I’m
fully covered in all ways and it’s due in like maybe a week. I already booked the appointment.” I stop
and flip my other slice of bread on top, before lifting and take a bite.

God, this sandwich is amazing.

I turn back to him with a full mouth, chewing in a very unladylike manner. He is still staring at me rather
oddly, decidedly pale, and not really saying much. He’s in what I like to call ‘Arrick mode’ when that
brain is dissecting life and worrying himself into a silent ulcer. Sometimes that head of his is a massive
curse.

“I rarely drink anymore so it makes sense that after being unwell I was a little more sensitive and got a
little trashed, and we both know we do a lot kinkier stuff when we are drunk, right? Looser inhibitions.
You are soooooo overthinking this.” I smile his way as I swallow my food and take another monster
bite.

“I would have agreed with everything you said just now, had I not watched you make a sandwich that
consisted of four meats, jelly, peanut butter, cheese and pickles, baby, and then add chocolate sauce
with marshmallows on top.” He looks at my plate with a grimace and then back at my face as I chew.

I glance down and register that my amazing sandwich does look a lot like a messy dog’s dinner of
random ingredients, but I grabbed everything I had a major craving for, like I normally do when he’s not



around. Okay so usually I am a little less weird about my concoctions, but I mean, it tastes great.

“I’m not pregnant.” I swan past him to try and head back to our room, but he catches me by the wrist
and turns me to him.

“Then a test won’t hurt… If only to stop me from overthinking myself crazy.” He isn’t letting this go and I
eyeroll at him. He has that stubborn squared Carrero jaw going on and his eyes are very green. I’ve no
chance of talking him out of another Arry emotional mind meltdown. So, I relent.

“Okay!! Knock yourself out. Fetch one and make me pee on whatever you pee on and waste both time
and effort doing so. And you can clean up whatever mess I make trying to pee in a cup or on a stick,
seeing as this is your idea.”

“I’ll go find a twenty-four-hour pharmacy and get one.” He is still emotionally flat, and I know he won’t
improve until he gets this dumb idea out of his obsessive head.

“I’m not pregnant.” I chirp in a sing song way as I get to the couch with my food and slump down to get
comfy.

Still hate this couch.

“Sophie?”

“Not pregnant” I repeat as I carry on eating and realize I never got anything to wash it down. I slide it
onto the low coffee table, get up and head back again with him right behind me.

“I want to know for sure. Because if you are…” His voice fades and for a moment his silence makes me
turn to him. The look on his face is exactly how I feel about the topic… We don’t want and are not
ready to be having any little people anytime soon. This is nothing new to me and I’m glad we are still on
the same page. Neither of us want or need a B right now.



“I’m not… Stop stressing. We are all good in here… Just hungry.” I pat my abdomen then open the
refrigerator for a drink and start glugging it down from the cartoon that is in the door.

Tangy, weird fruit juice but I guess it tastes okay.

“Jesus Christ, Sophie.” Arry looks utterly appalled and covers his face with his hands.

“What?” I blink innocently and screw my face up at his over dramatics.

Sometimes Arry is a fricken weirdo.

“Your drinking pickle juice that Janetta left in the fridge for whatever she plans on pickling tomorrow.”
He looks back up at me with that same expression of disgust he had over my vomiting on him and I
frown back for a second.

I stop and look at the juice bottle in my hand and don’t even register that it tasted any different to the
grape juice that we keep in here. I look at the bottle and then in the fridge and see another one, only it’s
purple liquid and this is sort of foggy and semi clear. I sniff it and smell the unmistakable diluted vinegar
and wrinkle my nose up in disgust.

“It doesn’t taste like it.” I shrug and put it back and opt for grape juice instead. Washing it down and not
liking that the first one tasted a lot better.

Arrick sinks against the wall beside him and seems to sag as he slides down and lands on his ass on
the floor.

“What the fuck are we going to do?” he exhales as though somehow his whole world just came
crashing in on his neatly ironed self.

For god’s sake.



“Shut up and stop being lame. Sometimes I really wonder about you.”


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