chapter 8

There were a few things in the world a girl simply could not turn down. Chocolate, perhaps. Diamonds. New shoes. A nice pair of earrings or another brand-new car — Blue, on the other hand, could confidently say that in the span of four days, she had rejected all the above... plus some. The chocolate, she could argue, was poisoned. The car faulty. The earrings rusted, and the diamonds stolen. No amount of arguing, sadly, could completely convince her that she hadn't led on Richard to the point he had spent only a few hundred thousand in just over half a week. Victim-blaming; a cult classic.

Vincent, on the other hand, seemed confident that the excessive splurging for little to no reason at all was only yet another psychopathic tendency of the man whose dick had to be the size on his middle finger — since he seemed to swing the two around so obsessively. The flowers he sent daily, contrarily, were nothing but a health concern. Each boutique bouquet had pollen that seemed specially designed to trigger Blue's hay fever, even from the trash can; and worst of all, each sneeze seemed to threaten the already vulnerable state of her bladder. She was at an increased risk of pissing herself.

The man by no means was happy that some old creep (despite Richard being younger than himself) was sending his pregnant wife gifts at all hours of the day, but he couldn't deny he felt some degree of satisfaction that she had agreed to let him cook... At least until she could bear to be in the kitchen without triggering some incontinence. He seemed to have convinced himself that Blue was in a rather fragile state. But she was at a fragile state — eighty per cent of miscarriages occurred in the first trimester. If Vincent could have it his way, he wasn't going to be leaving much at all to chance.

"I've been thinking; what if Richard had the right idea in buying you a car?" Blue threw the man a strange look from her spot on the couch, eyes just above her shoulder and half-hidden beneath a tangle of her hair that had stirred against the cushions of the couch. He was pushing around two steaks in a frying pan, just as he had been for five minutes. Of course, pushing them around did nothing for the process. They had already been through the oven and only needed to brown off. He knew that. She knew that. And yet he seemed to be doing it with only half a mind for such a thing.

Vincent had become... territorial... to put it lightly. Possessive was perhaps another word for it. But not in the way that would suggest he belittle Blue for any man giving her some form of attention. He was simply insecure about his own "voluntary contributions" to her lifestyle; specifically, the number of cars, jewellery, chocolate and shoes he had given her in comparison to Richard.

"Don't be ridiculous, he only bought me a car because he was upset you got to drive me home on Sunday," Of course, Blue was well aware of the fact that Vincent was her only source of income, for want of a better word. Vincent on the other hand, not so much. She found that it had quickly become a pissing contest for the men. Her biggest concern; Vincent would start waving his dick around just as much as Richard. "Besides, if I ever need to go somewhere and for some reason, you're not here, I can call a car — it's more fuel-efficient, anyways,"

Her anxieties were completely baseless. He hadn't said anything at all to attest to his materialistic insecurities, let alone demonstrated some drastic financial declaration of his love. It simply seemed as though he was worried she thought he didn't do enough, and she was worried he thought he didn't do enough. "I care a lot more about your safety than the environment, Blue,"

"Well you'll be caring about it a lot more when the world is on fire and we're all burning to death," She had been picking a ball of lint off her sweater as she spoke, and only lifted her eyes to investigate the man's silence. When she did, he was casting her a rather pointed, cold stare. "I'm kidding, of course, I'll be dead by then — it'll be our daughter who's burning to death,"

"Daughter?" Finally, he began pushing the steaks around again. The human mind was such a trivial thing.

"Wishful thinking — I'd like to say that I have a feeling but I'm not some witch doctor," Quietly, she pressed a hand to her stomach. In all honesty, she looked and felt only as though she had eaten a large dinner and was bloated the next morning before she could shit it all out. She wished she felt a kick or a heartbeat or even so much as a bean-sized human in her stomach, but all she felt was the exact same. Only a motion-sick fussy-eater version of who she had been before. She wasn't who she had been before, after all. She wasn't Blue Pierce, a secret wife and rebel from the waist down. She was a mother. "I would like a son all the same, though,"

"Martin," He watched as she flicked her hair over her shoulder and met his gaze again. When she did, her eyes were bright, and her lips were set into the form of a small smile. "Or Ellie... for a girl,"

Her smile only grew. "Little Marty... I like that." Before he could so much as ask whether she was just saying it to keep him happy, she had turned to face the television again. This time, hand on her stomach, she truly did feel that she had something inside of her. Someone.

—

It didn't take Blue long at all to come to terms with the fact that she would greatly have to adjust the way she dressed now that she was an expecting mother. Of course, this wasn't to say that pregnant women couldn't dress however they pleased. She simply didn't want to be stared at for having a stomach her size and wearing a dress so tight — either it would be painfully obvious that she was pregnant, and the tightness of her dress would give away the fact she wasn't even a young adult yet, or she looked overweight and unsure of how to dress for her size. In an effort to avoid either, she wore a sweater and a rather old pair of jeans. It was too warm for the sweater, she was aware. But she had to do something to hide the fact that the waistband was held shut but a hair tie due to the fact she could no longer squeeze into them.

She couldn't so much as estimate how long she had sat at the unassuming coffee shop she would never have noticed if she wasn't living with Vincent. A hot chocolate and a piccolo latte in, she found herself planning a surprise date with Vincent on his lunch break – of course, she couldn't go into the office in fear of being spotted and provoking Richard. She'd have to wait for him to come home as he always did and take him out on a walk. Though the idea did seem far plainer when articulated. Maybe it was a better plan for when they were old and tired — their middle of the day pick-me-up quickie did seem to be working well, after all.

She had wanted to be early. Deciding that everyone was early for everything, she came early for early — and then to make sure they didn't have the same idea, she was early for that. Of course, she didn't want to be gaping at the man who may be her ticket into University when they walked in, so she had fixed her eyes to the floor just by the door. While slacks and dress shoes were not uncommon in New York, at a boutique café frequented by hipsters, the majority of the crowd walked in with sneakers and jeans... by the time she watched the lower half of a man walk in, clad in formal wear of some description, there was a half-half chance that the seat across from her would scoot from beneath the table and become filled by some man with a manila folder, or she would be staring at the floor to no avail until the next pair of loafers waltzed through.

She'd wait five seconds before she looked up and give a flustered smile like she had just run in, thinking she was late. But she was still fifteen minutes early. Of course, she had had so much coffee by the time she had given the flustered smile that she felt like a crackhead in sheep's clothing. "Blue." Only when the man addressed her after shuffling his chair beneath the shared table did she look up — and when she did, her heart dropped.

He was completely plain-looking. No lips. Thick eyebrows. Neatly trimmed hair. Cleanly shaven. Peppered grey and black. A nose to end all noses. Most of all, a dead ringer for Richard. Or simply Richard himself. "Richard?" Bewildered, she began to gather the portfolio she had gone to lengths to lay out neatly. "I'm expecting someone, you have to leave,"

Quickly, a hand shot out and covered her own. Her heart somehow seemed to sink even further. "George isn't coming, I gave him quite the generous tip to stay at home with his sick daughter today," In other words, Blue was completely and utterly screwed. "Now how about you stop trying to run away from me, and sit and have a chat with me instead? I'll buy you a nice drink, we can catch up..."

It took a moment and a degree of great concentration for Blue to swallow the lump that had formed deep in her chest and risen with a bout of vomit. Even when she did, she still felt quite unwell. She had never been more relieved that she forgot to put her rings back on after washing her hands that morning, but so filled with dread at the same time. "How did you know I was here?"

"I've been keeping tabs on you, Blue, you are my fiancée, after all,"

"I haven't said yes-"

"You don't have a choice," reluctantly, Blue clamped shut her mouth. He was right, after all. She had no choice. She couldn't tell him that she was already married — he'd run straight off to Marian. In a matter of days, she'd be forced to move back home, Richard would move in with them and Vincent would be banished. Marian would never let him come over for their little get-togethers again. There would be no moments in her bathroom or her father's office or the entryway or his car across the road or even at the breakfast table. Worst of all, her child would be a Leitner, not a Carmichael. "That's why I was most disappointed to see that you've made the decision to throw away your future for a public education in... what was it?"

"Journalism,"

"When you could be studying law at Harvard... I could even be giving you, my wife, lectures,"

With little resolve, Blue made the decision not to roll her eyes. "A story for the children," With her folder clutched in her arms and papers sticking out in all directions rather haphazardly (courtesy of her rush), Blue finally found her feet, scarf slipping from her neck.

"It seems you're forgetting something, Blue," The girl paused for a long moment to blink away the tears of fright that had formed, a product no doubt of pregnancy hormones, and instead to muster a hard glare that seemed to do an alright job of hiding any primal anxiety. Frankly, she was horrified that he apparently had such a detailed account of her every decision. "You still owe me a favour,"

"I don't owe you shit,"

"Then I guess you want your mother to know that you snuck out of the house to fuck your father's boss while I was promised a dinner with you," For just a moment, her glare faltered. Richard, the twisted sicko, smiled. He seemed to take a strange pleasure in the fact. "It's my father's charity event tonight, I'll be picking you up at seven-thirty,"

Blue, desperate and making no effort to hide such a fact, blurted a few words that were borderline unintelligible. "I don't have a dress,"

"One is being sent to your apartment as we speak," She watched reluctantly as the man crossed his arms and fixed a rather cruel, small smirk where a previous look of indifference had sat. "I'll see to it that your application for the University gets lost and I'll personally push up your Harvard submission, instead — you'll thank me later, dear," And with that, she watched as he rose to his feet, paused to button up his blazer and leant over the table to take a shaking Blue's hand in his own. Though she was so sure he would kiss the back of her knuckles, he leant in without pause and placed a rather rough, wet kiss in the hollow of her cheek. Never had she seen a cheek kiss with as much tongue in her entire life. "I'm afraid I'll have to get back to work; hopefully our next date is a little longer,"

Without so much as a goodbye from either of them, Blue watched as he shouldered the café door open and let it swing aimlessly shut behind his exit. Even when he had left, she found that she hadn't the slightest clue what had just occurred. All that she did know, was that she was deleting Facebook that night.