Page 174 of Untamed

His hand comes up, fingers curling lightly around the side of my neck, not to hold, just tofeel. Just to remind us both that this thing between us is real.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” he asks. “I feel you everywhere,bambina. In my head. Under my skin. You’ve been there since the second I laid eyes on you. And no matter how many times I try to convince myself to pull back to keep you out… I can’t fucking do it.”

His thumb brushes my pulse, and I feel something in my chest clinch.

“I told you, I’m not good at this. But I’m trying. For you.Only you.”

And just like that, my heart free-falls.

The silence stretches between us, thick and raw. Then he pulls his hand away, slowly but keeps his eyes on mine.

“I’ll be right here,” he says softly. “Waiting.”

I walk inside, and the door clicks shut behind me.

The silence inside the clinic is different, too clean, too still. Like everything sterile here has never touched the kind of mess I’m carrying in my chest.

Bloody hell. Why do I feel like this? Dejected. Hollow. Like something’s been stripped out of me. It’s not like I want a baby. I’m nineteen. I can barely decide what to do with my future,let alone raise an actual human being. Even when I made the reckless choice to let him come inside me, I knew...knewthat I’d be taking the morning after pill. It was never a question.

No part of me is ready for motherhood. Or marriage. Or any of those things girls dream about in quiet, glittery fantasies. That’s not my life. That’s nothislife.

Still… this feels like grief.

Not for a baby I don’t want, or even have for that matter. I might not even get pregnant. But maybe for something else. Something that could’ve meant more, if we were different people. If we lived in a different world.

A nurse at the front desk doesn’t ask questions. Just hands me a clipboard, her smile polite, distant. I fill in my name, date of birth, circle the boxes. It feels surreal. Like I’m watching someone else move my pen across the paper.

Ten minutes later, I’m in a consultation room. The air smells like antiseptic and paper gowns. I sit on the edge of the exam table, fingers fidgeting in my lap.

A soft knock, then the door opens. My doctor is a woman in her mid-thirties with kind eyes and a voice so calm it makes me feel like I might cry.

“Hi, Jordyn. I’m Dr. Amato. Ares said you’d be coming in today.”

I stiffen slightly, but she’s already sitting across from me, flipping open a folder.

“No judgment here,” she says gently. “Just options.”

She hands me a small packet, the morning after pill, and talks me through it. When to take it. What to expect. I nod along, numb.

“Now,” she says, folding her hands. “About contraception going forward. Have you been on anything before?”

I shake my head.

“All right. We’ll run through a few options. The pill is simple and effective, as long as it’s taken consistently. I can prescribe it today, but we’ll need a follow-up in a few weeks.”

I nod again.

She pauses. “Jordyn, I’m obligated to ask. Are you doing this becauseyouwant to… or because someone else asked you to?”

I lift my eyes.

And for a second, I don’t know how to answer...because it’s both.

“Um, no, it’s my choice,” I say finally. “I’m not ready for a baby right now.”

She watches me a moment longer, then nods.

“Okay. Let’s get you started.”

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