Page 64 of Downfall

When I reach her she’s sprawled out. What looks like days old makeup smudged across her cheeks. I scoop her up, once more carrying her, but this time it feels less necessary and more of a mistake.

One of the guards appears. He pauses, weighing up his options but he knows who his boss is, who his real boss is, and he quietly nods his head and slinkers off.

I carry her through the house. The tiny dog runs to us but it does little more than sniff at my feet and it’s hard to not step on it.

I lay her down on her bed, pull the covers over and then stand there. Watching. Waiting. Because I want her to wake up. I want her to see. To know it was me. To realise I was here. In her home.

Only she doesn’t. She just rolls over, muttering something. It’s not my name. It’s not me she’s calling for. My anger flares again because I want it to be, in this moment I want her to be crying her eyes out, crying for me, regretting every decision she made that separated us.

But that’s not what this is. Not what she’s doing. She’s mourning him. Not me. Mourning their life. Not ours.

I snarl walking away before I do something I’ll regret.

And as I reach the door, the little dog jumps onto her bed cuddling into her and in my fury I curse it too. I curse the pair of them.

Rose

This can’t be happening. That’s the thought that keeps repeating over and over in my head.

There’s no way.

We took precautions.

We weren’t stupid.

But three pregnancy tests can’t be wrong.

I feel sick. Numb too.

What the hell are we going to do now? I’m shaking, sat on the edge of my bathtub trying not to puke. Again.

How the hell am I pregnant? I get up and start pacing. I can’t just sit here. I can’t just sit still.

I need to see him.

I grab my phone, calling him but he doesn’t pick up and although that’s not unusual in itself it sets me on edge. I know he was out with Benvolio, they’d gone hunting, but he was meant to be back hours ago.

I call him again. I keep calling him but there’s nothing. No reply. Just silence.

I stare around at my bathroom. It’s late afternoon. There’s a fancy dinner planned this evening so I need a damn good excuse to be out but I’ll figure that later.

I send him a message telling him to meet me and that it’s urgent and then I grab my bag and, quietly as I can, I sneak out my window, down onto the flat roof of the veranda below and in one quick motion I jump, landing silently on the soft grass. Technically no one will stop me if they see me, after all I have every right to walk in my own back garden but I don’t want to risk it. I don’t want to be seen.

By the time I get to our meeting spot the air is cooling and the oppressive heat is finally letting up a bit. I stare at my phone. He hasn’t replied, he hasn’t even responded. It’s like I don’t exist. Like none of this is real.

I start shaking my head. Maybe it’s the hormones already whirling inside me but it feels like everything is collapsing. It feels like suddenly the ground beneath my feet is crumbling away so fast and I’m rapidly descending into a situation I’ll never be able to climb out of.

So I do it. I send the message I’ve been putting off. My hands shake as I type the words. My throat constricts and I don’t need to touch my face to know my cheeks are wet with tears. What the hell are we going to do?

It doesn’t take long for his reply. I feel relief when I see the small bubbles indicating that he’s writing. Relief and anger because who the fuck types back to that? Why is he not calling me? I’m his girlfriend for fucksake. I’m pregnant with his child.

Then the words flash and everything really does fall apart. He asks why I’m even telling him, he calls me a whore. He says that I’m probably fucking half the city so it could be anyone’s.

I whimper shaking my head. Roman would never say that. Roman would never behave like that. Not to me.

I dial his number but he sends it immediately to voicemail. And then more words come. More vitriol. He tells me not to contact him again. That I was nothing but a joke. A bet to him and his friends.

But I know that’s not true. Not after what he said. Not after the way we were.

---