“Zo…” he started.
“No.” I held my hand in the air. “Right now I’m not asking for answers. Maybe tomorrow. Perhaps next week. But right now, I want to dull the pain.” I made sure to level my eyes with his. “I just want to breathe again.”
With his sight glued to my face, Stenton nodded. I could feel his need for a reprieve from whatever it was that had been dangling over our relationship. I didn’t want to try to make sense of everything. I only needed time out of the pit of gloom that swallowed me whole when he left me on the steps of my dorm.
That night, Stenton and I made love well into the dawning of the following day. We didn’t ask any questions, make any demands, pledges or promises. We simply relished the magic we made when together.
Chapter 11
Then
September 2007
~Stenton~
“Are you up?”
I glanced around the room, totally disoriented, trying to come up with a response. I brushed my face with my right hand and rubbed my tight nose.
“I’m good. What’s up?” I returned.
“Stent, do you even know who you’re speaking to?
What? I found myself grimacing at the phone like it was a damn fool. I hadn’t spoken much to her since last month when I dropped her off after spending the night with her. I’d been traveling so damn much, fulfilling my contractual obligations and trying to allow her to settle into the new semester.
“Of course I know who the hell you are, Zoey. What the hell is going on?” I asked as I squinted up to the nightstand, inches away, bypassing my Cartier, to the clock for the time. It was just after three in the morning there in L.A.
“Don’t use that tone with me, jerk!” she cried. That last word came out with explosive tears. It was clear to me.
I leaped into a sitting position. “What the fuck is wrong, Zo? Everything all right? Talk to me!”
I heard her sniffles in the phone. Zoey never cried. I’d seen her hurt, depressed, and fucking elated, but never did I see her cry. I was panicking like a motherfucker.
“Zo!” I shouted.
“Stenton!” she screamed. “Stop yelling at me!” she wailed into the phone.
My stomach turned and my throat tightened. She wasn’t speaking fast enough. In my craze, I could see her somewhere in a corner, alone, in a fetal position, hurting. And there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do to help because she wouldn’t just open her damn mouth to tell me what the fu— “I’m pregnant, Stenton,” she whispered through her cry.
Shit! Ni?a…
In all of my witless planning, not once did I think about this. Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach. I shot up and raced to the bathroom, barely making it to the sink before throwing my guts up. When I was done, I collapsed against the wall and brought the phone back to my ear.
“Stenton, are you there?”
It took me a moment to answer. “Yeah, baby, I’m here,” I breathed out.
I felt enveloped by guilt, stifled by it so tightly I couldn’t breathe. In life, I managed to not let a lot of shit get to me. When you’re exposed to the public and endure the hot and cold of its fickle support, you learn to develop a hard exterior. I do this even when seasons are good, my efforts align with my output and we’re winning. Even through those times, I try not to let shit get to my core, because whatever affects the inner you controls you. So, I’ve made it a point to not feel much, and to definitely manage my output in terms of emotions.
This fucking girl… She crept up in me somehow and infected me like a damn virus. She fucking controlled my sanity. That’s the only thing that could explain how I was able to lose every faculty and do something so goddamn crazy.
“Stenton,” she grounded out through gritted teeth. “What am I going to do? How am I going to tell my parents?” Then her voice elevated with a fresh thought. “Maybe…maybe I should get an abort—”