“No!” I gasped, placing a hand to my chest. “Not in that way, no. But that’s sort of what this is about actually.” I scratched at my arm, embarrassed. “I haven’t had my period in months.”
He leaned back against his car. “Any possibility that you could be pregnant?”
“No,” I muttered. “But what if Jeremiah did hurt me? Could I have gotten pregnant?”
Pox made a hmmm sound. “Well, I’m guessing you stopped menstruating, because you were emaciated quite a while. But sometimes, on the rare occasion, women who haven’t been spotting at all can get pregnant, so although I’m not inclined to give a definite yes, I wouldn’t give a definite no either.”
It was enough beating around the bush. “I’m not on birth control.”
“Ah.” He smiled. “That’s what this is about.” He stood. “There are a handful of options. However, if you’re a little scatterbrained or work nights at a gentleman’s club and would forget to take the pill,” he winked at me, “I’d recommend an implant. There’s one—a small bar—that’s injected into the arm after it’s been numbed, and it’s good for around three years. It’s extremely popular amongst young women.” At my hopeful look, he shook his head. “I would not recommend getting that until you’ve had a chance to gain some more weight.”
I immediately argued, “I’ve already gained ten pounds!”
Well, almost. Nine-point-three pounds, to be precise.
He smiled kindly. “I’d like to see you add another ten to that.” At my glare, he caved, “Six more, at the very least.”
He handed me his card and told me to call when I was ready. I took the business card eagerly, stuffing it into my bra.
Later that week, I was undressing for the shower when Lev walked in on me.
At the look of shock on his face, I doubted it was deliberate. I didn’t judge the slack look on his face. I was shocked too. Being caught in nothing more than your plain white panties did that to you.
I opened my mouth to yell, “Get out!” but only a squeak came forth. When his cool brown eyes roamed my body, I lifted my arms to cover my bare breasts, having momentarily forgotten about the dark red hickeys all over them.
I was embarrassed. My cheeks flamed. My boobs were tiny. I looked like a young boy, rather than a young woman.
I would never—not ever—be one of those women who were comfortable in their bodies. I always had self-confidence issues. They had not improved with age.
He spoke then, and it was deathly quiet. “He did hurt you.” It sounded like an accusation. Aimed at me.
Reached for the towel, I draped it over myself. “It’s nothing.” I didn’t sound convincing.
He reached up with both hands, closed his eyes, and ran his hands over his face, slipping back up to massage his temples.
He looked ready to lose it.
“I’ll kill him,” he muttered. Then he threw his hands down, punched the door with his good hand, and snarled, “I’ll fucking kill him!”
“Lev,” I whispered fearfully. When he stormed out of the bathroom, holding the towel up, I took chase. “Lev!” My legs shook at the fear I’d felt then, but I made it down the upstairs hall and caught up with him. I stood in his way. “Lev, stop!”
He tried to move around me, but I held out the hand that wasn’t holding the towel. “Please, stop it.” He growled aloud and I shrank back, my quiet voice shaking as hard as my hand. “Lev, you’re scaring me.”
That seemed to hit home. His eyes regained focus and, panting, he looked down at my wide eyes and trembling body. His fists loosened and his face became pained. “I’m sorry.”
He was back.
My Lev was back.