“Oh God,” she says. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“You’re not pregnant are you?” I ask. I don’t think she looks pregnant, but I’ll tell her that I’ll raise the baby as my own if she is, and that we won’t tell Adam because I don’t want him to be a part of our lives. And I’ll tell her that I’ll love the child as if it were my own, but of course I won’t, because it’s not really my child—it’s Mr. Fancy Asshole Adam’s child. And I hate him. So as soon as she’s given birth, I’ll get her pregnant again so that she can have our baby, and then it really will all be okay. And we’ll get to have lots of sex, which will be great as well, of course. And we’ll have two kids, and then a year later I’ll make sure she has more. Because we’ll want a big family, and we also like fucking, so it’s hard to keep our hands off each other. It’s hard to keep my sperm away from her. It’s like we’re supposed to be. Our bodies were made perfectly for one another.
And everything will be perfect…
Apart from it won’t be okay, not really, because we’ll still have Adam’s child living with us for the next eighteen years and that will suck so badly. But I won’t ever let her know how much I think she’s a stupid whore for getting herself knocked up by that prick. And when the kid grows up I’ll make sure it leaves home and doesn’t want to ever come back.
“No!” she says quickly.
Andthank God,I think.
“I feel sick because you’re here.”
“What?” I say. And it’s not very polite of me. I should have said “pardon” or “excuseme,” but I didn’t because I am so shocked that she said that.
“I want you to leave, Ethan,” she says. “Get out!”
AndWhat a fuckingbitch,I think.
