ℂ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℕ𝕖𝕠𝕟 𝔾𝕝𝕠𝕨 ➃

39. Nonexistent Futures - ✭ Boston ✭

I'd dropped the subject of not wanting children after she ran to the toilet and started vomiting. Monica was clearly in no state to talk about anything, especially anything like that. I couldn't believe all it took was a couple of drinks to have her pretty much inebriated. It made me curious as to how much she'd had when she went out with Marcella that night. The same night that Carter had carried her in his arms.

She snuggles into my body as I think about the events that had played out after that night. She forgave me. She trusted me. And you betrayed her trust by keeping your biggest secret from her, the reason why you were even there. Then told her about it while buried deep inside of her, nothing in between the two of you. Right. And here I am telling her I don't want kids with her while doing the exact thing it takes to create them. You're an asshole. I know.

Guilt pummels through me like the kool-aid man does a brick wall. I told her not to take the safe route. I told her to take a chance on me. I told her to walk to the beat of her own drum and live her life differently, to leave her boyfriend and choose me.

And for what?

Carter is the quintessential all-American poster child of what you'd want in your genetics. He's fit. Tall. Can play every sport there is to play with ease. I suppose I could see how people would find him attractive. He may not have it all in the academic department, and may be a bit of a dick, but mixed with Monica's genes, I'm sure neither of those things would be an issue. I'm sure the two of them would make smart, healthy, and beautiful children.

Her and I would not.

Our children would no doubt be beautiful, yes, and smart for sure. But athletically inclined, probably not because they'd probably end up with my malfunction. Not to say that I don't stay fit but I can't do things like track and if I had to run for my life my heart would probably give out mid-sprint.

Fuck my life.

Monica rolls slightly out of my arms and I am thankful for it because I feel like I'm either going to punch my pillow to death or cry like a thirteen-year-old school girl. Well, more like a fifteen-year-old school boy finding out his heart is failing him. This time the heart failure is entirely different. My heart is breaking for the girl beside me for loving me and I feel like a failure.

You should've fucking told her. You should've fucking told her. You should've fucking told her.

No, I should've never asked her to come with me. I should've never asked her to alter her course for me. Her course had been good, healthy. Like her brother had said, all I did was come in and stir up the shit pot because I didn't care where I was going. Because I didn't know how much longer I had left.

You still don't know.

But Monica has her entire life. A whole-ass future. One that should involve things I can't give her. I won't create kids just to die on them, to traumatize them. I can't fucking do that. I won't fucking do that.

I throw my legs over the bed and place elbows on my knees with my head in my hands. "What the fuck have I done?" Fallen head over heels for the girl in the bed next to you and simultaneously robbed her of the things she wanted because you're selfish. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuuuuck."

"Boston?" I slide my hands down my face and scrub them over it harshly before running my hands through my hair. "You alright?" I grip the roots tightly at her words.

"Fine," I manage to say the word as normally as I can. "I just have a bit of a headache is all. Too much to drink last night."

"Oh God, I knoooow." Her voice is groggy and laced with irritation. "Me too. My head is pounding."