Little Ones [A Vikklan, Poofless and Merome Fanfiction]

↞Chapter 2↠

Mitch's P.O.V.

I think Jerome knew what was going on, or at least had some suspicion of it, before I properly came to terms with it. It was the reason for my strange behaviour, my sudden moving out and my sickness but I still didn't have the heart or the strength to tell him about it- that I was pregnant.

It happened by accident, I didn't even have a partner and hadn't for years, it was just one night when I let my guard down and had a little too much to drink. I had been out at a bar, having some fun with Jerome who had just been through one god awful break up and needed some cheering up, when this guy had caught my eye. He was tall, dark and handsome and it seemed like he was looking at me too because he shuffled closer throughout the night, eventually getting close enough to flirt with me.

Because of the drinks I had had I was incredibly receptive to it, flirting back. I mostly forgot about Jerome- I saw him going off with some girl later- and all my attention was turned to him. We talked a bit, he bought me a couple more drinks, I flirted and laughed and just had a generally good time. It felt... good when he tucked my hand in his, pulling his chair next to mine so our shoulders were touching. We exchanged names and numbers and I talked about setting up another night to go on an actual date, a night with just us.

I thought that was it. No payback, no terms and condition, he just bought me drinks so we could have a good time and laugh a little. I was about to call a cab and go home, Jerome had texted to say that he was home, and after all, it was almost 1am so I really should get going. But he stopped me, giving me a smile.

"I can drive you home." He had said with a smile. "I didn't have very much to drink. I want to make sure you get home safe."

I accepted. I thought good of him- he had been kind and nothing but friendly through our entire interaction- I had nothing to suspect of him.

That night, he didn't drive me home. He drove me in the direction of my home but instead he pulled over in an abandoned parking lot, leaning over the centre console to kiss me, hands tight around my wrist to prevent me from pulling away. I tried to tell him to stop, I tried to fight back, but he was almost 5 inches taller than me, broad and strong, and much heavier.

I couldn't do anything as he dragged me into the back seat, I couldn't scream around his lips on mine. I kicked out as much as I could, but it was no use. I saw the look of disgust, then curiosity, and then the evil smirk that swept across his face when he stripped me of my clothes- I hadn't told him I was transgender. It didn't deter him though. He raped me, leaving me and my clothes alone on the cold concrete, bleeding and sobbing, not able to go anywhere until the next morning. I limped home, still crying, still scared and still traumatised, replying that half hour over and over again. I simply couldn't stop.

And that was how I ended up here. 9 months later, sitting in a hospital bed after a long, exhausting and painful labour that I experienced completely alone, with my baby girl in my arms. She was perfect in every way, but I couldn't help thinking about everything that had gotten me here in the first place, the journey I had gone on.

The rape and the trauma surrounding that, the decision not to go to the police because I knew there wouldn't be enough to charge him- simply my word against his and he could argue that it was consensual, my lack of access to anything that would have been able to terminate the pregnancy when I found out about it, which was when I was 12 weeks along. At the time of conception I was simply too scared and too messed up to even think about the possibility of becoming pregnant- that was the last thing on my mind.

But I managed to smile as I traced a finger along my baby's face, the soft skin, the fact that I had made a living, breathing human being was simply amazing to me. I had done all of that, even after everything I had been through. I knew there was a long way to go, that this was only the beginning, but after being given 6 months to get used to the fact that this was going to be my new normal, I had accepted it. I was going to be a dad, and I was going to do my best to make sure I was the best dad I could be to my little girl.

Hazel Grace Hughes. I didn't realize until months later that it was the name of that book character from The Fault In Our Stars, but I had never read it and thus didn't know. Not that I minded, because I loved the name from the second I saw it. I had actually been decided on the name since before she was born, a couple of weeks after I found out the gender of my baby.

At home... I wasn't sure what was going to happen at home. I was living by myself now and because of work it wasn't hard to seclude myself, almost never going out in the last three months of my pregnancy and having everything delivered to my house. Jerome was so busy too that I didn't see him. It became difficult to do a lot of things in the 8th and 9th months, I could hardly get clothes on, I struggled to walk and I was exhausted all of the time, but I made it. I got my work done, I kept the house cleaned, I cooked and stayed relatively healthy while waiting for the arrival of my baby. I had bought everything I needed in preparation, spending hours designing the nursery in creams and pale purples. It was fun, and it kept me occupied.

I winced a bit as I shifted on the bed, still sore from everything that had been going on over the last day- after all, she was only 36 hours old. I was set to be discharged the next morning if everything went to plan, and I would take it all from there.

This was the new stage in my life, and I was looking forward to it.