Waindale

forty-eight. i am not yours

I prop myself up and look over to him. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, the light behind him almost holy.

"What more could you possibly say to me?" I ask.

"Are you pregnant?"

Without a thought, I say, "No."

"Wrenley—"

"I'm not. You were right, what I felt was nothing."

Again he turns on the bedroom light, making me flinch. He nears the bed while saying, "My mother said some interesting things. It was implied. Did you tell her that you're pregnant?"

"Jesus, Adam, would you drop it? I don't need you to yell at me again about how I'm not pregnant. I didn't tell her that; I don't know what she was implying. You were right, I'm not pregnant. How many times do I have to say it?"

He nods his head slightly. I take a breath, thinking it's over, but he suddenly says, "Lift your shirt."

I cease to move. We stare at each other for a few moments before I mumble, "No."

"She said that you have something to show me."

"There's nothing to show you. I-I don't know what she's talking about."

He looks down at me. "Lift your shirt, Wrenley."

"Stop it," I scold. "This isn't funny."

"I'm not laughing."

I take a deep breath. "I just want to go to bed."

"Lift your shirt, or I will."

"Touch me, and I'll scream," I threaten him. He moves closer, so I quickly get off the bed, standing on the opposite side. "Stay away from me."

Adam crosses his arms. "Tell me right now, Wrenley. Are you pregnant?"

"I said I'm not, so I'm not."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you believe. How could you come back after being gone for so long only to treat me like this? Who are you? I don't know who you are anymore," I say.

"You're lying to me," he says. "You're lying to my face."

I swallow. "Adam, please, just calm down. It doesn't have to be like this."

"Just answer my question."

I shake my head.

He breathes in. "Wrenley—"

"Why can't things just be like they were? What can't you just love me again and we go to bed happy? My father has gotten between us—it's exactly what he wants to happen. He wants us to fight. He wants you to hate me."

Adam comes over to my side of the bed. I stay put no matter how badly I want to run. Without a word, he lifts up my shirt, and just as swiftly, he lets it fall.

"He wants you to hate me," I murmur, looking forward.

Adam sits on the edge of the bed, facing me.

"You're angry. I know you're angry with me, but I didn't just do this to myself."

His head falls to his open palms and his fingers comb roughly through his hair. Anxiety radiates off of my body, but there is nothing to do but stand here and endure.