Right Now, I'm Anyone's

It had been just over five months since all of my lies had blown up in my face, and things were steadily becoming calmer, more settled; more so than anything had been for a long time, anyway. Dean was well enough to be out of the hospital by late March, early April, and as long as he didn’t exert himself too much, he could move around on a pair of crutches if it was necessary. He’d been stuck in the hospital throughout the rest of February and the whole of March because of the puncture in his lung – the doctor had told Johnny that he had to be bed bound while the lung healed and re-inflated properly.

Dean, obviously, didn’t much welcome the idea of being bed-bound for such a long time. Eye Witness had to cancel the remainder of their tour because they weren’t able to find a stand-in for Dean on such short notice – and they made a point that they wouldn’t feel comfortable performing Dean’s songs without him, even if they could’ve found someone else. Jake, Max, Daniel and Craig came into the hospital almost every day with Johnny so that they could keep Dean’s spirits up and reassure him that the tour wasn’t that important, that they’d have other tours to do when he was well enough. Max even managed to lift him out of the little pit of guilt he had submerged himself in by suggesting that Dean take the time off to write some new material.

Every single day after the first fortnight, Dean asked his doctor how long it would be before he’d be able to leave and go back to work, like asking over and over again would shorten the time. Dr. Thompson reassured him that he’d definitely be able to perform again, but also said that he wouldn’t be able to do half the things he had done – stage-diving, running around etcetera – before because of the permanent damage his knee had suffered under the impact of the car. It’d even be a while before he could travel in the back of a van or in a car without feeling discomfort or having some kind of complication.

“Since that’s the case, I advise that you postpone your trip back home for a couple of months,” he had said when Dean started asking questions about work at the beginning of March. “When you’re discharged from here, you’ll be given a strict physiotherapy programme that you have to follow for your knee to recover completely. Driving or travelling is out of the question, so I’d find somebody to stay with that can help you with the therapy for the following two to three months.”

I didn’t think before I told Dean that he’d be able to stay with me; I wanted him to stay with me more than anything. I knew he had to go home and see his parents and assure them that everything was okay, but I didn’t want him to be ripped away from me when we had just fixed everything between us. I didn’t think to ask Dimitri or Georgia if they’d mind, but at the time I couldn’t see what problem they’d have with him staying. He had to recover properly, and he couldn’t do that in the back of a van outside our flat block.

Levi Richards kind of blurred into the background after I’d told him the truth. I barely heard or saw him in the five months following the accident, and the only time I heard anything about him was when he sent Erin around to collect the possessions he had left in my bedroom. She only came over the one time, when Levi had called Dimitri and told him to tell me to get his things together in a box and someone would be around to collect them.

I was onto Levi’s immaturity as soon as I opened the door to see Erin standing there, holding back a smile. He knew I didn’t like her, that’s why he didn’t send Kane or Gabriel around to get his bloody things. Erin made a point to mutter spiteful things under her breath when she thought I couldn’t hear her, but I tended to ignore it. I’d done a terrible thing to him, I accepted that.

“I suppose he’s fair game now, right?” she said when she was leaving, a cardboard box full of Levi’s clothes and CD’s that had been left at my flat. I shrugged my shoulders and placed my hand on the door knob.

“No, not fair game; he doesn’t want me and I’m happy where I am. Go for it.” And then I slammed the door in her face. I’d never felt so smug.

Deaf Havana came to Leeds in the middle of March, when Dean was still stuck in a hospital bed, to perform a date of their tour with Emery and Moneen. I was only four months pregnant then, and John still had me working on the light tech and in the office, as they weren’t jobs considered to be stressful or harmful to the baby. When I heard that they had arrived, I went straight to the dressing room Maddox had told me about and burst into the room. They all grinned broadly at me, before looking down and letting their mouths drop open.

I suppose the compulsory Flux shirt did nothing to hide my growing bump. I made a small mental note to guilt-trip Maddox into swapping shirts with me.

“What the fuck?” Lee had been the first one to shut his mouth and speak, looking back up to my face as he did so. “Please tell me you’ve got a pillow or something shoved up your shirt?”

I laughed and shook my head at them, lifting the bottom of my shirt to reveal a small sliver of skin underneath. “Nope. No pillow, sorry, Lee.”

Chris and Ryan quickly followed Lee’s lead and shut their own mouths, voicing their congratulations to me, while James and Tom continued to stare at my stomach for a bit longer. I ended up awkwardly crossing my arms over the bump the best I could, which made them snap out of it and lift their jaws up off of the floor. They both looked at me like my dad would when he wanted to have a serious conversation with me and I sighed, rolling my eyes.

I inclined my head towards the door and walked out of the room, along the corridor and into another empty dressing room; they followed behind me and James shut the door. We sat down and the questions came from all sides; how far along was I? Was the baby kicking just yet? Did I know what gender it was? Why hadn’t I told James on the phone when he called me? They fired the questions at me one after the other, not giving me a chance to fit a response in between them.

“I’m almost five months along,” I said, addressing the questions one at a time, in the order they came as I kept myself calm and tried not to laugh at them. “I’ve felt it move a few times, I think, but I don’t think it’s kicked yet. I don’t know the sex, I don’t want to know. And I figured that you’d find out sooner or later, I chose later.”

Tom rolled his eyes at me and laughed, telling me he was happy for me and saying that he needed a drink because of it. James stayed where he was, staring at me with his eyebrows raised and I nodded my head, sighing slightly. He didn’t wait until Tom had left the room before he asked. “Who’s the father?”

Tom raised his eyebrows and stared at James like he’d gone mental. “What are you talking about? Isn’t the dad that Levi dude?”

“Well,” I muttered, scratching the back of my neck. “It’s not that simple, Tom.”

And I dove straight into the story for a second time. I felt sick by the end of it, hoping that Tom wouldn’t think any less of me now that he knew. He sat, his eyes wide in shock while he stared at me, fidgeting awkwardly. At least ten minutes had passed before he spoke again.

“Who knew you were so deceptive?” he laughed, shaking his head at me. “Now I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Anybody with half a brain could feel the sexual tension between you and Dean!” Tom said, rolling his eyes. “I’m glad you two got it sorted out, though.”

I laughed and slapped his arm, then glanced back at James. He was smiling at me, but shaking his head. He said, “I’m hoping its Dean’s.”

I laughed quietly to myself, carefully turning the page of my book – Touching From A Distance by Deborah Curtis – as the bottom of it rested against my nine month pregnant stomach. At that time, it was around three days late, but Dr. Cortez said that there wasn’t anything to worry about, just that I’d feel a little bit uncomfortable in the time leading up to the labour. Babies were often later than the predicted due dates given to the mothers.

My attention was drawn away from my book for a second time. I looked down at the man lying in my bed beside me, smiling to myself as he breathed deeply and snuffled slightly in his sleep. I loved the peaceful look on his face; lately, he’d been stressing more than I had in the days leading up to the 24th – my due date – and he was constantly making sure that I wasn’t on my feet too long, despite the fact that he still had to use a crutch to walk properly, and was often bothered by a dull ache in his chest.

In times when I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t think. I’d just flip the bedside table lamp on and settle into a book until my eyes started to get too heavy to keep open for longer than five minutes at a time. This time, though, I was thinking. I realised that I was extremely pregnant, and I was starting to feel uncomfortable in whatever position I was in, or whenever the baby moved inside me. Everyday felt like it was going to be the big day, but every day I was disappointed again.

“How in the world are you still awake?” Dean croaked quietly from his place on the bed beside me. He turned his head a little bit and cracked open an eye, looking at me from over his bare shoulder as he lay with his back to me to avoid lying on the side of his body with the healing ribs. I smiled at him and lay my book down on my stomach, reaching out a hand to place it on his back lightly. My sleeping pattern had gotten off track – it was probably because I was on pregnancy leave from work and had nothing to get up in the morning for and too many books to read.

“I’m just not tired,” I answered in a whisper, sliding my hand up to play with his hair before he shrugged my hand off and turned over in bed. He put his face into my side, snuggling into it there and smiling when my fingers brushed lightly through his hair. The light coming from the dim lamp on my side of the bed threw his face into shadow, revealing that his injuries hadn’t left any marks. Well, there was one mark, but you couldn’t see the end of the scar where he’d cracked his head open on the concrete because of his hair.

The baby rolled over in my stomach, making me shift a little bit in discomfort. He felt it and lifted his head away from my side, pulling the grey vest top I had worn to bed up a little bit and pressing his ear against the skin of my stomach. “Are you coming out any time soon?”-he spoke sleepily into the skin of my stomach, his voice low and soothing-“You’re making your mummy uncomfortable, and Daddy can’t sleep when she’s awake all night. We’re dying to see you.”

I felt my eyes burn slightly, despite the small smile on my lips. Over the last two months or so, he’d convinced himself that he’d turn out to be the father of the baby. I never really said anything, but I was scared that he’d get his hopes up and it wasn’t his or something. I watched him, feeling a little uneasy, as he spoke to his – or not his – unborn offspring, and watched as he smiled in his pause. I felt him jolt and he moved his face away from my bump, laughing silently to himself. He said, “It kicked me in the face.”

I laughed and forced the irrational tears away from my eyes. “I know, I felt it before you did.”

Dean chuckled and moved again, placing his hand lightly against his ribs as he sat up in bed, leaning back against the headboard behind us. His lung was basically healed, along with the cracked ribs, but it was still painful for him to move too much. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table to check the time, before rubbing his face and yawning deeply. “I can’t believe you’ve stayed awake past two in the morning. I’m exhausted, and you’re the pregnant one.”

“Yeah, but you’re also the one that got hit by a car and is still recovering,” I pointed out, leaning my head against his shoulder as his arm came down around my shoulders. “I can’t seem to get comfy when I want to go to sleep; I keep thinking that I’m feeling the labour, and then it just doesn’t happen.”

He moved so that he could press a kiss against my temple, squeezing my shoulders slightly with the arm that was around them. “Don’t worry about it, babe. He or she’ll be on their way soon. Everything’s going to work out just fine.”

“Mm, yeah,” I mumbled, closing my eyes as I felt my self-esteem plummet a little bit more. “Except for the pain, the recovery time and the fact that I’ll have a couple of hundred pounds to work off before I look halfway decent again.”

I didn’t really understand at the time why my confidence fizzled out whenever I thought about post-birth, but I knew it was because I didn’t want Dean to see me as some ugly, fat, issue-ridden girl and leave. Dr. Cortez had told me to try and keep thinking positively, and told Dean that he should help, because post-natal depression was more common in women that didn’t keep their chins up. I didn’t want to put myself or anybody else through that kind of hell, that kind of pain.

A nagging voice in the back of my head continued to make itself known, though. It kept telling me that as soon as the baby was born and Dean saw that it was going to take ages for me to get rid of all the baby weight, or even to have sex with him again, he was going to leave me and try to get Zara back. I remember that I told him I thought that in the midst of some stupid argument we were having, and instantly regretted it because of the hurt look he’d given me.

“Don’t try and use things like that to push me away,” he had said, placing his hands on my shoulders and stroking his thumbs along my skin soothingly. “I’ll always think you’re beautiful, no matter what happens to your body.”

I’d turned my head away then, before shaking it and telling him that he didn’t know what he was talking about. The argument ended on that note, and he spent the rest of the night comforting me until I saw how ridiculous I was being about the whole situation. I knew he loved me, no matter what.

His breath came in a long, shallow gust as he sighed against my cheek, on guard for another argument to ensue if he said the wrong thing. He shifted a little more so that I had to wiggle down and rest my head on his chest instead of his shoulder, listening to him breathe and the heavy thump of his heartbeat. He stroked the loose strands of hair out of my eyes, before placing his hand on the curve of my waist while the other stroked my arm very gently. “Don’t start any of this again. I already told you, Leila, I don’t care if you’ve gained weight or we can’t have sex for a while, I’ll love you through anything and I’m not going to leave you, or my child for that matter.”

“Mm,” I hummed, closing my eyes again and smiling to myself. Reassurance normally was enough for me, but I felt my heart twinge when he called the baby his. I wanted more than anything for the baby to be his, but what if it wasn’t? Would he stay with me if it meant him raised Levi’s child? If it meant him having to see Levi so that the baby could see its father?

“Dean,” I whispered. “You know it’s only a fifty-fifty chance that it is your baby...I want it to be yours, and I think it’s yours. But my thoughts and wishes don’t count in genetics.”

He shushed me, kissing the top of my head and leaning his cheek against it. “I know the chance, but even if it’s genetically not mine, I’ll treat it as my own until you’re ready to have my babies.”

“Good,” I chuckled. “You want more than one baby?”

“I already told you.” I felt him smile against my hair, and my heart stuttered slightly. “I want absolutely everything with you.”

*****

It hadn’t felt like I slept through the whole night when I woke up after talking to Dean. I awoke, dazed and confused with my face still against Dean’s bare chest, our skin stuck together because of the heat. I waited for my head to clear and steady a little bit more, before I sat up in my bed, hearing the thump his arm made against the mattress as it fell away from my body.

Once most – if not, all – of my senses had returned to me, I felt something a bit strange. It felt like the top of my thighs were sweating profusely, and the sweat was seeping down my legs. Immediately, I imagined the worst thing that could possibly happen to me at this point, and my hands shot to my swollen stomach, my jaw tight while I waited for another sign that my worst fears had come true. But there was no pain, only the same slight discomfort I had been feeling for the last few days. I leaned across to turn the bedside lamp on, and then threw the thin, summer quilt away from my body, biting my lip since I expected to see my bed sheets stained bright red with my own blood.

I moved my legs this way and that, trying to see if they were covering up the blood or something – I know, illogical, but I wanted to know what was wrong – or if I’d dreamt it happening. I knew it hadn’t been a dream, because my legs were still damp and I was certain that I was awake now. I could feel the material of my grey shorts sticking to my thighs, and when I moved my legs, the light reflected off of them, showing me they were wet. It kind of looked like I’d wet myself, but I knew I hadn’t, so that only left one possibility.

“Dean,” I muttered, hearing my voice crack as I let my hand drop onto his chest heavily before I started shaking him away. My head started clearing when he just kept still, his eyes still closed and his breathing even, and I punched him in the chest lightly, feeling my panic a little bit more – what if I wouldn’t have been able to wake him?

“Who-What’s happened?!” Dean asked, his voice still thick from sleep, but his eyes wide, staring at the wet patches on my bed where the amniotic fluid had touched. I didn’t get another chance to speak – a pain that felt a lot like the cramps I got when I was on my period shot through my abdomen, knocking the breath out of my lungs. I remember realising that that must have been my first contraction, and then just repeating ‘oh shit’ over and over again in my head.

Dean jumped out of the bed as soon as my arms wrapped around my stomach during that first contraction, almost running across my small bedroom to the wardrobe, where I had stored the bag I had ready for when I went into labour. Dean dropped it by his side of the bed and went to the chest of drawers, collecting a pair of grey sweatpants and a vest top for me to wear.

“Come on, we have to get you to the hospital,” he said, coming back to the bed after roughly pulling a pair of black gym shorts on over his boxers and holding his hands out to me to help me up. I took his hands and let him carefully pull me out of bed – I was tensed up, waiting for my next contraction, knowing that they would only get more painful in the build-up. He picked up the overnight bag and put it on his shoulder, before grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the room. I grimaced slightly, still feeling my shorts sticking to me.

“I’m just going to clean up a bit before we go.” I let go of his hand and stopped in the middle of the hallway.

He just looked at me like I’d grown an extra head or something. “Are you mental? Leila, there’s no time; we have to get you to the hospital.”

“I’m about to have a baby, Dean,” I muttered darkly, loud enough for him to hear. “At least let me get all this...stuff off of my legs and change into something clean! Go and wake up Dimitri so we can actually get there, I’ll be done in about two minutes!”

Dean just huffed and agreed with me, before dropping the bag near the door and passing me the clean clothes he had gotten out of my drawer. He went back to my bedroom quickly, coming out with his white Prowler shirt and black slip-ons on, before running towards Dimitri’s room and ramming his fist hard against it before walking in. I went straight to the bathroom, wanting to feel a little bit cleaner than I did. I pulled my clothes off quickly – or at least, as quickly as I could in my current state – and climbed into the shower, still tensed for the next contraction. Around fifteen minutes after the first one had occurred, another came along and I cringed into the tiled wall of the shower.

“Princess, come on!” I heard Dimitri shouting five minutes after my second contraction. “I don’t want you giving birth in there – I’m not cleaning up your placenta!”