Sharks and Minnows

*Three Weeks Later*

I wake up to the suddenly awful sound of “Blow” by Kesha (Noemi’s choice ringtone), and groan.

“Nemo, what is problem?” I ask, rolling over to check the alarm clock. It’s only 7 AM, and it’s an off day for me.

“Vladimir, did we use protection?” she asks. I bolt upright immediately. There is something off in her voice, a voice which I have been hearing almost every day for the past three weeks. A voice I now know well enough to tell when something is wrong.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, running my hands through my sleep tousled hair.

“I am talking about when we had sex. Did we use protection?” she asks, her voice cracking slightly. I feel something in my chest squeeze tightly. I think back on the night. All I can remember is the immense amount of alcohol we consumed once we got back to my place, and now great she was in bed. I wrack my brains for what feels like hours, trying to piece together drunken memories as best I can.

“No, I don’t think we did,” I say quietly after a few minutes. I hear the phone slip from her fingers.

“Shit…oh fuck…this is not good, not fucking good at all,” I hear her squeaking.

“Nemo what’s the problem?” I ask, trying to ease the anxiety that has suddenly bubbled up in my chest. Does she have a disease? What if she’s…oh dear God…what if she’s pregnant?

“Vladimir…I’m…I’m…I’m…” she starts, but she can’t seem to get the words out. I can hear the tears creeping into her voice and I jump out of bed, tugging on the first pair of pants I can find. I pull on a tee shirt, and then haphazardly grab a pair of sneakers out of my closet.

“I’m coming over right now Noemi,” I say before dashing out of my apartment as quickly as possible.

I don’t think it’s legal for me to be driving as fast as I am, but I’m doing it anyway. Fear and anxiety are propelling me as I peel through the Jersey streets. Noemi lives in a little suburb about half an hour away from me, but right now that half hour feels like a lifetime. I narrowly avoid being pulled over by a cop, noticing the front bumper of the car a few seconds before I pull in front of the hidden car. I hit the brakes, and reach the speed limit right before I pass him.

“Damn shady staties,” I mutter, using a term I heard from one of the locals as I pick up my speed again. I finally reach Noemi’s house, and I don’t even bother to knock. She’s curled up on the floor next to the bathroom, her phone on the ground, and her right hand clutching something I can’t see. Tears are streaming down her face, and I feel something tighten in my throat as she looks up at me. Her eyes are thick with tears, and fear is etched over every pretty feature of her gorgeous face. I drop to my knees beside her, and although I hardly know her, I pull her towards me, and cradle her to my chest.

“Vse budet horosho,”(Everything will be okay) I whisper. She whimpers and shakes her head against my chest, and so I pull her away from me and look her in the eyes.

“Vladimir…I’m pregnant,” she croaks. Suddenly, it feels like the whole world is crashing in around me, but I fight the suffocating feeling and put on a brave face.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise,” I say, making sure to speak English this time. I know she doesn’t speak Russian, but the language is soothing to her, so I babble nonsense to her as she breaks down and begins to cry against my chest.

By the time she stops crying, it’s already 8:00 AM. I scoop her up and carry her to her bedroom, placing her gently in the bed. She is sleeping by the time her head hits the pillow, and her right hand finally lets up what she had been grasping so tightly. It’s a pregnancy test, and there is the little plus sign that drove her to the brink of insanity. I stare at it for what seems like hours, and I can’t feel anything but fear, confusion, and a strong will to protect the girl sleeping in front of me. I sit down next to her, and kiss her cheek lightly.

“Noemi, YA znayu , chto eto nezaplanirovannaya , no ya sdelayu vse vozmozhnoe, chtoby zashchititʹ vas i etogo rebenka. YA ne ostavlyu tebya. YA klyanusʹ,” (Noemi, I know that this is unplanned, but I will do whatever it takes to protect you and this baby. I won’t leave you alone. I swear.) I whisper before slipping out of the bed and walking into the kitchen. I pace aimlessly before pulling out my phone.

“Ilya?” I ask, and the irritated grunt lets me know that he’s answered the phone.

“What do you want this early in the morning?” Ilya groans, and I run a hand through my hair.

“I need help,” I say.

“What happened?” Ilya asks. He still sounds sleepy, but the irritation is gone for the moment.

“I…I got a girl pregnant,” I croak.

“You did what?” Ilya asks. The disbelief in his voice is immense.

“I got a girl pregnant. Remember the pretty brunette I took home a few weeks ago? The one from the club?” I ask.

“Yeah. Let me guess…you got trashed at your place, had sex, and now she’s pregnant?” Ilya asks. I cringe inwardly.

“You hit the nail on the head my friend,” I sigh.

“Well Sharky, this is all you now…but I will tell you this…if you leave her alone, or talk her into getting an abortion, so help me God I will make every day of your life miserable. No real man would ever do that,” Ilya says in warning.

“Trust me, I won’t let anything happen to either one of them,” I say.

“Good. It sounds like you have a pretty good idea of what to do for right now,” he says.

“Thanks Ilya,” I say.

“Hey, call me in a few hours and let me know what’s going on,” he says.

“Will do,” I say. He hangs up and I feel just as alone as ever. I return to Noemi’s bedroom, and I wrap an arm around her. Her stomach feels so flat, so smooth, and it’s hard to imagine that there’s a little person inside of it. I swallow roughly, and as my tired eyes slip shut, I’m still terrified.