Where You Belong

There. I'd finally said it.

I'd been a little nervous about making the announcement, but I knew I couldn't keep such important information to myself for long; it wouldn't be fair. I tried to keep the butterflies in my stomach at bay as I thought about what the future would entail. I was more than excited for this experience to come.

"You're so full of shit, baby, don't fuck with me like that."

And just like that, my excitement fizzled out.

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. I was sure I had made myself clear enough when I'd made my statement. But apparently I wasn't clear enough, as my boyfriend of three years frowned at me, sitting frozen at the dinner table.

"What do you mean?" I asked slowly, as I continued watching him carefully. His expression had changed from one of shock and incredulity, to one of utter amusement.
"Mike, I just told you that I--"

"I know what you said, babe," he cut me off with a shake of his head and a short chuckle, "And I gotta say, you're one hell of a bullshitter. You really had me going there, for a minute!" he chuckled, rising to his feet and taking his plate back into the kitchen without another word.

I stayed seated in the leather chair at the table, my eyes trained on my own plate full of food as I chewed nervously at my bottom lip. I'd never quite expected this to happen. Sure, I knew making statements such as the one I had made usually received some abnormal responses, depending on who was on the receiving end. I'd figured he'd maybe smile widely and tell me how thrilled and excited he was. Or be completely shocked. Hell, maybe he'd even be angry.

But no; I tell my boyfriend that I'm pregnant with his child and he laughs it off like it's a bad joke and walks out of the room without so much as another word.

What the hell kind of reaction was that? It didn't give me a single clue as to whether he was either in serious denial, or oblivious to everything around him.

The signs had been there for weeks.

The morning sickness. The occasional strange cravings and increased appetite. The exhaustion.

If those weren't dead giveaways, then the recent and gradual swelling of my stomach should've been, especially since my metabolism was so fast I could never gain a single extra pound.

The signs all pointed to my current condition, yet somehow, he'd never noticed. And while I'd never expected most males to be that thoroughly observant, I'd at least expected him to connect the dots once I'd announced my pregnancy.

But nope. Nothing.

What the hell did a girl even do in a situation like this?

I didn't have much time to think about that one question as Mike came strolling back into the room, a bottle of wine in one hand, and two wine glasses balanced in between the fingers of the other. I silently watched as he poured himself a glass before reaching my side of the table and pouring a glass for me as well before returning to his seat with a smirk.

"Here's to another great night, baby," he smiled as he raised his glass. He never waited for me to raise my own and continued drinking. I simply watched him, and it wasn't until he'd finished his own drink that he noticed that I hadn’t touched mine. "You haven't touched your drink yet?"

"No," I answered slowly. Was he for real? He couldn't have been. He was an educated man; who didn't know that pregnant women couldn't drink?

"Well, why not?" he countered sarcastically, pouring himself yet another glass. I felt my face harden and knew my frustration was building up. "Baby, I paid a very pretty penny for this bottle, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste it."

"I can't, Michael." I nearly growled out in annoyance. Surely he was just pushing my buttons, here. He looked at me strangely, cocking an eyebrow as he threw back another drink.

"...And why can't you?" he asked seriously, though a chuckle filled the air following his question.

"Because, Michael," I stated slowly, making sure to emphasize every syllable, "I. Am. Pregnant. Drinking will cause the baby to have birth defects, so I can't drink."

The house went silent and stayed that way for a long time.

Mike seemed to be deep in thought, taking smaller sips from the glass of wine than he normally would under other circumstances, while cautiously watching me over the rim of the glass. I watched him with anticipation, hoping that I'd be able to gauge some kind of reaction from him, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking, nor could I predict what he would do next just from his behavior.

I was nervous; I had to admit that. Here I was, eight and a half weeks pregnant with his child, and he was giving me the strangest look. Sure, this wasn’t something we had both planned for, but was it really that had to believe? I waited for him to break the silence, and after several, agonizingly long moments, he did.

"I thought you were on birth control?" he asked calmly, finally bringing his gaze up to meet my own. His light brown eyes had dulled, and his face was held in a stony, cold glare. I felt my stomach lurch.

"I am, baby. I--"

"Evidently you aren't if you're fucking knocked up all of a sudden, Brittany!" he snapped immediately, those light brown eyes that I'd grown to love so much narrowing into little slits at me. His demeanor had suddenly turned hostile in a way, a side of him I'd never seen before. I was shocked, to say the least.

"M-Mike," I stammered, "You know that the pill is only about ninety-seven to ninety-eight percent effective. There's always about a two or three percent chance that a woman can conceive--"

"Oh, so we're the couple that just had to get stuck in that fucking two to three percent, huh?" he spat, suddenly standing from his seat with such force that the chair toppled over and hit the ground with a loud thud. I jumped as I sensed his anger, but I stayed quiet. "Just great. Real fucking great, Britt."

"I didn't plan for this to happen," I replied quietly yet firmly, looking him directly in the eyes, "You know I didn't."

"Well, it doesn't matter now," he shot back nastily with a quick roll of his eyes. I quickly saw how this night would end, and I sighed to myself as Mike hastily left the room. I listened from my seat and heard the unmistakable jingling of keys and got up, following my boyfriend to the front door of the apartment.

"Mike, where are you going?" I asked in disbelief, watching as he stepped into a pair of shoes and grabbed his leather jacket, which was hanging by the door. He turned and gave me a blank stare as he opened the door.

"I'm going out." he growled, and my mouth dropped. Was he honestly going out to party when I'd just told him I was pregnant?

"What the hell do you mean you're going out? I just told you that we're having a--"

"I don't want it," he answered simply with a shrug of his shoulders. I froze in my spot, feeling my heart drop. Words failed me as I tried to fathom what he could possibly mean by that. Something in me knew exactly what he meant, but how he could feel the way he apparently did was shocking to me.

"Y-You w-w-what?" I whispered, grabbing hold of a nearby end table.

"I. Don't. Want. It," he answered again, yet much slower this time, "I didn't plan this. I'm too young to father some kid, Britt, and you're even younger than I am. We're too young; this kid is nothing but a mistake that'll only ruin what we have going for ourselves." he stated, before stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

I was numb. I hadn't even realized the tears that had made their way down my cheeks until one dripped off the end of my chin and hit the floor. In the silent apartment, I could even hear it touch the ground. I stared ahead blankly. What do you do after hearing something like that? I was snapped out of my thoughts as the door reopened, and Mike's face appeared once again.

"By the way," he added, with a blank stare of his own, "Get rid of it. Or I'm done."