Saga

The test laying on the counter stares back at you tauntingly, berating you for thinking anything other than the obvious. You didn’t want to be pregnant—you even took a morning-after pill for good measure—but still, the negative result displayed on the tiny digital screen stings like nothing ever has before. You can’t do anything but look down at the stupid stick with tears building in your eyes. 

     “Darlin’? Y’alright in there?” John’s concerned voice calls from the other side of the bathroom door, but you don’t respond.

     He jiggles the knob, grunting in disapproval when it doesn’t move. He resorts to knocking. 

     “Sweet’eart, let me in.”

     You sigh at his insistence and toss the pregnancy test in the garbage, trying to blink away the moisture in your eyes before slowly opening the bathroom door. He grins, but you do not return the gesture. 

     “Wha’ were ya doin’ in there, pretty girl?” He questions softly, cupping your cheeks in his big hands. 

     “This isn’t working, John,” you tilt your head out of his grasp, hugging yourself tightly. 

     He’s hurt by your actions—that much is obvious by the way his hands continue to hover around you despite their newfound emptiness—although he tries his best to hide it. He clears his throat and sniffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

     “What’s not workin’?” 

     You scoff in disbelief, rolling your eyes. He knows damn well what you’re talking about, but like always, is choosing to play dumb in hopes that the inevitable conversation will be avoided. 

     “Us. I can’t do this- this… what the fuck are we even doing?” You growl, finally allowing your eyes to meet his. 

     “It’s… we’re- we’re just havin’ fun,” he furrows his brow, but you can tell that even he doesn’t believe his own lie. 

     “Fun? You think it’s fun to ignore me for weeks just to randomly call me in the middle of the night for a quick fuck every once in a while? You think it’s fun to make me screw up my cycle with pills because you refuse to wear a condom?” You lean forward, jabbing your finger against his sternum harshly. “You think it’s fun to tell me you love me and then leave me every single time?”

     You can’t blink back the tears anymore. They fall of their own volition, warm and bitter and exhausted. John scratches his beard nervously, icy blue eyes darting around to look at anything but you. He knows he’s a coward but seeing you so hurt makes him nauseous. 

     “I don’t want to do this anymore,” you exhale slowly. “I can’t be with a man who doesn’t know what he wants.”

     “I do know what I want,” he rasps.

     “Do you, John? What do you want, then? Because it sure as hell isn’t a relationship,” you bark. 

     “I want- I want you.” 

     You laugh. You laugh because you know it isn’t you that he wants, but a warm cunt to sink into when the nights get cold and lonely. He wants someone to warm his bed so that he can wake up and feel whole instead of finding the looming reminder of what an empty man he really is. He wants loyalty without commitment, marriage without the papers or rings just in case he decides at the last minute that he wants out. 

     John isn’t as amused as you. He backs you against the wall and cages you in with his huge body, suffocating you with his hot breath. When he finally works up the courage to look at you again, there is something desperate shrouded beneath the authority in his eyes.

     “I want you,” he repeats as he nudges his nose against yours. “I want to be with you.”

     “That’s not true.”

     “It is-”

     “Yeah? Then retire. Retire from the field and stay home with me, John. Start a family with me.”  

     The man freezes and instantly you see the resignation settling along his features. You take the opportunity to shove him away, quickly wiping away the fresh onslaught of tears that stain your face. 

     “I fucking thought so,” you sneer. 

     “You know it’s not that bloody simple,” John hisses, haunches raised. “I would leave in an instant if I could, but my men-”    

     “Your men would still thrive as a team,” you interrupt. “Lieutenant Riley is well on his way to becoming a captain. Do you think he’s incapable? Or do you just think you’re so fucking important that everything would fall apart without you?” 

     All he can do is stare at you, huffing angrily like some sort of untamed beast. You wince—that was a deep cut, and you know it, but it’s far too late to take it back. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Might as well get it all out now. 

     “I’m tired of wasting my years on you, John. I want a baby. I want to get married and be a good wife to my husband, not just… some toy for a broken man to play with.”

     His gaze softens, and he leans in once more, resting his hands on your waist. It takes everything in you not to melt, give in and let him take you back to bed. God knows you want to. 

     “No, that’s not what you are,” John insists. “I can- I can give you those things, darlin’. I will give you those things. I just need more time.” 

     “You’ve needed ‘more time’ for two years,” you remind him defeatedly. “I used to believe that, but in all the time we’ve been sleeping together, you never once tried to actually convince me that I had anything more to look forward to besides another shag.”

     For the umpteenth time tonight, John Price is rendered speechless. You wait for a moment but when he remains silent, you only nod. 

     “I think you should leave.”

     This time, he doesn’t argue nor try to defend himself. You’ve thrown salt in his wound and he’s sewn it up for good; retribution. He knows that this is what he deserves. This is what he chose. He presses a kiss to your forehead and lets his lips linger for a moment too long. 

     “You’ll make a beautiful bride.”