Sunny
Oh shit.
Oh God.
Oh shit.
What the fuck did I just do?
My hands shake as I look down at the white and purple stick. This is the fifth one I’ve used. I don’t think I have enough tears or pee left to do another. I can’t avoid it—it’s true, there in a strong purple plus sign on the pregnancy test in my hand, and the half-dozen other ones in the sink.
It can’t be true, though. This has to be some kind of sick joke. The girls must have replaced the box or are playing a trick on me. They’ve been complete bitches ever since Ricco got a beat down for attempting to drug me in a bar. Most of them aren’t even talking to me outside the shrug or a grunt here and there. I wouldn’t put it past them to find some fake pregnancy tests and place them in our bathroom knowing that I was more than two months late for my period.
I turn the box over, reading it carefully. There has to be somewhere on the box or the shiny metal wrappers that says, “HAHAHA! Screw you! You thought you were pregnant, but you aren’t! All these are fake positives to freak you out, make you throw up a few times, and lead to you hogging the bathroom for three hours while you cry yourself an actual river.”
But there isn’t any evidence whatsoever that this is a prank. The box is one hundred percent legit. The tests look and feel like the real thing too. I’ve taken enough pregnancy tests in my life to know what they should look like or how they should act when you pee on them. I’ve never, ever, seen them pop up with a plus sign before. Not until today.
Okay. So not defective or joke tests. What else could be wrong? I think I’ve heard from another one of the girls about how her sister’s friend’s something-or-other once took a test, got positive after positive, and it ended up being an infection. I mean, that sounds plausible. It could be that. I haven’t been feeling myself lately. My back has been hurting, and my stomach has been upset a few times. I’ve blamed it on food poisoning and Mary’s shitty cooking, but it could be an infection or something.
But none of the other girls are sick or acting strange or barfing up their morning breakfast. I haven’t even seen one of them with a fever in months. If I’m the only one in this apartment with any symptoms, maybe it isn’t an infection. Maybe this is the real deal. These tests with the humongous plus signs are telling me the God-awful truth.
It can’t be. It really can’t be. Ever since the whole Ricco incident at the bar, I’ve been basically excommunicated from the Filthy Bastards. The guys have been assholes. They bring up that public bath whenever I’m around, even though that was months ago now. There are even some pictures floating around of me sitting on the floor in a huge tub covered in soap. Thank goodness I’m not nude.
That being said, my sex life has been… well, nonexistent. I can’t remember the last time a guy has even touched me beyond the regular pinch on the ass or rub against my chest. Outside of explaining to Killer what happened the night at the bar, I haven’t even been alone with a guy since…
Oh shit.
Oh God.
No. No. No! It can’t be. It really cannot be. I pull out my phone and check my calendar for the invite to the fight. I’ve got to scroll back about nine weeks, but there it is. That little dot for an event jumps out at me like claws to suck me back into that night with the Wilderkind guy, Bear, pushing me bareback and all against the scratchy stucco walls of the motel or us, the next morning, holding onto one another for dear life as we moaned and screamed on the dingy carpet.
It’s him. It’s gotta be him. There is no one else it could be. The timing matches up too perfectly to deny. I’m two months late, and it’s been about eight or nine weeks since we slept together and when I last heard from him. If my last period was about a week before that night, it means that there’s only one man this fits in with. It just so happens to be the last man on Earth I would want to be having a baby with.
FUCK! I scroll through my phone’s contacts until I find my OBGYN. After a quick call, they can see me today. Just my luck. At least I’ll get some straight answers. I quickly gather my stuff into my bookbag and head out the door. With no guys willing to give me a lift to town, I’m on my own on the walk. For one, I’m actually thankful for the quiet. I can hear my thoughts, unlike back at the apartment with the girls constantly talking, singing, playing music loudly, screwing… Without anyone bothering me, I’ve got all the time in the world to think about what life would be like with a baby.
If it really is Bear’s, there is going to be hell to pay. Already, Filthy Bastard girls who get knocked up outside being someone’s old lady are almost always thrown on their asses. They’re not wanted. No one wants to take care of them either. And without a court ordered paternity test, the guy who did the deed gets away with it like it’s nothing, like we are disposable. Sometimes Killer or Cobra takes pity on a girl if she can prove that it belongs to a club guy or the guy confesses that it had to be him. In that case, Killer’s pretty fair in having the guy’s pay docked, so the girl gets it. We call it “club child support.” There are a couple of girls that have managed to get that lucky break. The rest of the girls I know are long gone—forgotten faces replaced by new girls like me.
But I can only imagine what would happen to me if someone found out I have a bun in the oven and then put two and two together that the child belonged to him. No doubt I’d have no chance to appeal. I would probably be gone that night without anyone even knowing what had happened to me. No one would question it. No one would come looking for me, because, in their minds, I’m still the girl that spread her legs for a Wilderkind.
The sterile doctor’s office with the pretty pregnant women stroking their tummies isn’t making me feel better about the situation. The girls waiting all look like they have their lives figured out. There are rings on their fingers and designer bags on their shoulders. They are the ones that should be having kids—not wild girls like me whose life revolves around where the party is. Even as I am sitting in the waiting area flipping through last month’s Vogue, my phone is ringing off the hook with messages about a boxing match downtown the girls are all going to. I should be getting ready for it. Not waiting to hear if my life is about to change.
Eventually, the nurse calls my name, unceremoniously hands me a cup to pee in, and leaves me alone in cramped exam room while she runs the same test I did at home. A few minutes later, a white coat doctor, who looks to be about my age, walks in.
“Sunny? Is that right?” She waits for me to swallow the lump in my throat before proceeding. “Well, congratulations are in order! It looks like you’re pregnant.” I glare at her, so she immediately loses the celebratory tone and moves on. “According to the notes the nurse took, it looks like you’re about eight or nine weeks along. It’s a little early for the heartbeat, but we could do a quick ultrasound to check to see if everything’s okay since you’re complaining of some stomach issues. Would you like that?”
I nod. I can’t bear to talk after hearing her confirm that I am in fact pregnant. There’s life growing in me. What am I going to do?
She helps me up to the table while the nurse wheels in a small cart with a monitor the size of my iPad hooked to it. Within a few minutes of searching, the doctor finds a white-ish gray spot floating in the center of a larger circle. Satisfied with herself, she exclaims, “Yes! There it is. That’s your baby.” She draws a few lines, measurements she explains, and makes some calculations. “It looks like the nurses’ estimates were right—about eight or nine weeks. It’s hard to tell until further along, but your dates look pretty exact to me. That would put your due date at about December 15.”
Maybe sensing my complete shock, the nurse gently presses on my shoulder as she says, “I’m going to print some pictures out for you. Would you like a copy for the dad?”
For the dad? For what dad? For the guy who I shouldn’t have slept with but did on a bet and now will have to answer to that night over and over again. For the guy who protected me, made me feel whole and wild and free, and then gave me this pulsating, beating life? For the man that I will never and should never see again?
“No,” I answer quietly and turn back to watching the small bean inside of me flicker slightly with the beat of its growing heart.
***
“Are you coming or not, Sunny? We have to leave in like ten minutes.” Larissa pounds on the door of my room in frustration. I don’t blame her. I haven’t left this room all day—not since I got back from the doctor’s office. I really don’t know what I would say or do if I could make myself leave. Nothing is the same as it was before.
“Sunny? Come on! The whole club is going. If you’re not there, you’re gonna get hell for days!” I don’t know why Larissa cares this much. Maybe it’s because the rest of the club treats her like a freaking princess when I’m not there to abuse and toss around. Maybe it’s because she likes the drama. Either way, I’m not biting. Not tonight.
Suddenly, I hear some jostling on the other side. Kitka forces her way through, snapping, “Move out of the way. Let me handle this.” She clears her throat before yelling, “Let me the hell in, Sunny, or I’ll use the goddamn skeleton key! You hear me?” There’s a beat of silence before I watch in horror as the doorknob begins to twist and the old lock turns. I grab the tear stained sonogram picture and toss it under my bed before running to open the door for her.
“What the hell are you doing, Kitka! I’m not going to the damn fight!” She pushes past me until she’s fully in the bedroom. Her steely brown eyes give me a once over, but I can’t care less about what I look like right now.
“Is she coming?” Larissa asks as she sneaks her head in.
“Get the hell out of here,” Kitka replies. “I have some business for Sunny.” My stomach instantly turns over. Whatever’s growing inside me is making my nausea so much worse with Kitka around and lurking. Larissa shuts the door quietly behind her, and we’re left alone—never a good thing with Kitka.
“What is this? Why do you think you can barge into my room like this?” I whisper. My throat scratches as I try to keep it down.
“Why can I barge in here? Hmmm… Let me see…” She pulls something out of the back of her bright red skirt and holds it up for me. That pit in my stomach sinks as I instantly recognize the positive pregnancy test from this morning. I must have dropped one of them or left it behind when I was rushing off to the doctor’s. Dammit!
Still, I have to keep it cool. I can’t let Kitka know. She’s the last person in the world I would want to figure this out. Her connections with Cobra could get me in deep shit.
“It looks like a pregnancy test,” I reply with my usual bit of sarcasm and distaste for her.
“Well, aren’t you a freaking genius. Do you know who it belongs to, Sunny?”
“I have no clue, Kitka. I can’t tell ownership by the pee on that stick.”
She sits on my bed, spreading her skirt neatly in her lap. “Well, here’s what I’m thinking. You haven’t had your period in, oh, a month or two. I would know since we’re on the same schedule. And you’ve been sick lately, right? Right. Then there’s the fact that you were the last one in the bathroom when I came home this morning. So putting all the clues together…”
“It’s not mine,” I attempt to finish her statement.
She stands again, walking straight toward me, so I have nowhere to go but to land against the wall of my bedroom. “Don’t play fucking dumb with me. I know you went to the lady doctor today. I know you were in the bathroom for a helluva long time. And I sure as fuck know what morning sickness looks like. You’re pregnant, and it’s that bastard Wilderkind’s baby, isn’t it?”
“What the hell are you—”
“I already called Killer, Sunny.”
My mind goes blank as I ask, “Why the fuck would you do that, Kitka? Do you know what you’ve done?”
“I did what is right for the club. That’s what I always do. Those boys are my boys. And when you went off and screwed one of the others, you lost all your chances with me.”
“You wanted me to sleep with him!” I shout as I push her hard in the chest. She stumbles backward as I continue to yell. “You’ve wanted me out since the day I got here. You couldn’t take that I was younger and hotter than you and that the guys wanted me more than they wanted you! You set me up, and you damn well know it!”
Kitka flies back onto the bed. Her arms held up high for protection. I raise my arm in the air with my fist balled up and ready for the smack, but a hand suddenly grabs me away and pulls me down to the ground.
“What the fuck is going on here?!” Killer roars while he towers over me. “What are you doing, Sunny?” The club president looks so out of place in my bedroom with the floral prints and the light pink comforter. His face is seized up in rage at the sight of his ladies fighting like this. The rest of the apartment goes quiet. Through the open door, I watch as the girls file out of the place as quickly as they can. No doubt they want to know what’s going on, but Killer probably ordered them off to that fight.
When the last one’s gone, Kitka holds up the pregnancy test to him. “This is why I called you, Killer. It’s hers. I know it is.” He turns it over in his hand—almost like I did when I couldn’t believe if it was real or not.
“Is this yours?” he asks without looking at me.
I gulp down the lump in my throat. It’s time to tell the truth, no matter the cost. I can’t keep this up any longer. “Yes, sir. It’s mine.”
He sits down on my vanity, the test still in his hands. “How far along are you?”
“Eight or nine weeks. They can’t really tell…”
“It’s not Ricco’s?” His voice almost sounds hopeful. I hate to burst the bubble.
“No. I didn’t sleep with him without protection. We just went on a few dates.”
“Then it’s—”
“It’s that fucking Wilderkind guy, Bear!” Kitka shouts. “This whore fucking got herself knocked up by him!”
“Shut up, Kitka,” Killer commands. “I don’t want to hear anything about this.”
“But… but it’s club rules,” she contests. “Sunny’s got to go.”
He looks down at the ground towards his feet. I have no idea why he doesn’t just take my be the arm and throw me out the window. That’s what I would think a guy like Killer would do to girls like me who are stupid enough to sleep with a guy without the right protection.
After a long pause where both Kitka and I stare at him in wonder, he calmly explains, “I’m not kicking her out. It was her duty to sleep with Bear that night as the prize. I agreed to it. I am responsible for this.”
“WHAT!” Kitka’s voice thunders through the empty apartment. “She made a bet with me that she could sleep with him.”
“Then it’s your fault too,” he shoots back. “You are in with club leadership. You should fucking know better than to play that game. That goes for you too, Sunny. I should kick both your sorry asses out of the club, but I’m loyal to Cobra and, like I said, I’m taking responsibility for what went down between Bear and you.”
He stands and heads towards the window. “I’m taking claim on you, Sunny. You’re gonna be an old woman for Cobra.”
“What! Cobra is my… he’s my…!” Kitka looks towards me desperately, but I don’t dare question Killer when he’s showing me mercy.
“You’re going to sleep with him and soon. There’s going to be no denying that the baby isn’t his. After it’s born, Cobra can leave you, and you can get the money the club owes you and the child.”
“No. No, please Killer.”
“This is punishment for you too, Kitka. You’re no one’s boss around here, and it’s fucking time you learned that lesson. What is said in this room goes no further or you’ll end up where I should be putting you. You get me?”
Her feet tap into the ground as I can see her literally bite her tongue. “Is that it?” she asks, breaking her silence. “Is that all you want from me? Can I go?”
Killer dismisses her with his hand, leaving only us in the room. The man’s shadow casts long on my floor as he stands there before the window undoubtedly watching Kitka storm off into the early night.
I’m not sure what to say in a moment like this. He is saving me, throwing me a lifeline, but he most likely knows that putting me with a guy like Cobra is dangerous. Cobra’s the kind of guy who is best described as a ticking time bomb. He’s unpredictable, hard to read, and untamed. No one but Kitka can keep up with him or take him on like she can. Killer’s throwing me into a lone, hungry wolf’s den without a way out or a gun to fight myself off with.
“What if he says no?” I ask under my breath. “What am I supposed to do?”
“He will say yes. I will make sure of it. But you need to do your fucking part by making it work with Cobra, and keep yourself away from the Wilderkind. They get word of it, and they’ll come gunning for that baby and for you for hiding it. I’m not gonna have a war break out over some bastard baby.”
“Okay,” I say with a resigned sigh. “I can do that. I can sleep with Cobra.”
“Good because you don’t have any other choice, Sunny.”
He walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. With the apartment quiet again, I pick up the photo from under the bed and place it on my pillow. I quickly strip down and curl up under the light comforter. The pillow rests next to my head as I whisper to the dot of a baby. “I know it’s gonna be hard, kid. But we’re gonna make it. I’m gonna do whatever I have to do to keep us alive and safe—even if it means keeping you away from your real daddy.”
The sunlight dies, my room turns a blue-ish black, and I dream of Bear and his arms draped around my body.