(Not) the One by Donna Alam

Author:Donna Alam [Alam, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-01T16:00:00+00:00

18

Miranda

ACCIDENT

/aksɪˈdɛnt(ə)l/

Adjective

happening by chance, unintentionally, or unexpectedly. Hell to the yes.

Synonyms

Fortuitous. Erm, not.

Occurring by accident. Maybe my picture should be hyperlinked here

Adventitious. What does that even mean?

Fluky. I think I’ll stop there.

I’ve never understood why some people insist on taking their phones to the bathroom. It always seemed so unsanitary. And I still think so. Yet here I sit, contemplating the definition of accidental while trying hard not to hyperventilate.

After—James? Harry? James—left me lying against Olivia’s desk like a limp noodle earlier, I’d blinked, confused. My crumpled clothing, my pounding insides, the look on his face. Urgh. I can’t think of any of it. But quick on the heels of that came a crushing sense of embarrassment, shortly followed by rage. The bastard—the absolute provoking, annoying bastard! I’d silently seethed because I didn’t want to make the kind of noise that would bring Heather running into the room.

As much as I’d wanted to stomp my way down the stairs, have a good scream, kick a couple of things, then maybe burn an effigy of James bloody Harrison, I couldn’t. Not with Heather the inquisitor in the office downstairs, positively vibrating with questions. So I’d done the only thing I could think of, which was creep down the staircase all the way to the ground floor, taking myself off for a brisk walk to burn off all the angry energy.

And it worked. To a certain degree. I’d walked long enough and stompy enough for me to realise that I’d brought this upon myself. If I’d truly wanted him to stay away, I would’ve said so. And he would have because he’s the honourable type.

Even when he’s behaving dishonourably, strangely.

If I’d really meant what I said, I wouldn’t have whimpered from need as he caressed my breast, and I certainly wouldn’t have verbally sparred with him, building the heat between us until it became combustible. He says he’s interested in me, not just in fucking me. That he wants to get to know me—that he wants me to get to know him.

But will he still feel the same when I tell him about this, I wonder as I sit on the lid of the toilet, staring down at the blue and white pee stick in my hand. I even went for the expensive brand, figuring I’d only need to do this once to prove that I’d eaten dodgy canapes and not gotten myself in the family way. Not that I’m the only one responsible. In fact, at this moment in time, I’m blaming him because I didn’t put those condoms on.

So, expensive pee stick. No confusing lines for me. It seems pretty definitive as I stare down and read the accusation printed on the screen.

Pregnant.

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