Chapter Text
“Can you just drop it please!”
“No, Blake I won’t just drop it! I don’t understand why you’re being like this!”
“There’s nothing to understand! It is what is!”
“But you’re so good with Apollo, why can’t we at least talk about trying?”
“I said no, Gwen.”
“Don’t you want a baby of your own, to carry on your name, and call you daddy?”
“I’m fine with just Apollo.”
“You knew I wanted this when you asked me to marry you, but you still asked! I thought maybe you loved me enough to at least consider the idea!”
“Are you saying I don’t love you now, that you wish we would have never gotten married?!”
“You know that’s not what I’m saying Blake. What I am saying is that I don’t understand.”
“Like. I. Said. Before. There is nothing to understand. I am done having this conversation with you every week, Gwen!”
“It’s not a conversation because you won’t even talk about it!”
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That conversation, actually fight, took place three days ago and Blake and I still haven’t said a word to each other apart from the occasional cold morning greeting or talk about Apollo’s schedule. We haven’t touched or slept in the same bed either. We have been having the same fight over and over again for a couple of months now, only every time we do our reactions get worse and our tempers get shorter. Part of me wants to do what he says and just forget about having another baby because I miss him. I miss us, but I can’t just let this go. I’ve always wanted another baby and the idea of having Blake’s is not something I am willing to give up without a fight or a damn good reason.
That is why I am here in our bedroom getting ready for my third night in bed without him, while he finishes putting Apollo to bed before heading down to that cold unforgiving leather couch in the den. The television will still be on in the morning because he can’t fall asleep down there without it. Maybe it’s his way of tricking himself into thinking that he just fell asleep down there by accident and wasn’t there intentionally night after night. Betty will be laying right next to him on the floor and his arms will be clutching a pillow to his chest. I hope that’s because he misses having me there in its place, if it is I might be able to convince myself there’s something to salvage between us. God knows I miss my place on his chest.
I’m so lost in thought laying under the bed sheets that no longer feel comfortable and safe but rather suffocating and heavy that I am spooked when I hear a gentle knock on the other side of the door. It has to be Blake, it’s 10 o’clock and I know Apollo is sound asleep. Blake hasn’t gone out of his way to try and talk to me lately about anything, so I am caught off guard by him coming up here. I sit up and switch on the lamp on my bedside table and quickly wipe under my eyes to get rid of any remnants of tears that I may have shed before beckoning for Blake to come in.
The confidence he found to knock on our bedroom door completely dissipates as soon as he walks in the room and makes eye contact with me. I get a good enough look at his eyes to see how distraught and shielded he is before he’s looking down at his socks and wringing the back of his neck with his hands. After four years of dating and a year of marriage I know that means he has something to say, so I hug my knees to my chest and keep my eyes on him. Eventually he stops the assault on his neck, drops his hands and raises his eyes to meet mine again. He’s still guarded, but I can see the apology in his eyes before he even speaks.
“I miss you.” He whispers, and the words are so sincere and laced with worry that I feel my eyes filling with tears. I wanted to be cold and strong, but I’ve never been able to hide from him.
“I miss you too.” I say from behind my hand, trying to will my tears away so that maybe we can have a conversation like adults for the first time in what feels like forever. “Please talk to me Blake.”
Slowly he inches his way towards the bed, still afraid that I’m going to tell him no and make him leave. As soon as he makes it to the foot of the bed on my side, he sits facing me with one leg folded under him, one leg still braced on the floor and his hands in his lap. For a while we just stare at each other, keeping our thoughts to ourselves and enjoying the fact that we have been able to be in the same room together for more than five minutes. Unable to control myself anymore I throw the sheets aside and crawl closer to him and sit cross legged in front of him reaching out to take his hand in mine. He looks surprised by my gesture, but the way his shoulders seemed to uncoil at my touch lets me know the contact brought him comfort too.
“You know I love you right? There has not been a single second that I have wished that we hadn’t gotten married.” I decide to break the ice needing to clear something up from our last fight. For three days I have regretted giving him even the slightest inclination that I had any doubts about us. I squeeze his hand while I talk for emphasis to make sure he understands how much I mean it.
“I know. I love you too.” Hearing him say those words took the breath right out of my lungs, it had been too long. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass.” He whispers, looking down at his lap again. Using the hand not holding his I reach out and place my hand on his cheek bringing his eyes back up to mine.
“I just wish you would talk to me instead of yelling. I just want to understand.” He sighs and closes his eyes at my words. I don’t know why he feels like he can’t tell me what he’s thinking when it comes to this. There has never been something we couldn’t talk about or work through together. Why is this any different for him?
“Blake just because we talk about trying for a baby doesn’t mean we are making a final decision, you know that right? Why won’t you talk to me? You know you can tell me anything, whatever’s going through your head we can work through it.” I keep my tone gentle, a change from what we’ve been doing lately. Maybe it’ll get through to him.
“I, I can’t.” I’ve never heard his voice so broken. It’s killing me to now know how to help him. He looks so defeated and I’m beyond confused.
“You can’t, what? Baby please.” My voice breaks as I plead with him. My concern isn’t even on the topic of the baby really anymore, it’s just about getting to the bottom of whatever has him so upset.
“I can’t” The words leave his mouth encased in a sob. His sobs break me and I can’t take it anymore. I crawl onto his lap and pull his head into my chest. He wraps his arms around me so tight as he cries, but I wouldn’t dare make him loosen his grip. It feels good to be back in his arms and feel needed by him even if it is in this situation.
I simply rest my lips against his scalp and run my fingers through his curls trying to comfort him the best I can. I can’t help but try and reason and make sense of why he may be acting this way about the idea of having a baby. Only one thing I can come up with would warrant this kind of behavior, but I feel like it is something he would have told me. I mean he has been married twice and doesn’t have any kids. He told me it’s because neither of his wives wanted them, but now I’m starting to think differently.
“Baby, when, when you say you can’t, do you mean that…” My words die on my lips as my eyes travel to somewhere behind him across the room. I’m too scared to ask him about what I’m thinking because I don’t want to be right.
“What?” He pulls his head up and roughly wipes his eyes and nose almost as if he’s ashamed of his little breakdown. He finally has his breathing under control again so I reach up and gently take his rough hands away from his face while I try to find it in me to complete my question.
“When you say you can’t, do you mean that you actually can’t, like physically?” He furrows his brow and stares at me confused for a minute before I see it click in his head and his mouth opens when he realizes where my head was. A slight frown falls on his face next and I’m worried I may have hit the nail on the head.
“I don’t know.” His voice is so small in that moment and my heart breaks for him, but his answer only serves to feed my confusion.
“You don’t know? What do you mean? Have you gotten tested?” My voice is soft and careful, not knowing what ground I’m walking on and understanding this is obviously and understandably a very sensitive topic for him. He shifts me off his lap and gets up to pace the room, his abusing hands back on his neck.
“Gwen, please can we talk about this some other time? I don’t want to talk about it right now and I don’t want to fight again, please.” He’s practically begging me and I’m too tired and shocked to fight with him right now, so I just nod my head and look away from him disappointed that he’s shutting me out again. I don’t know what his intention was when he knocked on the door tonight. Did he think we weren’t going to talk about it?
I hear him let out a shaky breath and start walking towards the door again. Quickly, my head snaps up toward him. He has a slouch to his shoulders as he reaches for the doorknob about to let himself out. I debate letting him leave, but no matter how frustrated I am with him, the thought of another sleepless night without him while he is in the same house is unbearable.
“Blake?” I shyly whisper, not sure if he’ll even want to stay. He turns his head to look at me, his hand still on the doorknob.
“Yeah?” Not trusting my voice at the moment, I simply reach my hand out toward him hoping he understands what I’m asking him for. Thankfully I have a husband who knows what I need. A small, grateful smile graces his lips as he releases his hold on the door and makes his way back toward the bed.
He only hesitates for a second before climbing under the covers on his side and laying on his back. I’m still sitting up and the lamp is still on. I lean over and flick it off before I lay down on my back beside him, still not touching. It only takes a minute, lying unmoving in the stony silence of our bedroom in the dark before I feel his hand grab mine under the bed sheets. His touch gave me confidence, so I slid over and rolled on my side and propped my head on his shoulder while my hand reclaimed its spot on his chest. He wrapped his arm around me, one hand landing on my hip and the other taking grasp of the one on his chest.
“I’m sorry.” I whispered into the darkness. I didn’t know what I was apologizing for necessarily, the fight or whatever he was going through. Maybe both.
“Me too.” The last thing I felt before I drifted off to sleep for the first time in days was a kiss to my forehead. It served as reassurance that he was going to let me in. It might take some prying, but we’ll get there.