Shiva's Messenger

Swim Where 14

 

Swim Where – Part 14

“You spent countless hours in determined physical training for these.” Some extra wild sex positions had left Belinda with her head at the foot of the bed. The Olympic gold hardware had managed to become partially draped on her throat. “You drove your body in each event to win them. I can’t believe you were really thinking of just flogging them on Ebay.”

“You’ve told me not to and I’ve squelched that deal.”

“Your sketchily thought out media event with the homeless windshield washers said to me that you’re well aware of the intrinsic value your sports achievements hold, but you were almost eager to diminish the longer-term usefulness.”

“It was my sketchy planning—as you just said.”

“Was it really?” Belinda carefully watched his eyes.

“The position of my personal shrink isn’t going to be filled.” Scott announced flatly.

“Besides,” he softened his tone, “it always takes two people to psychoanalyze. The one says one thing and there must be someone else asserting exactly the opposite. One may suppose my actions seem self-destructive but a second mental health pro would say I’m exhibiting classic self-preservation. So there’s no winning that game.”

“I’m leaning towards the self-defensive opinion.”

“I was just kidding when I said that.”

“But I’m not.” She asserted. “And I think you might’ve tossed that one out in hopes of diverting my attention from it.”

“I’m neither self-destructive nor self-protecting. I’m just me.”

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“Everyone is far more than ‘just me’ and your being eager to date and sign a murder confession in my note pad was certainly a self-destructive gesture. As I think about it, your reluctance to speak to the press from the start was also counter-productive to your best interests, as they were left to put whatever they felt like on paper.”

“I’m not going to say anything.” He pouted. “I’ll just wait until your rant subsides.”

“Rant?” Belinda got up on that one further word and left the room. She took a quick shower and then went out to fix herself a snack. She was sipping a glass of milk in the mild evening air when Scott joined her on the balcony.

“You have to know what I really and truly want,” he said sheepishly, “if all your other roles are to haul together along the same highway.”

“Do you fully appreciate the dichotomy I’ve witnessed in you,” she watched him steal one
of her cookies, “or was that an astute sounding line to placate me?”

“I’m not the only one with unspoken and undecided internal issues.” Scott bristled because she had been totally correct about his words being rehearsed. “Maybe I’m stalling for the very same reason that you haven’t chosen to broach the subject of the fertilized cells that are growing in your womb.”

“What makes you suppose that I’m pregnant?”

“By simple biology and mathematics. We’ve been intimate at least once per day for substantively over a nubile female’s month cycle and during that time, you haven’t menstruated. We’ve been physically tight enough that I certainly would’ve noticed.”

“Well,” Belinda’s voice quavered slightly, “I might just be late.”

“And you might’ve been pregnant with someone else’s child before you came here but I see that possibility as being as remote as the long odds of your just being late.”

“Did you preplan this?” She asked.

“I had a general intention and that inspired me to train for the games. Since winning though, I haven’t been able to arrive at a specific strategy. Then you materialized.”

“I’m fairly certain that I am pregnant. What should we do about it?”

“I’m fairly certain that I’m self-destructive. What should we do about it?”

“I’ll think seriously about the first question and you concentrate on the second.”

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“Don’t do it that way anymore.” To combat the uncomfortable quiet that followed the mention of both the pregnancy and his internal waffling, they had sex earlier in the evening than usual. This time his finish was different: he pulled out and shot his semen onto her belly. “I’ve come to prefer it inside me.”

‘Why was that necessary to him?’ She wondered. His sudden reluctance towards ejaculating into his baby’s womb was as puzzling as the rest of his remembrances when compared to his present actions. ‘He came from a background of extreme family violence but I’ve only seen him as the ultimate pacifist. He’s confessed to having committed almost the worst of offences in doing a murder, but Scott doesn’t break even the smallest traffic law now.’ She had queried him on both of these on previous occasions but not yet heard a succinct answer to either. ‘And what about the suspected baby I’m now supposed to think about?’ That internal question only befuddled her worse.

“Are you asleep yet?” Belinda asked. His eyes were closed.

“No.” Scott rolled to face his grand inquisitor. “I know what I’m responsible for deciding but my mind keeps returning to ponder yours. I’m not sure what a child would do to me.”

“My brain is guilty of the same errant wandering.” She then went on to try her several unsatisfied questions but his eyes had become unfocused in deep thought and he didn’t answer them.

“I think I know what we can do to address both of our issues.” He flopped back onto his back. “We’ll go on a field trip tomorrow to my childhood home. Go to sleep: we have to be up and going very early in the morning.”

 

Swim Where will continue….

Russell Twyce is the Author of Shiva’s Messenger

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