one shots

shorty swing my way [15]

may 1999
saturday
8:23 pm

"What do you mean you might be pregnant?" Sheila shrieked.
"I mean that I let him go raw and have been forgetting to take my birth control," I whispered.

"You're fucked. You know that, right?" she nodded.
"Yeah, I know," I sighed.
"So, what are you gonna' do?" she asked.
"I don't know. I don't wanna' tell him," I shook my head.
"Why not?" her eyebrows furrowed.
"I don't know what he'll say or do or think. . . I don't even think he's ready for a child. I know I'm not!" I shook my head.
"He has to know. I mean, he's gonna' figure it out sooner or later," she reminded me.

I was quiet for a moment, hesitant to say my next statement.

"I'm thinkin' about. . . getting an abortion."
"Are you crazy?" Sheila shouted out of shock.
"I know it sounds crazy, and I can't always run from my problems but—"

"Didn't you say he was a church boy? He's gonna' lose his mind, if you tell him. . ." she trailed off, analyzing my facial expression.

"You're not gonna' tell him. Are you?" her tone dropped, almost as if she was disappointed in me.
I shrugged as she sighed deeply.

"You need to. He has the right to—"
"There's not gonna' be anything to tell him if there's nothing there," I was catching an attitude.
"Okay, you're at an eight. I need you down to a three," she stated, pointing out the level my attitude was at.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Look, you can do whatever you want with your body, but. . . I think he should at least know that you're pregnant and you are considering getting an abortion," she explained.
"You're right," I simply nodded, agreeing with her just so she would shut up.

"Don't do that," she glared at me.
"Do what?" I asked.
"Agree with me just to get me to shut up," she replied.

"Why would I ever do that?" I couldn't fight my growing smile.
"Because you want me to shut up," she answered the no-brainer as I began laughing.

While laughing, I could hear my front door being unlocked. I quickly stood from the living room couch we were sitting on and approached the alarm system to disarm it.

"Don't say anything!" I yelled to Sheila in the form of a whisper.
She simply nodded as DeAndré walked in.

"Shorty, this damn spare key—"
"Hey, baby," I slid in front of him, halting him as my hands locked behind his neck and a smile slid onto my face.
He exhaled sharply and smiled slightly, deciding not to lecture me about where I kept my spare key.

"Hey," his dominant tone had simmered down to the cool, calm, smooth tone that was his usual voice. "How's your day been?"
"Fine. . . It's even better now that you're here," I beamed as his hands slowly began moving lower down my body.
"The feeling's mutual, baby," he spoke lowly as his face leaned closer toward mine.

Just as he was about to kiss me and let his hands roam wherever they pleased on my body, I remembered that Sheila was still here.

"Uh. . . you've met Sheila, right?" I pulled away from him just as quickly as I had been wrapped up in his arms.

This left his view of the living room clear as I closed and locked the door.

"Not officially," he answered while approaching the living room.
"Hi, I'm—"

"Sheila Armstrong. 26 years old. You work at the Eastside Hospital as a nurse with my wife over there. Right?" he spoke, taking Sheila's held out hand and shaking it.

I blushed a little at the fact that he called me his wife.

"Right," she nodded.

"Your family lives on the Southside though. Am I right? What'chu doin' on the East wit' my shorty?" he asked.