It didn’t take long to figure out what Bas’s pervy secret fetish was: feeding.
He was always cooking me new recipes, some he obviously got from Daisy. Cooking in his underwear, if he wore anything at all. (And he did, after I ordered him to.) He probably spent more time at my house than he did back at his apartment…
I sank into a chair at the kitchen table–I was so tired all the time lately, probably because of all that weird fae-tree crap, so I hadn’t even bothered with many auditions. Not that anyone would hire me with the pounds I was packing on. “Could you maybe choose something low-cal this time…?”
“Fish is plenty low-cal,” he said.
“Yeah, not when you add all the sauces or breading or whatever the hell you have to add to make it taste like not-fish.”
“If you have to cover up the taste of the fish, you’re doing it wrong, Gal. You’ll see.”
He was such a dork. He was making some noodly bullshit for himself, but hell if I was eating all those carbs. How’d he keep his body like that when he ate the way he did…?
“It’s not safe to cook without clothes,” I said. Again.
“I’ll be careful.”
“Don’t blame me if you spill boiling ramen broth all over your dick and can never be a father.”
“I won’t.” He set two plates down on the table–well, a plate for me and a bowl for him. “Now take just one bite of this…”
“Raw fish? Seriously? I know what it’s gonna taste like: raw fish.” Where were Trash, Garbage and Rubbish when I needed them?
But I took a couple bites, just to make him happy. He deserved that much.
And god, did he look cute when he was happy…
Luckily, I was saved from further raw fish torture by a very sneaky Rubbish, who’d evolved into his final ugly-ass form.
If Bas wasn’t stuffing me full of food, he was pulling me into bed. (And then stuffing me full of Bas.)
“Easy on the tits,” I said. “They’re not a couple of dead fish that you slice into disgusting raw slivers and then try to feed your girlfriend.”
“Thought you liked it.” He laughed–and squeezed. “Damn, it’s like they’re growing.”
“They are growing, because they’re basically fat-sacks, and I keep getting fatter.”
“Thicker,” he corrected me.
“Don’t even start.” Oh my god, he was like Rubbish with the freaking catnip mouse. Why were they so fucking tender anyway? Was it about that time? When was the last time…?
I swatted his hand away. “Fuck-fuck-fuck-FUCK. Bas, I’m late. Really, really late. Months late.”
“Late for what?”
“For my PERIOD.”
“Oh. Oh. Well, uh…” Seriously, was that all he could say right now?
“Holy fuck, Bas, I could be pregnant. Pregnant. Me.”
“That’s, uh, not the worst thing that could happen…”
“HOW IS IT NOT THE WORST THING.”
He took my face in his hand, even though I was ready to rip it clean off his body for mauling my tits and probably putting a fucking baby in my fat belly. “A little early, sure, but I always wanted to be a dad, you know? Got a little saved up…”
How could he think that money was the problem and not–not the fucking mother?
“You don’t understand, Bas. You just don’t understand.”
“I’m not gonna walk out on you, Gal.”
Easy for him to say that now.
“Just forget it. Periods can be irregular, or maybe I have cancer, or just…it could be a million different things. So go home for once, okay?”
But he went home–and I went straight to the convenience store and then right back home, even though I was sorely tempted by a taco truck.
…Was that a sign I was pregnant? But not-pregnant people wanted tacos all the time, especially fat not-pregnant people.
I should’ve known better…
Okay, maybe it was a fluke. These things could have false positives, right? And if it wasn’t, pregnant women weren’t supposed to eat sushi for some reason, and maybe that reason was because it killed unborn babies or some shit. Problem solved.
Or maybe I could get rid of it without Bas finding out. Or…break up with him, pop the little fucker out, and drop it in Finn’s lap like a hot potato. If he married a guy, maybe he’d be grateful for it, and it could be his little gayby or whatever.
But it bothered me to know there’d be a little piece of me out there somewhere, sucking life and happiness out of the world.
…It could still be a fluke, right?
I had to tell Bas. I couldn’t tell Bas. If he knew, he would never let me…do what I needed to do. It was for the little fucker’s own good. He’d just have to understand.
“How the hell’d you get in here?”
“Private eye, remember? And, uh, you left your back door unlocked…”
“Here,” I said, forcing the stupid pee-stick into his hand. “I guess you deserve to know, since you did this to me.”
He accepted it and coughed. “Uh, Strider family tradition with run-down motels…”
…It would’ve had to have been around that first time. I’d started taking the pill after that, but it wasn’t like I’d needed it back then, and apparently Bas just assumed instead of running out for a fucking condom.
“I have to get rid of it,” I said. “I have to.”
“You’d–you’d kill it? Our kid?”
“It’s not a kid, it’s a fetus. And I don’t want to kill it, I just want to launch it into the sun and never have to think about it ever again.” My voice kept rising until I sounded hysterical. “I can’t be a mom, Bas. I can’t. I’ll fuck it up and it’ll hate me and then it’ll hate itself and then it’ll grow up to be a shitty parent too, and now it’s like this whole big endless cycle of shit…”
“I don’t believe that, Gal. I think–I think you’d be a great mom.” He let out a deep breath. “But…it’s your decision to make, and I’ll support you whatever you choose.”
“…Why are you so fucking perfect?” Unlike me, I could see him being a parent. The perfect dad that every kid wanted to have.
He slung an arm around my fatter-by-the-day body. “Nobody’s perfect,” he said quietly. “But I love you, and I want you to be happy.”
Shit. My vision was getting blurry. “How the fuck am I supposed to become a baby-killer now?”
He just held me. “Whatever you decide, you’re still the woman I love.”
God, what did I do to deserve him? And was there any way to actually kick him hard enough to send his hairy giant puppydog self running away forever?
Probably not. And…maybe he’d cancel me out with his sheer Bas-ness. I could see him calmly listening to some rebellious asswipe of a teenage son after he pulled some stupid shit for attention–just like his mom. A kid like that would need a dad like him to turn out okay.
“…Fine,” I said, my heart lifting the tiniest bit. “I’ll keep the stupid fucking thing. But you have to feed it and take it for walks.”
“…I love you, Gal.”
For a moment, I didn’t say anything. “I guess I love you too…but don’t let it go to your head.”
I didn’t slap his hand away when it went to my stomach. At least we’d be stuck in this shithole together…and with him, maybe there was a chance of climbing out of it.