Free When Love Hurts by Shaquanda Dalton Page B

to the doctor yet. When we go there he can tell us how many months I am into the pregnancy,” I say. He seems satisfied with that answer and turns his eyes to the TV.
    After I finish eating a ham sandwich, I feel a lot better. Chris is still lying on the couch, but says he’ll be ready when I come out of the bathroom.
    I get in the shower, and my mind goes back to Chris questioning why I’m not showing yet and how long I’ve been pregnant. I wish I knew. I look down at my stomach and notice a baby bump. What was Chris talking about? Of course I’m pregnant, and I’m showing. Did he just think this was fat or something? Why is he trying to make sure I’m pregnant?
    Then I think back to when I moved back in with him three months ago. Yes, he was being good and keeping all his promises, but he was also so . . . passionate. We were making love every day, if not twice a day. And he would always ask me how I felt and if I was okay. We were having sex with the lights off, which was making my memory a little blurry.  
    I reach for the soap and start lathering my body. It isn’t until I’m cleaning my thighs that I understand. Or think I do. I might be wrong, and I have no way to prove he hasn’t been doing it.   I think Chris has been trying to get me pregnant. He wanted me pregnant, and now he’s making sure I’m really pregnant.  
    I rinse off and hop out the shower. I feel like I’m in a daze as I slide a towel over my body. Why would Chris want me pregnant? I shake my head and tell myself that being pregnant isn’t a bad thing. So what if he wants me to have his baby? What the hell is wrong with that? And he’s my fiancé, so it’s a pretty sweet deal. I’m finally gonna have a family of my own.
    We leave for the club about forty-five minutes later. Chris is smiling at my blue low-cut dress and tells me that he’s going to show me off to his friends when we get to the club. I smile back and tell him how handsome he looks in his tan button-up shirt, slacks, and jewelry. We pull up to this club called Lacey. We stroll in and sit in a booth not too far from the dance floor. I’m wearing my blue heels, but I ain’t afraid to show my dance moves on the floor no matter how bad Jaylen said they were.
    Chris heads to the bar to get himself a drink and me a white soda. I’m nodding my head to the music and starting to relax. I lean back and close my eyes. I open them again when I hear cursing and screaming coming from the next booth. From what I can hear, some woman wearing a blue dress as well came here and ran into two of her lovers, and she is being chewed out for it. I feel bad for the woman somehow. To be a hoe and be caught on yo’ shit. Damn. Eventually I stop listening and focus my attention on the dance floor, where women are grinding like it paid the bills. The guys are dancing behind them holding the girls’ ass against their crotches. I stare at one couple in particular with the guy gripping the girl tight and hard against him like he doesn’t want her to leave and dance with another dude. And that’s when it hits me.
    I finally understand why Chris is asking if I’m pregnant. I look down at my engagement ring and realize why he wants to marry me. He wants to trap me. He wants me to be with him forever, and he wants an excuse that we should stay together no matter how many times he fucks up. This baby is his insurance. I horridly try to think of when we had sex to disprove my case, but I can’t think of anything. I just come up with visions of us having hot, sexy “miss you” sex. The sex was rough and fast, and I realize he never really seemed to get enough of me.  
    I close my eyes and rest my head on the table. Then I open them and sit up straight. The condoms. They were at the bottom drawer in the end table, and I never remembered him putting them on. I thought he did. He always did before, and I assumed he’d been doing it since we got back together. Oh, shit. No, this can’t be true. I