Jess was a Bitch Ch. 15

David shakes his head and, leaning toward her before she finishes speaking. "No, Gloria, not at all. I saw enough of the reunion back there to have no concerns whatsoever in that regard. I cannot imagine our interest in Jon's welfare, and by extension, Jess' will ever be anything but perfectly aligned. I personally believe the 'tortured' artist motif is self-indulgent posturing. I hate the idea. It's true that genuine success, in any field, requires effort and determination and often a degree of pain and suffering but if pain and suffering is the only reward, it's a fool's bargain."

"In that case, buy me another martini."

"My pleasure. James?" he asks turning his head.

"As long as we don't forget we're meeting the kids in," he looks at his watch. "We have time."

"Shit," Gloria hisses under her breath. "I forgot to tell you. Jon and Jess are staying at the Hyatt..."

"Staying at the Hyatt? Why? Oh." The look Gloria gives James would have withered him in his seat had it not been accompanied by her loving and amused eyes.

"They want to eat some place close by."

"Well, let's go to the Grand Met. It's in the Hyatt," James suggests, digging in his front pocket for his phone. He taps at the screen for a few minutes. "There, all done. Dinner for 5 at eight pm."

"I'll text the kids."

***

"Did you get mom's text?"

Jon shakes his head. "No, I mean my phone went off but I don't check it driving. You know that."

"We're eating at the restaurant here. Eight o'clock."

He nods, distractedly. He's busy undressing. He finds he abhors being clothed around Jess. He kicks his jeans across the room with one foot, stares at them and then swears. "Jess, I don't have anything to wear to a nice restaurant. Fuck."

She starts to giggle. "Impregnating your sister doesn't faze you but nothing to wear to a restaurant does? Oh my God." She picks up her phone. "Mom, uh not to be a bitch, not me this time, Jon. He only has the jeans and tee shirt he wore." She nods. "814, yeah, one-four, not four-one, eight-one-four. Okay. Quarter till. Deal. Bye. Love you." She kneels behind Jon and rests her chin on his shoulder. "There, all settled, she'll drop by with a pair of 'decent jeans', her words, and a shirt." She nods at the small plastic bag he holds in one hand. "Are we doing this?"

"Yeah, unless you want to forget about it, lie back and bed and make love. I'm okay with that, too."

Jess considers it then shakes her head. "I'd rather know. I love the way you jump in with both feet but the idea of two of us having a baby, right now, needs a little more thought. If I'm not pregnant, I want you to use a condom."

"If you are pregnant, you going to be okay?"

"I think so."

He nods, then, looking over his shoulder, smiles, looking much younger and very shy. "Uh, you know how we talked about being honest and no hints, about sex and, well, everything?"

"Yeah, of course. Why?"

"Uh, fuck this is honesty shit is hard, I'm afraid you'll look at me like I'm a total freak."

"Jon, please, I got enough to worry about without that. What is it?"

"I want to watch you pee." He flings the words from his mouth before he has a chance to re-consider.

She starts laughing. "Again, you have no problem telling me, your sister, how much you love me and want to have my baby and live together forever and fuck everyone else but that, asking if you can watch me pee, that you have to work up to? Again, oh-my-fucking-God." She kisses the back of his shoulder. "You are unbelievable. Come on. If you're that interested, you can hold the fucking stick for me."

"You know how to do this?"

"No. Come on we can read the instructions together. Bring a phone. We need a timer I think."

He holds her hand as they make the short journey to the bathroom. It dawns on him that there's the real possibility that he'll walk back out of this door on an entirely different path than the one he'd envision just an hour ago. He gives a mental shrug, realizing he walks through doors leading to different paths multiple times a day; it's just that most of the time he's not aware of it.

"Jess, what do you think we'd be doing right now, if three or four months ago, the reservations clerk hadn't been hungover or worried about a kid, or whatever, and hadn't fucked up the reservation? What if we'd each had our own room? What if we were sitting at home, each in our own room, counting the days until you went back to school and we didn't have to deal with each other? You ever think about how a very small, very simple, thing can change everything?"

"Yeah," she whispers. "All the time." She takes a breath and opens the box. The directions are simple. Jon recommends the tub. Jess perches at the back, knees apart, fingers spreading her labia. He checks a dozen times to make sure he's holding the stick the right way. Jess emits a short, desperate giggle. "I can't go."

"Should I leave, baby?"

She closes her eyes. "No. Give me a second." There's a small, brief, gush of urine, a pause and then she's able to relax.

Jon is enamored at the rush and force of her stream. He had no idea girls peed that hard. As amazed as he is, he's more worried about not fucking up his role in this enterprise. He slips the tip of the stick into her stream. He doesn't trust a mental count. He uses his phone and at exactly five seconds removes the stick. He ignores the continued rush of Jess' stream, caps the stick and lays it carefully on the sink. He then surprises her by hopping into the tub. Her dwindling stream plays over his lower belly and half hard cock.

"It's so hot, not sexy hot, well that too, but temperature hot," he whispers to her as he leans forward to hold her in his arms. He helps her up. "Let's rinse off." He adjusts the water and uses the shower attachment to rinse their bodies. They step out of the shower. He checks his phone. "Almost three minutes," he whispers. They lean over the counter and look at the stick.

At the first glance, her heart soars; at the second glance it flutters and feels as if it has stopped. The second line is faint, faint enough that she missed it at first but it is there. There's no mistaking it.

"Oh Jesus, oh Jesus," she whispers over and over.

She starts to slump; grabs her. He helps her to the floor and sits with his back against the tub, neither of them minding the chill of the cold tile on their bare skin. He rocks her, brushing her hair back. "Sssh, now, hush, baby. Everything is going to be fine. It's okay. Hush, baby," he whispers in her ear, over and over until she quiets.

***

"I really want you to see the new painting. It came to me like a vision or something, seriously, that last day we had in Mexico, when we made love in the waves, remember? I didn't totally understand then, but I think it really was a vision, a vision telling us that everything is going to be alright, better than alright, fucking gloriously alright. I know you'll think that's just my own desires, desires so intense I want them to be a vision. That's what I always thought explained people's belief in God; they want life, the world, to make some sort of fucking sense, therefore there must be a God. But this isn't like that. You have to trust me." Jess is lying on her left side, curled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest. Jon does his best to hold her close, folding his body around hers. He's whispering in her damp hair, rocking her. "Are you cold? Do you want to get under the covers?"

"No," she whispers. "And I do trust you but, my God Jon, how can you honestly imagine we can handle a baby? Now?" Her body uncurls so abruptly her head bumps his jaw, causing Jon to bite his tongue. The pain is abrupt and exquisite in its intensity. He ignores the pain as Jess sits on the edge of the bed and begins to hit herself in the head. "Stupid, brain-damaged cunt, fucking idiot, one pill a day, how fucking hard is that? Stupid imbecilic cunt." Each phrase is punctuated with a punch to the side of her head.

He scrambles out of bed and grabs her wrist. "Fucking stop it!" She jerks her right hand free and hits him, hard, in the chest. He grabs for her wrist again. She jerks away, manages to hit him along the side of his arm. He lets go of her. "You want to hit someone? Fine, hit me. But quit hitting yourself; it's fucking stupid. I told you before - don't call yourself a cunt. I meant it. Don't." He's no longer yelling; he doesn't even raise his voice.

Jess stands, pummeling his chest with the sides of her fists, landing a glancing blow along the side of his jaw as she does. "I'm a cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt." Her fists stop flying as abruptly as they'd started. They rest on his chest. She sees blood on his lip. "Oh my God. I made you bleed. I...fuck...I." She lowers herself to the floor beside the bed. Before she can slump onto her side, Jon grabs her, pulling and turning her, so that she sits between his legs, her back to his chest.

"I bit my tongue. You didn't make me bleed. Seriously, Jess, what the fuck? You need to seriously pull your shit together. You think you're the first person in the world to forget her pill because she's having a good time? Fuck, spare me. I forget shit all the time, important shit, like going to work. Does that make me a stupid fucking cunt?"

Jess starts to giggle but there's no amusement in the sound. It's a desperate sound, full of fear. "Maybe you are. You love me, don't you? And I'm a stupid cunt, so maybe you are."

He reaches past her and picks up his phone.

"Who you callin?"

"Mom," he replies, voice steady. "I think I need to call an ambulance but I want to talk to her first. You've lost it. You need a doctor or something, like right fucking now."

"Don't." She puts her hand over the phone. Laughter and giggles vanished. She looks terrified and very tired. "Please don't tell mom. I can't handle her disappointment right now."

"She's not going to be disappointed." Seeing the look in her eyes, he adds, "Not much anyway. And she'll be just as disappointed in me as in you. I'm calling her. I don't know what to do and she will. You're going to hurt yourself or something. You've totally fucking lost it and I don't know what to do. Mom will."

"Mom will? You think we can have a child when we still need to have mom fix things for us?" She fingers the necklace. "This is wrong. I'm a fool and you're still a kid. You're trippin' on the idea of being in love, even if it's with your sister. We're not playing house, Jon. A kid isn't just some 'baller' miniature bro you'll be playing video games with. Look what mom and dad have been putting up with the past few weeks. You think that was 'baller' for them? I'm not blaming you. I loved the feeling of being loved as much as you did but we're fooling ourselves." Her hands go to the back of her neck.

"Fuck you, Jess. You are so full of shit sometimes; it fucking amazes me. I can imagine the shit well enough. I can also imagine the joy. Can you? I'm a kid? No, Jess, you're the kid. You're scared, so rather than deal with it, you convince yourself that it's doomed, there's nothing we can do, so you don't even have to fucking try. Fuck that. Fuck you."

He hops to his feet, a Kung Fu-like move she had no idea he was capable of. She's so lost in processing his words, searching the words and herself, looking for the truth, she doesn't respond as he gets dressed. It's not until his hand is on the door handle that she wakes from her stupor. "Jon, wait, please. I need a minute to think about what you said. That alone tells me you're probably right. If what you said was nothing but bullshit I wouldn't need this much time to digest it. So, please come back. If you leave, nothing'll be settled. It'll still be there. It sucks but we have to deal with it, not just me, we, both of us. So, please come sit down."

He hesitates, hand on the handle, for what feels to Jess like a very long time. "I'm so pissed at you right now; I don't wanna talk."

"Fine. Do you think you'll never be pissed at me again? You don't have to talk, not right this minute, but I think it would be a mistake to walk out. You'll be pissed at me again, and I'll be pissed at you, but walking away won't fix that."

"Fix what exactly? I'm a child, playing house. Why should I sit down if there's nothing to fix?"

"I told you; what you said hit home. I'm trying to wiggle my way through to the truth of your words. Maybe it's not all true. Maybe it's hardly true at all. I don't know but I do know there's at least some truth in it or it wouldn't have bothered me so much. Maybe you should think about that as well."

"Think about what?" He's still standing in front of the door but his forehead now rests on the door.

"About why what I said pissed you off so much. If it was all bullshit I don't think it would have had this effect on you." She waits for another explosion but none is forthcoming. "You're right. I am trying to hide from something hard. I don't think that means I don't love you. You're right, I'm childish in my own way. And I may have overreacted but thinking that mom will fix this for you does seem childish to me."

He spins around. "I wasn't calling her to fix 'this'. I was calling her to ask her what to do with someone who's fucking lost their fucking mind! That's a pretty big fucking difference, Jess. You're fucking cackling like a goddamn lunatic, hitting me, hitting yourself. What the fuck did you want me to do? I should have just called the front desk and told them to send an ambulance or a padded van if they still have those. That's what I was going to do. I decided to see if mom had a better idea. That makes me a child?" He leans his butt against the door and slides to the floor, resting his head back against the door. His legs stretch out as far as they can in the small alcove. His hands hang loosely between his legs. "God, I hate this, hate being pissed at you. It's exhausting."

"I know," she sighs. "You know how many times I've heard, 'don't worry, everything will be alright' in the past week or so, either from you or from mom? That is bullshit and we both know it. It may be alright but there's no guarantee. There never is, why pretend? If you're doing it to be strong for me, don't. I know you're strong, stronger than me most of the time, but tossing out platitudes isn't strength or even very helpful."

"Platitudes? If that's what you think then we really are doomed. Those aren't platitudes, Jess. You're not simple. How can you not know that? There affirmations. Affirmations of commitment and belief in us, in our love for each other, that if we stay trusting in each other, lean on each other, we will be fine. Doesn't every couple imagine that? If they don't, what's the point? What's the point of being together if you expect it won't work, that it'll be a disaster, huh?"

"I'm not saying I expect it will be a disaster but pretending it will be all ice cream and unicorn rides isn't particularly helpful either."

"Not constantly focusing on the potential negatives isn't pretending it will all be ice cream, Jess. That's bullshit and you know it. Just because I don't choose to obsess about all the possible horrors life may hand out doesn't make me a fucking simpleton. Perhaps that's why I got so pissed. I'm tired of people, you, that fucker Ed, half the senior class, thinking I'm some sort of brain-damaged dork."

"I don't think of you that way."

"Really? Even in the last couple minutes, you don't hear any hint of patronization in your words, in your voice?"

She opens her mouth and closes it again. She nods. "Fair enough. I don't mean to. I'm just trying to get you to acknowledge the realities of the situation. It's hard for me to imagine we can make this work, if you don't understand the reality of what the two of us trying to be together means. And of having a child. A child Jon. Diapers and no sleep. How are you going to paint? How am I going to go to school? And, what if that forty percent is real? Factor in a special needs child on top of that. A nineteen-year-old aspiring artist and a college student raising a special needs child, seriously?"

"For the millionth fucking time, I get it! You want me to freak out, start punching myself in the head and throw myself on the floor to prove it? Would that help? Because I have to tell you, that sounds pretty childish to me."

She flinches at the words. He bites back the apology that springs to his lips. "That was pretty cold, little brother. I did freak out. I am freaking out."

"Yeah, you did. And who was there for you, huh? Who?"

"You, but who was about to walk out? That was you as well."

"It sure felt to me like I was being told to go. I was walking out to calm down, not to leave. Do you want me to leave?"

"I've been telling you not to, haven't I?"

"Yeah, is that because you want to go over it all over again, get in a few more digs, and then tell me you made a mistake putting that necklace on? If that's why I need to sit down, no thanks. If it's to figure out how we get past this, fine. If you're saying we're done, say so, please."

"I'm a bitch but not that big of a bitch. If I thought we were done I wouldn't have tried to stop you from leaving." Jess gets up from the bed and walks to the door. She sits down beside Jon and leans against him. At first, he just sits there, then he raises an arm and puts it around her shoulder and rests his cheek on top of her head.

"I know this seems impossible and stupid and crazy but I believe in us, that we can beat all that. I'm sorry if that seems silly to you. I'm sorry for getting pissed."

"Jon, we're going to get pissed at each other. How can we not? You can only get really, truly pissed at someone you care about. I'm sorry I accused you of being childish. I misunderstood what you meant by 'mom will'. I did freak out, I'm still freaked out. I'll freak out again. I've never hit anyone like that before though. I'm sorry. I know you were trying to help. I'm sorry about your lip."

"It's not my lip. I bit my tongue. I told you."

"Tongue, lip, you didn't bite it chewing gum so, I'm guessing I had something to do with it." She puts her hand on his leg.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"You mean my head? Not on the outside. Some of the things I said to you hurt me plenty but mentally not physically. I thought I had that part of me under control."

"I said some pretty shitty things as well."

"Don't do that. Please. You did but not the same sort of shitty. Don't provide me with an excuse that will let me give myself a pass."

"Dammit, Jess, you're not a..."

"I am, at least a little, most of us are, in the non-gender sense of 'asshole' or 'jerk'. You don't get how unusual it is that you aren't a bitch, do you?"

"I'm as big a dick as anyone. I'm..."

"No, Jon, you're not. You may want to think so but you aren't. If you want to think you are because you think that makes you tougher, you're wrong. The fact that you aren't a bitch means you're much stronger than most of us. It's one of the things about you that awes me."

"That's silly. I'm just a regular guy who happens to be deeply in love with a woman who insists she's a bitch when she's actually the most amazing person I've ever met." He pulls his arm from around her shoulder. "I'll be right back. I'm going to the lobby to check on something."

"Uh, okay? What?"

"Secret. What time is it?" He hops to his feet and grabs his phone. "Okay, we got time." He holds out his hand and pulls Jess to her feet before pulling his on his jeans and tee shirt.

"Kiss me before you leave. Please."

"You don't have to say please. There's nothing I'd rather do."

As gentle as the kiss is, he feels his cock stir. He remembers someone saying a hard dick has no conscience. His mind is a mosaic of worry, fear, a bit of anger, and hope, yet, the touch of her lips has him getting hard in his pants. He doesn't know it, his father could fill him in, but it won't be all that many years into the future before he'll start to miss the fact his dick is constantly at the ready. He kisses her quickly and slips out of the room.