You're in the library with your head down as you don't feel well. Truth is you're 3 months pregnant. It's your enemy's. He knows. You love him he loves you. As you're thinking about the baby you feel something crawl up your throat*

You run straight to the washroom and you heard footsteps after you. Not caring about it, you run in and throw up getting on my knees with tears spewing out of your eyes

Someone held my hair. It was your enemy. Once you were done he gave you a mint knowing you hate the taste of vomit and he holds you close on the floor