I should’ve stopped after the first time.

After the first time you slammed your mouth against mine like it was a punishment. After the first time I pulled your hair just to hear you curse my name like you hated me more than anything in the world.

Which, to be fair—you did.

And I hated you too.

I hated the way you walked into a room like you were better than everyone. Hated the way your laugh got under my skin. Hated how you always had something smart to say, something smug, something fucking infuriating.

But I still fucked you.

I fucked you like I was trying to win a war. Every time. On your back, against the wall, over the counter—it didn’t matter. All teeth and fingernails and spit and rage.

It wasn’t love. Never was.

You were a habit I never kicked. A mistake I kept making with both eyes open.

And now—

Now you’re standing in my flat, shoving a pregnancy test into my hand like it’s my fault.

Like I did this.

I stare at the little pink lines like they’re mocking me.

Then I look at you.

And fuck—

I want to scream.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” My voice echoes off the walls, sharp and low and shaking.

You flinch, but only for a second. Then your jaw sets, like you’re ready for the fight you know is coming.

Like always. But this isn’t like always.This is a fucking child.

This is real. And I’m furious.

Because I let it happen.

Because I knew you were dangerous. Knew we were a car crash waiting to happen.

And I still got in the fucking driver’s seat and floored it.

Now here we are.

Two people who hate each other looking at a positive pregnancy test. Why the fuck did this have to happen?