on_thecouch : Pandora's Box : arkhams_dr
Duela Dent
Batman
457 words
Nine days in, Duela caved. She felt foolish, going to a doctor. After all, she really wasn't all that ill. A little nauseous every now and again but nothing to worry about. Still, the length of time it had continued made her worry just a bit. Really, the young woman supposed she could have spoken to Jonathan about it rather than going to a clinic, but she didn't want him to worry about her.
She had never been more nervous than when sitting in the car, driving back to the Crane house. When she got into the house, she went straight into the bathroom and knelt on the floor, throwing up into the toilet. Despite the nausea, she'd never actually thrown up, but the news the doctor had given her was too much. She'd made herself sick worrying in the car. It took a few minutes before her lunch was flushed and she was able to stand up.
Duela rinsed her face and washed her mouth too many times with the mouthwash kept downstairs. She still felt ill.
How was she supposed to tell Jonathan?
The idea came only briefly. She didn't have to tell him. Five weeks, the doctor had said. This could still be taken care of very quietly. Jonathan would never have to know. Things could stay like they were, and she could start being careful. Shit. Why hadn't she even thought of the possibility? That was the first thing she'd thought of with Luke. Twenty. She'd been twenty when she'd slept with Luke. She'd been twenty, and she'd thought of using protection. Twenty-five? She didn't. Shit.
But she had to tell Jonathan. Duela knew that much. She had to tell Jonathan and find out what he thought of the situation, what he wanted done. He wouldn't be angry, she felt sure of that. After all, he'd been just as careless. This was as much his fault as it was hers.
Besides, she reminded herself, he'd proposed to her. He wanted to marry her. Maybe-- just maybe-- he'd want this. He'd want a family. Maybe they could be happy. She could have a daughter-- or a son-- and raise her-- or him-- right. Make her feel loved and wanted and make sure she knew that the people she loved would never, ever leave her.
Maybe-- hopefully-- this was what Jonathan wanted. Maybe it would all be okay. Duela left the bathroom, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Jonathan was probably in his lab in the basement, but she wouldn't disturb him. Instead, she took a seat in the downstairs library, staring at the portrait above the fireplace. The first of the Crane women-- Katrina Crane.
"Wish me luck," Duela muttered to the painting, sighing as she settled in to wait.
Batman
457 words
Nine days in, Duela caved. She felt foolish, going to a doctor. After all, she really wasn't all that ill. A little nauseous every now and again but nothing to worry about. Still, the length of time it had continued made her worry just a bit. Really, the young woman supposed she could have spoken to Jonathan about it rather than going to a clinic, but she didn't want him to worry about her.
She had never been more nervous than when sitting in the car, driving back to the Crane house. When she got into the house, she went straight into the bathroom and knelt on the floor, throwing up into the toilet. Despite the nausea, she'd never actually thrown up, but the news the doctor had given her was too much. She'd made herself sick worrying in the car. It took a few minutes before her lunch was flushed and she was able to stand up.
Duela rinsed her face and washed her mouth too many times with the mouthwash kept downstairs. She still felt ill.
How was she supposed to tell Jonathan?
The idea came only briefly. She didn't have to tell him. Five weeks, the doctor had said. This could still be taken care of very quietly. Jonathan would never have to know. Things could stay like they were, and she could start being careful. Shit. Why hadn't she even thought of the possibility? That was the first thing she'd thought of with Luke. Twenty. She'd been twenty when she'd slept with Luke. She'd been twenty, and she'd thought of using protection. Twenty-five? She didn't. Shit.
But she had to tell Jonathan. Duela knew that much. She had to tell Jonathan and find out what he thought of the situation, what he wanted done. He wouldn't be angry, she felt sure of that. After all, he'd been just as careless. This was as much his fault as it was hers.
Besides, she reminded herself, he'd proposed to her. He wanted to marry her. Maybe-- just maybe-- he'd want this. He'd want a family. Maybe they could be happy. She could have a daughter-- or a son-- and raise her-- or him-- right. Make her feel loved and wanted and make sure she knew that the people she loved would never, ever leave her.
Maybe-- hopefully-- this was what Jonathan wanted. Maybe it would all be okay. Duela left the bathroom, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Jonathan was probably in his lab in the basement, but she wouldn't disturb him. Instead, she took a seat in the downstairs library, staring at the portrait above the fireplace. The first of the Crane women-- Katrina Crane.
"Wish me luck," Duela muttered to the painting, sighing as she settled in to wait.