The Last Days of October by Jackson Spencer Bell Page A

said:
    I’M
PREGNANT.
    On her end, it
happened when in response to that, Justin said:
    BULL- SHIT !
    And then followed
up with every girl’s favorite:
    IT
AIN’T MINE!
    Oooh.   Not good, not the way to handle that, no
sir.   Even if it was true; even if she
couldn’t be pregnant by him because he’d always used condoms on the expectation
that this day would come—this day
when she would utilize the nuclear option in her attempts to keep him from ever
leaving her.   He’d seen it coming.   And so he bagged it.   Always.   And none had ever broken—a blue-eyed miracle, considering his size.   Not that he knew much about other dicks or
anything, but Kayleigh had commented on it.   And she knew a lot about
dicks.
    “I can’t believe you
said that shit to me,” she said, eyes narrowing.   Speaking of blue-eyed miracles, Kayleigh had
gotten her hands on some of those funky contacts and now she was a blue-eyed miracle, kind of a wild effect in concert with
her reddish hair.   Looking down at her
that evening, he’d felt like he was banging one of those spice junkies from Dune .  
    “What am I
supposed to say?   It’s true.”
    “Them things ain’t
a hundred percent effective.   Even says
so on the box.”
    “They are if you
put them on your wang before you start
fucking.   So if you are pregnant, one more time: it ain’t mine.   I don’t know what you want me to say.   And, I mean, if you were wanting me to be all
like, oh shit, oh fuck, I guess we have to get back together, I’m not going to
say that.   That is one hell of a bad
idea, and you know it just as well as I do.”
    Red lightning
flashed behind her contacts.   Her jaw
hardened and her features seemed to lose all their softness.   Justin saw the funnel cloud gathering
strength.   He knew the look; he’d made
her angry.   The list of things that made
Kayleigh angry ran longer than her dad’s rap sheet, but she really didn’t like it, never had, when
Justin stood up.   When he failed to abide
the ride and go with the flow, no matter how twisted, illogical and downright disastrous
that flow might be.
    “ Why’d you come over here?   Huh?   Why did you come over when I texted you?   You come over just to get laid?   Were you like, I’m gonna go over there and fuck Kayleigh one more time
and then I’m gonna dog her ass and leave?   You sorry-ass motherfucker!”
    Couldn’t argue
with her there.   When he’d looked down at
his phone a half hour before, his eyes had translated her text into a picture
of a t-shirt that fell right there where her hips swelled and her ass began—an
ass clad in either no underwear at all or that black thong.   The t-shirt in his mind was one she’d had
since middle school, and since she was twenty-one now, she’d outgrown it in the
best of good ways.   Everything up top
strained to get out.   Deserved to get out.   Talent like that demanded recognition.
    Apparently,
Kayleigh had called him over not for a little weeknight ex sex, but to rope him
back into a cruddy relationship so that they could scream at each other all the
time.   Again.
    She attacked.
    “You
sorry-ass-cock-sucking-mother-fucking-dick-licking-ASSHOLE!”
    The names, the
profanity, the disrespect fell like the blows she rained down on him from all
directions.   She whacked him so fast that
he thought for a moment she had grown extra arms.   So he ran, skedaddling out the front door,
across the deck and down to his truck.   Kayleigh screaming, yelling, shrieking at him the whole time.
    “Oh, I’m SO going
to fix your sorry ass!   You’re going to
regret this shit, motherfucker!”
    He should have
stopped.   That was where he messed up; he
never should have left her like that, screaming and yelling out there in front
of her trailer, mad enough to do about anything.   Say about anything to anybody.   He should
have stopped, calmed her down.   He
couldn’t have ever left her happy—he’d been serious about not