[ . ]

"Wifey, what's all this about?" Adora asked incredulously as she gazed down upon the dinner spread Morgana had set before her. "We have matches to prepare for; we don't have time to be indulging in..." she paused to note the various foods before her. "Numerous small vegetables and two-bite pastries."

"It's baby vegetables and baby two-bite brownies and macaroons," she corrected with a goofy grin plastered on her face. And baby's breath is our centrepiece!" she beamed. "I also got you a kitten!" She pulled a large, sturdy basket out from under the dining table and pulled it open, revealing a disgruntled looking Marmalade in a blue bonnet.

"Riiight. What are you getting at?" Adora asked, now impatient, as she watched Marmalade hop out of the basket and make a mad dash for a hiding spot.

"Okay," Morgy exhaled deeply, as if to brace herself for an exhausting task. "I'm pregnant. Chris and I are having a baby."

Adora simply gawked at her best friend for a moment, then at the food laid out before her and back at Morgy. Suddenly, the garish, floral muumuu she donned made sense -- well, more sense than it previously had -- and so did the bizarre dinner she had prepared.

"And you chose to tell me the same way the Becky told Uncle Jesse on Full House?!" Adora finally shrieked, her eyes wild and frantic.

"I knew the gesture wouldn't be lost on you!" she cried happily, leaping forward from her chair to hug Adora.

"I just can't believe this; it's so sudden! So random, so unexpected, so --"

"Unplanned?" Morgy offered. "I know, I know. Not to mention that it's murder for my career."

"I didn't even think of that!" Adora gasped. "Are you sure you want to keep it? Are you ready to be a mother?"

"Of course I'm going to keep it." She looked at Adora curiously, as if any notion to the contrary was inconceivable. "And is anyone ever truly ready to be a mother?"

"Good question."

[ . ]

"Hi there," Charlie gave the middle-aged pharmacist a charming smile. "My wife isn't feeling well and asked me to pick up her birth control for her. She sent me with her health card in case you need it."

"That's not a problem. What's her name? I need to pull up her file." Charlie peered cautiously around him, making sure no one he or Adora knew was in the store.

"Adare; A-d-a-r-e, first name Adora; A-d-o-r-a," he replied, enunciating each letter carefully before sliding Adora's health card -- that he'd pilfered from her wallet early that morning, long before she had any intention of being awake -- towards the woman.

"Her current prescription shouldn't need refilling yet," the pharmacist said, looking at her screen quizzically. "Why would she so urgently need a new set of pills? She still has a week and a half of them left, plus a week of placebos."

"She dropped yesterday's pill in the toilet as she was talking it, so she took today's yesterday and tomorrow's today. She's ultimately going to be a pill short this month. If you could prepare a second one as well, for next month, it would be wonderful."

"Okay, I see. They'll be ready in about 5 minutes; you can wait at the pick-up counter."

"Thanks so much," Charlie smiled warmly at the woman, his voice oozing sincerity. "I appreciate it."

Later that evening, after she had drifted into unconsciousness, he would find the small plastic disc that she organized her pills in each month -- outdated as it was, there was something she found to be charming and quaint about vintage birth control compacts -- and he would toss them out of sequence, adding a few extra placebos here and there. Half the point of using a container separate from the packet she purchased each month was that there could be no mistaking which pill was to be taken each day, because had personally deposited them into their proper slots.

Surely she wouldn't doubt her own handiwork, and before long she would be carrying their child. He knew she'd love being a young mother, just as much as he'd love being a young father.

[ . ]

She'd never taken a pregnancy test before, nor had she been with Morgy when she took hers, and as simple as the process was, the task seemed daunting to her. She wasn't sure why -- ostensibly, the results would either be relieving or entirely unsurprising. She'd already convinced herself of the worst outcome -- knocked up at the height of her career -- so how bad could it be to have official confirmation?

Well, pretty bad. A sliver of hope held out somewhere in th back of her mind, and small as it was, it probably meant more to her than any other emotion she felt. She wanted so badly for that hope to live that her body refused to fulfill the test's one requirement: urine. Glass after glass of water, swallowed down a tight and reluctant throat, apparently evaded its final destination of her bladder, and she couldn't spare a single drop for the expectant tab that would soon seal her fate.

"Do you want me to bring you some tea?" Morgy called from the other side of the door. "Coffee? I don't know, name something else that makes you piss."

"I'm okay, thanks," Adora called back. Her breath, now laboured, came in ragged gasps as anxiety claimed her clarity of mind, and she wished she could snap the device in half and go running for the hills instead of spend a moment longer in the bathroom.

"Run around a little bit," she suggested, her head thudding lightly against the door out of frustration at Adora's apprehension. "Jump up and down. Masturbate, for all I care, just get this shit done."

"I don't want to find out," Adora said sharply, her voice tight and rising. A chunk that would bring tears if freed swelled in her throat. "I don't want a baby and I don't want to have to go through anything like what I went through ever again."

"You might not have to do either," Morgy said, he tone softening sympathetically. "Just take the test and we'll go from there. Everything will be okay," she cooed. "Just be brave and face your mistake head on right now."

"Okay," she stuttered, and with the single word, a rush of tears flooded down her cheeks. "Done. How long are we supposed to wait?"

"Five minutes, I believe."

Neither of them spoke a word as minute after minute slowly ticked by, and only heavy, worried breathing permeated the silence.

"Has it been five minutes yet?" Adora practically begged Morgana, as if she alone controlled the speed of time.

"Holy crap, it's been seven. I'm sorry, I guess I just zoned out."

"But the tab is neither pink not blue... what does that mean?" Adora demanded, frantic as her eyes blurred with yet another set of tears.

"Ohhh no," Morgy muttered, her free hand fluttering to the base of her throat. "This thing is expired. I'm so sorry, I can't believe neither of us noticed."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!" Adora shrieked through tears, searching the spacious bathroom for something suitable for breaking or destroying. Morgy carefully opened the door that stood between them and knelt beside her friend's now collapsed form. She placed a hand on her head and stroked her hair, once again knotty and messy from neglect.

"We're going on vacation," she spoke suddenly, the words surprising her as much as they did Adora.

"What?" Adora looked up at Morgana through tear-streaked eyes, her lips swollen and red from the force of her crying.

"Let's go away for a while. You and I," she smiled, her eyes soothing in the lack of concern or worry in them.

"Where?"

"To a strange and distant land."

[ . ]

"Charlie!" Adora screeched from the bathroom, the force of her cry enough to shred her vocal cords into silence for days under normal circumstances. "CHARLIE!" she wailed again, her words crackled and uneven.

Vicious cramps besieged her all that day, crippling enough that she had not, until that point, left her bed for anything; not even to put her contact lenses in. Now, what felt like litres upon litres of blood gushed from between her legs, spilling onto the otherwise pristine marble floor. She couldn't find her glasses and could barely see, but she could nonetheless make out shining black clots, thick and sickly, ooze out of her in the grotesque waterfall.

"Charlie!" she called again, her body heaving with sobs beyond her control. Pain shot through her like daggers, and she felt sure that she knew what impalement would feel like; an all-encompassing pain that she could only liken to having her innards wrenched mercilessly from within her.

"Baby, what wrong?" She heard Charlie calling out his reply, and despite the thunder of chaos in her ears, she could make out his footsteps shuffling hurriedly toward her.

"What's happening to me?" she wept weakly, bringing her hands close enough to her face that she could examine the red matter that coated them.

And then darkness came.

[ dead end road ]

Back when I used to work at a wine store, the company provided free alcohol abuse counselling... this makes me wonder: does SW provide free delusional psycho counselling? Because Shane Donovan could reeeeally use some.

Dear Shane,

How about you stop twisting events to make yourself seem like a victim and actually prove yourself worthy based on merit alone? If I recall correctly -- which I do -- you're the one who resorts to cheap tactics to throw people off course every chance you get, so perhaps you should assess your own professional demeanour before writing off that of others. You're in the rut you're in because of your own half-assery. If you want shots at people's titles, earn them. Show up to your matches, and avoid tipping the scales in your favour before stepping in the ring. It makes you look twice as stupid when you lose.

Perhaps if you hadn't been so self-involved all these months -- meaning too self-involved to be a meaningful part of this promotion -- you would have noticed that anything and everything you have to say about either of the wifeys has been acknowledged, addressed and thoroughly refuted. You are, as always, two steps behind and you're not about to catch up.

Frankly, I don't even have anything more to say about you OR Casanova, because I've been down that road too many damn times to have anything new to say. Are you relieved that you've been spared yet another "boring, long-winded, dictionary-needing" wifey rant? I'm almost relieved to not have to give it.

My dedication to my job and the constant effort I put forth say more than your last minute attempts at attaining glory ever could, so why bother?

No one knows it better than you that, at this point, all that awaits you is a long fall to the bottom. Why don't you let the pros handle life at the top of the card?

Kissies,
Adora