Page 97 of Pregnant in Pennsylvania

He lets go of me once I’m in my room, but I still can’t find the brainpower to function beyond following him. Once he lets go, I just stop.

“Elyse?”

I blink at him. “Huh?”

“You need to change.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how.” I sniffle; sobs lurk behind the numb, blank wall of shock. “I’m in shock. I can’t function.”

He frowns. “Do you need help?”

I nod.

“Okay.” He tries to meet my eyes. “I’m going to help you get changed, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

There is absolutely nothing erotic whatsoever about the way he helps me undress. He removes my sweater and tosses it into the hamper. Kneels and helps me out of my shoes, then my socks. He lifts the hem of my shirt, and I hold my arms over my head. He keeps space between us—a fact I notice absently—as he helps me out of my tight jeans. I step free of them and stand shivering in my underwear, a mismatched bra and briefs, not at all sexy or cute.

“Where are your pajamas?” he asks, turning away from me slightly.

I point at the top left drawer of my bureau. He pulls out a thick pair of fleece sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt. I step into the pants, and he ties the drawstring loosely, just enough that the ends don’t dangle. He starts to help me into the shirt, but I mumble a negative.

“What?” he asks. “Not this shirt?”

I’m frustrated by own inability to formulate words, but the numbness is wearing off and I’m scared of the impending breakdown. “Bra.”

His expression tightens, and his jaw sets. “Ah. Um…yeah, okay.”

He goes around behind me and unhooks my bra. I let it flop to the floor and stand topless, waiting for him to put the shirt on me. He does so while standing behind me, tugging the neck hole over my head and gently helping me find the sleeves with my arms, all without touching me any more than necessary.

Once I’m clad in pajamas, he moves back around in front of me. “Do you want to sleep, now? Or…I don’t know. Watch a movie or something? I can get you some tea and leave you be.”

That slices through my blank haze of numbness. “No! Don’t—please. Don’t leave.”

“You don’t want me to go?” He seems surprised.

“I…I can’t be alone right now,” I whisper. “I’m going to freak out soon. And I—I…I’m going to need you.”

“Elyse, I…” He sighs. “Yeah. I’m here.”

I hear the hesitation in his voice, but handling it is beyond my capabilities right now. I shuffle to my bed, using the last of my energy to climb under the covers and sit upright against the headboard.

I stare unseeing across the room—holding off the breakdown requires every ounce of focus I have.

Jamie leaves, and I hear him moving around the kitchen. Water pouring into a tea mug. The toaster rattling. He returns with an English muffin slathered with a liberal amount of peanut butter, and two mugs of tea.

“You have, like, three packages of these muffins, which I took to mean they’re a favorite around here,” Jamie says, handing the muffin halves to me on a strip of paper towel.

“Comfort food,” I mumble. “Thank you.”

I hand him one of the halves, and he takes it; we munch in silence. The tea steeps, steaming, on the table next to my bed.

Once the snack is gone, I glance at Jamie. “My iPad is in the drawer there,” I say. “Maybe we could watch something funny.”

He leans over and opens a drawer. I don’t have time to freak out when he opens the wrong one; I meant the top one where I keep my iPad, a second charger cord for my phone, and general random items. The bottom drawer has my…errr,helpers. A large, knobbed, purple dildo, a small but powerful clitoral stimulator, and a Hitachi wand with various attachments.

He opens the second drawer, stares into it for a split second, and then slams it closed. “I, um. Sorry. Wrong drawer.”