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tarjapearce · 6 months

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Chapter 2: So Not Ready For This World

Miguel O'Hara x f!Reader

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of abortion, emotional distress, unwanted pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, little character background, morally ambiguous characters, enemies to lovers, morally grey characters, slow burn, No proofread.

Summary: The devastating consequences knock on your door.

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Chapter's Song:

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A/N: Ngl, proud of this one :'). Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ✨

Sleep was rather easy to escape your head as time went on. Guiltiness had made your eyes tired, dull and the eyebags a bit more prominent. It had earned you a little reprimand from your upper boss, a reminder that appearances were important and you were slacking.

But how could you focus on something so trivial and mundane when your mind was always gravitating towards Miguel and Dana? Ever since the biting truth unfolded before your eyes those days ago, your head was unable to unwrap around it.

Was this a barbed joke from the universe you weren't aware of?

A tired sigh escaped your lips, hands rubbing a bit too tightly on your enfeebled face. As if such thing would wash away the guilty and hounding thoughts for good.

Miguel O'Hara. He worked in the labs, another reason why you had never seen him before, lab people came out an hour earlier, but he either stayed behind or was too sneaky for you to actually get a glimpse of him.

But after the predicament, he had been leaving at five exactly, hand in hand with Dana, parading themselves before everyone. You specially. A daily caveat to keep you pretty mouth shut. He didn't approach you, no. But you felt watched, stalked with the eyes, a bit harassed even whenever the clock ticked 5 pm.

Dana worked in the new market agro department, she came out at five, and by the hour difference you assumed Miguel waited for her.

How cute.

Your lip twitched in a scowl. Anger rising like bile at the impotence and powerless feeling of doing nothing. Dana deserved the truth, even though you'd come out as the sacrificial lamb in the end. You might not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but none deserved to be kept in the shadows like that.

You didn't know if they had troubles, but cheating was surely off the book for her or any normal person really. No engaged woman should go through that.

But those eyes. Sinister, warning, preying with an ominous promise in them prevented you from spilling the truth.

Miguel didn't have to approach you to make his point known and understood. But it left you with a myriad of emotions you were tired of feeling. From time to time you wished to be as cold and hollow-hearted as he was, so you could pretend that nothing had happened. Because for him it was exactly what had occurred. Nothing at all.

He was fine, Dana was fine and you-

Not fine at all but he didn't care. Why would he? Miguel took what he wanted from you, dragging you to this fucked up spiral of power dynamic where he had the upper hand and you could do nothing but fold and obey to a very clear yet silent order.

It wouldn't make the guilt and disgust go away, but you're certain that at how things are going for you, you'd get in trouble for slacking in cues that were required in your work contract.

Another guest approached. It was time to put the resolution to test.

The feeling of being stalked stopped after a couple of weeks, it didn't wane the guilt but you were learning how to live with it. A cruel joke you had no choice but swot on how to take it with a grain of salt to avoid fucking up ever again. One night stands were out of your list permanently.

In the few times you could catch him leaving the building he seemed at ease, sometimes he'd smile while looking at the wedding magazine Dana held in her dainty and manicured hands. She also appeared to be happy. Pretense maybe? You didn't know. For how long had they been together?

Long enough to get a ring on her finger, obviously.

With an exasperated groan you marched to your lunch break. The cafeteria's food seemed good and cheap enough to order the usual. Bit of mashed potatos, salad, and some other protein with either an iced tea or water, depending on your mood. You went for the tea.

A few bucks were used to eat, you sat in one of the available tables and ate. People in Alchemax were either too busy with themselves to actually care about the drama, or were exactly the opposite. Not that you blamed them. Science stuff surely provided them enough entertainment to go by, but you'd be tired too if your whole day revolved around numbers and hypothesis awaiting to be confirmed.

How did they do it was beyond your reasoning. Eyes scanned the area, the same group of men that approached you back at the party, passed over your seat without looking your way. As expected.

The fact that people had selective memory was something that filled your brain with wonder. Your musings however were interrupted by a gurgle in your stomach, appetite leaving you completely. Thankfully there wasn't much to be wasted. Had someone changed the ingredients? Not really.

Everything tasted like the usual. You downed the tea before disposing of the remains in a trash bin to then walk around the building, greeting some staff in the way. There wasn't many people you interacted with, perhaps your evening replacement. An intern called Anna and that still remained on debate cause of her constant mood swings towards you.

But within Alchemax in general, there was none really you wanted to engage with. Life happening too fast in their daily basis. Your thoughts were stopped in their racing tracks when you saw Miguel approaching. Two coffee papercups in his big hands.

Gulping, you didn't think twice in turning around where you had came from before he saw you, even if it meant to cross the whole building again to get to your work station.

Heartbeat raced miles per second, but you had avoided another unnecessary interaction with him. A relieved sigh escaped your lips once you were in your seat at the front desk. The day was nearly reaching it's end.

Something you now looked forward to. You'd be back holed up in your apartment, in the comfort of your privacy, away from worries. Watching either a movie or sleeping. Fatigue seemed a too heavy load to ignore, you blamed it to the stress and lack of sleep. A negative domino effect that had been unleashed thanks to a guy that didn't know how to keep it in his pants.

Your panties were slid down as you sat on the toilet, a frown on your face. Nothing but tiny spots of maroon. Your period was acting up again, but you couldn't really blame your body for slacking when the past month and a half had been awfully loaded with work.

New clients, a shit ton of appointments to schedule, reschedule and cancel; mail to organize, and food that you were sure it had given you a fair share of poison since you always seemed to be sick. And even though you had stopped consuming from the cafeteria, there was little changes.

The cherry on top was to get a memo after your manager had found you sleeping on the desk. Tiredness that day clung to you with such force you were amazed at your own capacity to make it through your eight hours. Only to crash on your bed once you were home.

But today, neither your mood, the universe, nor your body cooperated. You took a shower and put a little pad on your fresh set of panties. The diva cup would be unnecessary to wear since the discharge wasn't abundant, but packed a couple of tampons just in case. Expensive as they were, you couldn't go unprepared.

You changed, grabbed your things and went out the door, everything but ready to face the day that awaited you.

A wave of nausea hit you after you scarfed down a stuffed bagel on your way to work, you got there twenty minutes late due to your ride stuck in traffic, your car had been in repair for weeks now. Manager already awaiting with a sour face. Guests had lined up in the entrance, ready to express their contempt with you.

Fucking peachy.

Morning went in a haste, and you barely could catch a break, the need of peeing mixed with the thirst, and your boss reprimanding you didn't make it any better. Your body was juggling with so many things at once, that all you wanted to do was curl up in a bathroom stall and cry. It was overwhelming and you were sure the cortisol levels were shooting heavenwards.

Appetite came and go, and when your lunch break came you had settled for the idea of some soup, but the second you stepped a foot closer to the cafeteria, the many smells oppressed your senses, overriding your brain with so much information it had you folding and puking into the nearest trash bin.

Your skin turned sweaty, devoid of a healthy color for a moment, some other workers looked at you with a mild disgust on their faces, one woman offered you a napkin, a man suggested you to sit down while giving you a bit of water from a nearby oasis. Both from the research department.

"You got sick from the food too, huh?" You nodded while chugging down the little bottle's content.

"We're gathering some signatures to open an investigation. Would be like ten of us now that get food poisoning."

The woman chattered but her voice was distant, despite her being next to you. An acute whistle rang in your ears, unable to hear her as her voice kept fading until it was nothing but a muffled echo in an open space, your eyesight blurred to finally shut off.

Darkness swallowed you whole.

----

The dim lights of the room and the careful shuffling movements behind the dull, plastic gray curtain lulled you back to reality.

An icepack was put on your head, with a little groan and queasiness subsiding, you sat on the stretcher. Your movements alerted the doctor in turn.

"Welcome back. How you feel?"

A question laced with a little of concern in her gentle voice.

Your head rested on the wall for a second before panic rose again.

"Shit... I... I gotta go." Your eyes rubbed the drowsiness away in a haste as you spoke, trying to get off the bed.

"No, no. Don't worry, your manager is already aware of this. You're fine."

A nurse came in and took your vitals and other info like your blood pressure and weight. How come you had gained a couple of pounds when you had been in a constant food poisoning?

Ugh.

"Everything seems normal enough, have you been experiencing fevers? rashes or any other sort of discomfort?"

"None of that. Just puking and fatigue. A lot of it." The doctor nodded as the nurse prepared a kit for you, it alarmed you greatly she included a pregnancy test.

Horrified eyes immediately widened at the package.

"W-Why... Is there a pregnancy test?"

"We're discarding any other options. And in case it comes out positive, remember that maternity leave is one of your rights as a worker here in Alchemax."

She spoke so unbothered unaware of the unnerving thoughts that ran loose in your mind.

Maternity leave?

"Just talk to your manager to meet an arrangement."

You nodded stupidly. Too stunned to actually pry further. You were dispatched a few minutes later, instructions of going home loud and clear. Not a minute more was wasted before you packed up your things and went out the building almost running home.

It couldn't be. You couldn't be.

All those plaguing thoughts you had once held at bay, were making a triumphant and assailant comeback in your head. What if you were pregnant?

No. No. No.

Denial was one hell of a drug, and right now you were the worst junkie hooked on it, ready to lash out with teeth and claws to whoever bold enough to take it away. You saw Miguel putting a condom on. He didn't strike you as someone that would raw fuck strangers for shits and giggles. Much less get them pregnant.

I'm not pregnant.

It was repeated in your mind like a mantra in an infinite loop. You had stopped in a drugstore to get a pair of other pregnancy test brands, just in case the ongoing madness was just a big jumpscare, to teach you a lesson to keep the horniness with strangers at bay.

For once, traffic was lenient on you and you got your place within less than twenty minutes. Never in your life had you been more at ease to be home. A shaky breath flew between nervous pants.

You tossed the medical kit on the table, rummaging through the diverse array of pills and vitamins the nurse packed you in, to get towards your objective. The neatly purple packaged pregnancy test, along the other ones.

The lock in the bathroom was turned as you got in, shielding your possible biggest fuck up from prying eyes and silent judgement aimed your way. You prepared their tip and one by one were soaked and put over the sink as your hands were washed.

The most torturous and heinous task laid ahead. Waiting, something you clearly hadn't the patience for right now. Not when the nauseas had returned, not when everything around you seemed to be crumbling bit by bit, shaking your sanity foundations to their very core.

Motherhood wasn't in your short, mid or long term goals, it wasn't something you often thought about cause in truth, you were sure you'd never be a good mother. The lack of one and foster home surfing made sure to blur the concept too much to be recognizable anymore.

There were days where you barely could put up against yourself, and having a baby would not only be detrimental for your mental health, but it would ruin you financially. Unless you'd get a raise or a better job.

A baby would change for good years of devoted planning towards a better position in life, work included. You were to participate in the administration programs within Alchemax next month, to get out of the receptionist label, aiming for a more career oriented position.

And maybe just maybe, your college degree wouldn't be mere words backed up by a fancy carton, hung up in your living room's wall, but prove to be something useful for once.

You were set to make that neck deep debt worth it.

Head rested against the coolness of the crips white tiles, banging softly against the wall as if shaking the over thinking would make the worry dissipate. Lips dry and quivering pursed as your eyes bore into the plastic material that had ruined and rekindled several relationships a year.

And now that you had unknowingly taken a ticket of 'With what am I gonna ruin my life this time?' and your turn was on the hypothetical screen, shining with blinding colors, you had to draw out the dreading prize life was about to grant you.

You stood again and collected the tests after what it felt like forever. Sweat clung to you like a second skin, bile and sourness bloomed in your tongue after rising in the back of your throat. Shaky hands brought the little device to your focus, and for a second you forgot how to breath and think. Two parallel lines on each of them, glaring mockingly at you.

Positive

"No!" You moaned over and over while tears blurred your vision. Breath hitched only to be released in a heartbreaking and distressed wail as you threw the pregnancy test against the wall, holding yourself in a shaky and rickety embrace, trying with all your might to keep yourself together.

You were pregnant.

"Oh God, no" Your hands grope at your hair with strength. Riping it out would surely be less painful than trying to assimilate this new inflection point that just showed unannounced in your doorstep in the shape of a baby. You didn't want it.

You didn't want to be a mom. It wasn't your dream. You had prioritized so many things already to have a baby to tumble all what you had worked so far and hard, down and away from your hands. It wasn't fair.

Yet there you were, bawling and drowning in fear, curled and hunched in between the floor and the wall's tiles, hopes and dreams crushed in tiny shards impossible to glue back together right before your eyes. Just like your heart and brains, trying to not choke with your erratic cries and breathings.

You didn't want a child.

How could this have happened? You had seen Miguel roll the condom on. What if it was defective? Had it broke and you didn't notice? Was he even paying attention to it? Of course not. Neither of you were and now the consequences were here, undisputed and irrevocably present in the three positive pregnancy tests.

You didn't want a child and much less one conceived from such a gruesome lie.

Another doleful stab and a new wave of tears soaked your already drenched and flushed cheeks upon remembering Miguel.

He was engaged with a beautiful woman. A woman that was looking for wedding venues to fulfill her dream of getting married to the alleged love of her life.

How would she react if she knew her future husband had not only cheated on her, but also had gotten you knocked up? You didn't even want to think about it.

Because there was none else in the picture, not before or even after the one night stand. Miguel had been the only one you have had sex in a long time.

You didn't know what hurt and angered the most. Knowing you were pregnant, telling him even knowing the implications of such thing, or having to give up on your dreams before they even took off.

Your breath turned into panicky and antsy pants, body trembling and unable to get a grip on your faculties as angry and mourning tears rolled unceasingly.

All of them soul wrenching and ghastly options you weren't ready to make. Motherhood had been an alien concept for you, something you avoided, not out of fear, but out of the awareness of knowing what being a mother required.

You weren't ready to give up your independence yet or your lack of responsibility to none other but yourself. Much less face things alone beyond your knowledge.

Scorching tears mourned the lost future you were dotingly paving, now lost to the unwilling duty of motherhood. A duty that refused to be only yours. You needed two for a tango, and Miguel had to know.

He was as guilty as you were. You for ignoring the signals these past two months and he for knocking you up. It all made sense now, and for all you knew cafeteria's food was good. Pregnancy had been the culprit all along and not your stupid and hopeful reasoning of a food poisoning.

A cold and unforgiving chill ran down your spine upon the impromptu question that took life in your mind.

How far were you?

Another quivering sob echoed while your spine straightened properly against the wall, dread weighed your head down upon the sudden realization of the foreseeable expenses. Prenatal and neonatal doctors, pediatricians, clothes, baby formula, diapers, medicines, toiletries, vitamins for you and-

You retched in the bathroom once more. Nauseous tidal waves were set into making a misery party out of you. It took you a while to calm the fried nerves to wash your mouth and move from the bathroom to grovel back to your bed in between newfound whimpers.

You went under the sheets, hiding your fuck up from the ever judging world. Society was either too praising or too harsh with pregnant women, always contradicting itself. Single parents were the most stigmatized along affair babies, they weren't something you'd parade proudly. Not when the pay off of such twisted and heinous encounter was developing within your womb. Leeching from your life, yearns and dreams, like an innocent parasite.

The news had not only left you disturbed, but for once the only thing you were grateful for, was the heavy and smothering fatigue that put you to sleep almost right away.

You called in sick. Unable to face the world and it's surprises for you. Head heavy and full of pestering thoughts that made sure to remind your new reality in each passing second.

For how long would you be in bed? For how long were you planning to hide and pretend nothing had happened? What time was it? Once more, the nauseas forced you to rush to the bathroom and retch. You hadn't even eaten breakfast yet, but it was the littlest of things your mind worried about.

You just laid there, on the coldness of the floor, watching the secluded space shrink around your frame the more you stared at it. Clawing and biting at your conscience, suffocating your tranquility.

Your phone buzzed, and kept buzzing on your nightstand, completely ignored.

What am I gonna do now?

Was another new mantra that replayed nonstop. Something had to be done, and all you could think of was nothing, despite the obviousness of the situation.

The buzzing again brought your attention back to your room. Bed was so inviting and seducing, but you weren't sleepy. Too deep in pins and needles to articulate any rational thought. With a sigh, you stood and marched back, taking an angry hold of your phone.

Four missing calls from Luke's Garage, a couple of text from your manager asking if you were alright, some pop up messages and ads and one missed call from MJ.

MJ. Your unstable friend in terms of communication. Not that you blamed her, life behind scripts and lines was hard enough to add you as a another burden in her life, even if you had seen her months ago. You'd talk to her later.

Your mind gravitated towards Luke's, hoping they had good news from your car. A little grey Fiat 500.

Grounding yourself onto that, you took a shower and got ready to go after replying to your manager. As strict as she was, she cared in her own tyranic way.

You went for the garage.

After arriving to Luke's, and finally get a bit of good news in the admist of chaos, you got your car back. He hadn't had the time for fixing it, but now it was all yours again.

A little incident with you retching not once but twice upon smelling food, had his wife squealing in joy at the realization of your pregnancy.

Guess you can't hide it from the experienced ones, huh?.

But thanks to her, you were instructed in what to do almost right away. Folic acid was a must and so was a visit to the gynecologist. You'd be lucky if you could afford the vitamins after all the expenses you had through the month with the car rides and food.

Changes were already settling in your life and as much as you rejected them, they had pushed you away from the steering wheel and imposed a new pace you weren't used to outside work. Fast and cruel.

You had bounced through the city, looking for an available doctor. Life didn't stop because you suddenly found out you were pregnant, even though your mind remained rattled and unstable, there were things you still needed to do.

At least worrying about your car was no longer one of those concerns, you didn't have to pay for rides, a little control was returned to you. A reward for getting out of bed? perhaps.

The doctor you had found was in a relatively rundown district of Nueva York, but the urgency of your predicament didn't leave room for being picky. Despite the crummy overall looks from the street and neighborhood around, the small and discreet women's care center seemed decent and clean enough.

Surprise ran rampant at how the milieu looked from the inside, it was one of those places you thought you'd never visit, not had the plans to do so in your life. But here you were, awaiting your turn while chewing on the inside of your cheeks as one of your legs bounced in anxiousness.

The smell of alcohol and other chemicals mixed in the air, shooing away the external and unpleasant odors . Walls were dressed in a soft blue, like the chair rows extending left and right. The doors remained white, just like the floor tiles. Some were broken, but remained spotless. Tattered in some bits but clean and borderline welcoming.

The staff wore sympathetic smiles at every woman that came in. You weren't the exception.

Your name was called, finally, and you stood. Car keys tinkering as you walked in the office, your little purse resting on the flat of your thighs. With a deep breath and a gulp on a dry throat, the appointment started.

Nine weeks. That's how far you were according to the paper in your hands and the ultrasound pictures adhered in the next page.

Your heart still thrummed upon the sight of the little heart on the screen, beating powerfully, as if in every passing contraction of the organ the creature would be saying loud and clear:

I'm here. I'm alive. I'm part of you now.

No.

You didn't want it to be part of you. You refused. And now that you had received counseling after letting the cat out of the bag with a total stranger, the two options remained in your hands. The doctor didn't pressure you into making any further appointments if you went for the most logic and reasonable option. Abortion.

Rather gave you time to think and mull over your decision. It was entirely up to you.

But what if he actually wants a child?

You laughed in between shaky titters at your stupidity.

Maybe he did, but that didn't mean it was with you by all means. You barely knew him, and the little things he had shown you so far was all the unwanted and negative traits a man could have.

Liar, cheater, irresponsible, cold hearted, cunning, a cynic and someone that was too aware of their actions to go by as innocent. A manipulator at best.

It was rather scary and confusing for you how some men could pass as loving and devoted lovers in their home, when they were the complete opposite outside.

A perfectly reversed street angel, house devil situation.

Now that you had the tools and options there was something more that needed to be done.

Telling him.

Even though your choice was already taken, and the possible outcome would only reinforce it, he needed to know, as undesirable as meeting him again was. Maybe it was your time to give him back a bit of retaliation to his silent bully and threats. You needed an explanation and that was nonnegotiable.

Anger finally rose past the initial terror. And it hit like a tsunami. Cold, unforgiving and oh so destructing.

You searched his information through the company's data. His picture came into view with his full chart.

Miguel O'Hara. Second head of the Laboratory and Research department.

And a cheating pig.

Sighing, you discreetly copied his contact number on your phone. If you were to face him, it needed to be just the two of you. You'd talk to Dana later, even if that meant to be scorned and resented by her forever. Luckily she was on her day off, or so her schedule on the screen said.

The thought of Miguel only infuriated you further, since he was pushing you towards things no sane person should be doing. Stalking, covering a devastating truth from a beloved one. Getting you pregnant while at it.

Unintentional, perhaps, but still you needed an explanation. Your mind set in getting it cause in all the categorical truth, you were tired. You were fucking tired of being the only one putting up a fight against the aftermath of his doings while he lived a normal life, blissfully ignorant of the awaiting mess that had his name all over it.

You were allowed to leave an hour early. Obviously, you'd seize that chance to ambush him at his leaving hours to drop the bomb. It wasn't a hundred percent spite, but more like half of it while the other was making him face the consequences. He had cornered you enough to finally get some backlash.

With a deep breath, you opened a new chat log on his name.

Messages were deleted and rewritten with all the things you wanted to say, but again, words were words and you were sure that his dismissive nature wouldn't even take them in consideration. So spilling your heart out in them was useless, you'd do it personally despite being terrified of him. You settled for a simple yet pithy one.

—We need to talk. Meet me at the parking lot.

The game was on, and you were ready to fight against the final boss. Upon the four o'clock ticked, you packed up your things and went straight to your car, waiting for him to show up. Your phone had been quiet ever since you sent the text message. The seen confirmation was the only indicator you got of him being aware of something going on.

Minutes kept ticking, passing and there was no sight of him yet, until your heart leaped to your chest upon spotting him around the corner. Impossible to miss him by his sheer height, a sore thumb among the rest. Stupidly handsome and uncaring as he swaggered over his car, a black BMW x7.

Leather briefcase in one hand, and phone smooshed between his left cheek and shoulder blade. By his bored and annoyed expression it was either something business related or talking to someone undesirable.

Just as you were opening your passenger's door to call his name, he opened his and tossed in the briefcase to then hop in while still in the call, he fastened his seat belt. Not even a minute happened when he turned on the car and left.

What is he doing?!

Frowning at his direct dismissal, you checked the message log again, only to find his profile picture gone and some little yet infuriating message on the bottom.

This number is unavailable for chat.

"Bastard."

It was all you could muster before angry tears welled up in your eyes. But it had been enough. You went back to fuming and drove back home. Next week for sure you'd catch him.

You've had enough.

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