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03:44:00
And in January she was peeing. She didn’t drink more than usual. But each time she drunk anything, she went to the toilet and she did that quite often. She sensed that he was annoyed, as he must have heard her steps in the corridor. Still, peeing wasn’t about to change, so she didn’t feel guilty about disturbing him every waking hour and, additionally, during the night. One time when she was brushing her teeth, drops of blood started pouring from her nose. She bent over the sink and run the cold water to stop the bleeding. It must have taken a while.
‘Are you OK?’ she heard his screams.
‘I’m bleeding.’, she was just plain honest.
‘Should I call an ambulance?’, she heard him after a moment of silence. ‘Nose-bleeding!’, now she was explanatory.
‘Still. Should I?’
After five minutes she came back from the bathroom, two cotton tampons stuck in her nose.
‘You can suffocate,’ he suggested.
‘Oh, aren’t you so wise?’, she showed him a fuck-you finger through the same keyhole he was peeking through all the time.
Apparently, he gave up, as he didn’t ask about anything else. On the other hand, she was intrigued by the fact that he cared. Maybe he didn’t care about her. Maybe he cared about the baby. And if something happened to the baby, she was sure, he would do something about it, which sprang in her a little respect for him. Despite his desolate lifestyle. Despite his lonesome nature. After all, he was more human that she had expected him to be. ‘Aren’t you afraid of miscarriage?’ he asked one day out of the blue.
‘No.’ she answered honestly since miscarriage would be somewhat a solution to her problem, even though far from purposeful.
‘But if you’re bleeding from there, you should go to the doctor. You know, ectopic pregnancy and stuff.’
She was annoyed. All of a sudden he acted as if he had been pregnant at least a dozen times and suddenly he knew all about conception and miscarriage.
‘I go to the doctor. I had a nose-bleed. Man, calm down. I’m not dying.’
For next couple of days, she felt like a criminal looking for occasions to get rid of the baby. She sensed that he observed her. Watched her every bigger move. Listened by the door when she was going to the toilet. She wondered whether home imprisonment was his only mental problem. On the other hand, she started to be quite interested in his life and what was going on in that room.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ she knocked on his door one morning.
‘Yes?’
‘What do you do with the money? I mean you work, right? And you don’t pay off the flat. And you don’t travel… then what do you spend it on?’
He was thinking for a while.
‘I buy stuff. Books, CDs, films, games, comics.’
‘Can I borrow some?’, she asked eagerly as if she needed evidence.
He didn’t answer. Maybe he thought she asked for too much. Maybe it was the violation of his privacy. Maybe he could ask her about the child and she shouldn’t ask for anything in return.
‘Are you OK?’ she heard his screams.
‘I’m bleeding.’, she was just plain honest.
‘Should I call an ambulance?’, she heard him after a moment of silence. ‘Nose-bleeding!’, now she was explanatory.
‘Still. Should I?’
After five minutes she came back from the bathroom, two cotton tampons stuck in her nose.
‘You can suffocate,’ he suggested.
‘Oh, aren’t you so wise?’, she showed him a fuck-you finger through the same keyhole he was peeking through all the time.
Apparently, he gave up, as he didn’t ask about anything else. On the other hand, she was intrigued by the fact that he cared. Maybe he didn’t care about her. Maybe he cared about the baby. And if something happened to the baby, she was sure, he would do something about it, which sprang in her a little respect for him. Despite his desolate lifestyle. Despite his lonesome nature. After all, he was more human that she had expected him to be. ‘Aren’t you afraid of miscarriage?’ he asked one day out of the blue.
‘No.’ she answered honestly since miscarriage would be somewhat a solution to her problem, even though far from purposeful.
‘But if you’re bleeding from there, you should go to the doctor. You know, ectopic pregnancy and stuff.’
She was annoyed. All of a sudden he acted as if he had been pregnant at least a dozen times and suddenly he knew all about conception and miscarriage.
‘I go to the doctor. I had a nose-bleed. Man, calm down. I’m not dying.’
For next couple of days, she felt like a criminal looking for occasions to get rid of the baby. She sensed that he observed her. Watched her every bigger move. Listened by the door when she was going to the toilet. She wondered whether home imprisonment was his only mental problem. On the other hand, she started to be quite interested in his life and what was going on in that room.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ she knocked on his door one morning.
‘Yes?’
‘What do you do with the money? I mean you work, right? And you don’t pay off the flat. And you don’t travel… then what do you spend it on?’
He was thinking for a while.
‘I buy stuff. Books, CDs, films, games, comics.’
‘Can I borrow some?’, she asked eagerly as if she needed evidence.
He didn’t answer. Maybe he thought she asked for too much. Maybe it was the violation of his privacy. Maybe he could ask her about the child and she shouldn’t ask for anything in return.
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