I can't believe no one has asked for number 4 in the prompts! Can you please write 4?
4. “I’m not drunk, I s-swear.”
Not Drunk (Harry & Suge)
“I’m not drunk, I s-swear,” I mumble into Harry’s shoulder as he steers me towards the rental car after the wedding.
“Of course you’re not, Suge,” Harry humors me, but we both know I had one or more too many Cosmopolitans at the reception. They were just so pink and frothy and chilled. In the hot weather, I had wilted a bit. Early on I had enjoyed white wine spritzers.
“I’m not that drunk. I can still protect you, Harry,” I slur, as he pours me into the passenger side, tucking my sundress around my legs, placing my purse gently on the floor and buckling my seatbelt. At which point, I wrap my arms around his neck and take a deep sniff. “You smell so good, Harry. Let’s fuck.”
The sigh he gives makes it clear that sex is not on the table right now. Prying my hands from around his neck, he reminds me to keep my hands clear as he closes the door. Climbing behind the wheel, he’s quiet, and I can see that he’s clenched his jaw.
“I’m very obser – observ - servant,” I remind him because he seems to have forgotten that I’m really good at my job, “which is how I know you’re mad at me.”
The jaw doesn’t unclench, but the lips move, “Not mad at you. Confused. Frustrated. Disappointed. But not mad.”
I turn in my seat, only to find myself restricted by the seat belt. Trying to find the release for it, I burp. Not a polite burp either. A loud one. Harry covers my hands with the hand not on the wheel, and he glances over at me. “Stop it, Suge. You’re in the car, and I’m driving. Stay in your seat belt.”
“But you’re upset with me, Harry. Why? I wanna know,” and I sniffle a bit. Honestly, I know I’m going to regret this tomorrow. It will be a long time before alcohol passes my lips again. “Did I embarrass you? Did I say something rude?”
He’s shaking his head now, “No. Other than being beyond tipsy, you were a perfect guest.”
I lean my head against the headrest as I watch his hands on the wheel, “Then why’re you upset with me?”
Harry shrugs then, “Never saw you drink like that before, Suge. It’s not you.”
And he should know. We’ve been together for a couple of years now, toured the world twice, attended multiple red carpet events. He’s right. I’ve never had this much to drink before.
“Let me know if you’re going to puke,” he calmly says.
Shaking my head no vigorously until I do start to feel like I’m going to throw up, I watch him. The sun is still out, but it’s going to set soon.
“You were playing with that little girl,” I sigh, looking down and running my fingers nervously over the hem of my dress.
“Yeah. So?” he mutters, “Were you jealous that I wasn’t talking with you and Glenne?”
I start again, “You were playing with that little girl,” and I’m conscious I’ve already said these words, but they are forced past my lips again, “and you were so cute with her. And she followed you around. And you bopped her nose. Her fucking nose, Harry!”
He has no idea why this upsets me, but now I’m pouting and crying all at the same time. “Yes, Suge. That’s true.”
“You want to know if I’m jealous? Fuck yes, I’m jealous! I want that to be OUR child. I want to be pregnant with your baby,” I end on a much quieter note than I started because I didn’t mean to reveal this information to him just yet, and I certainly didn’t intend to tell him anything at his friend’s wedding.
Harry is silent, and I have no idea what he’s thinking until he clears his throat to speak, “So why aren’t we trying, Suge? We could get pregnant.”
My mouth gapes open, and he pulls over to the side of the road so that other cars can pass. Turning to me, he says it again, “We could try if you really want a baby.”
Now I’m whispering because I’m scared to say what has been bothering me all night. We’ve been around other kids before. He’s held babies. But tonight really bothered me. “Harry…..muscular dystrophy is hereditary. We could – I could pass it on to our child.”
He’s the one unbuckling his seatbelt and turning fully to me. “I know that, Suge. But would we love our child any less than we love Ben? Should the chance stop us from trying? There are options, babe. We can adopt. We can get genetic testing and find out. Or we can get pregnant and love our child no matter how she or he is born. I love you, Suge,” he takes my hands in his, kissing them. “Do you want a baby?”
I nod, sniffling, “Yes.”
Turning back to the front, he re-connects his seatbelt, resting one hand on my thigh. “Then let’s get you sober so we can try.”