14 weeks

She is hot, almost blisteringly so; the sensation of skin against skin is overwhelming, overpowering her senses as she stares at the man above her. His hand is buried in her hair, combing through it none-too-gently as he kisses her jaw, tongue lapping at the rivulets of sweat. All she can see is a full head of black hair.

Her own hand is tugging at the hair, and she is aware of a sudden, desperate desire for that talented mouth of his to travel downwards, down towards her aching, heaving s. It's been a while since she had a man attend to her every need; almost an age since someone actually paid so much attention to her wants and desires, and oh – she desires this man alright.

He chuckles against her skin, the feeling reverberating through her chest; her fingers tighten in his hair in response, and he rises above her, grinning down at her cheekily.

It's Siwon, but she doesn't even bat an eyelid. She expects him to be here, she wants him inside her, all around her – wants him to take over her body and leave her screaming, sated but longing for more. Because here, he is hers, and she is his. It's simple.

He bends down, takes her lower lip between his. They're kissing before she can even object and order him back down and her hands are clutching hair, skin, muscle – anything so long as it's his. He leaves her gasping, his warm, wet mouth kissing down towards her neck. She arches her head back, eager to encourage him as he and kisses his way to her s.

His free hand skims her stomach, sliding upwards to cup her right . “What is it that you want of me?” He breathes, before his image wavers.

The last thing she hears, before she jolts awake is, “Do you want me?”

***

She's flustered when she awakens, a dull throbbing in her groin and the embarrassing realisation that her knickers are a little damp all the evidence she needs to confirm that she just had a dream. Admittedly, not one that got to any form of penetration, but counts.

The knowledge that her subconscious wants to sleep with Siwon again should worry her, but she dismisses it out of hand. He's an attractive man, they're close, and they've already slept together once. Perhaps it's just some forgotten memory of the night they spent together.

A night that could have made a baby, her mind whispers, but she ignores it. There's nothing wrong with dreaming of intimacy, and considering it's been a couple of months since she engaged in anything close to , she's entitled to a few dreams.

And the words – the words he breathed against her lips – don't mean anything, can't mean anything. Does she want him? Yes, of course, he's one of her best friends. She needs him, because he cares for her, because she cares for him – and because he might very well be the father of the thing inside of her.

ual desire doesn't mean anything. It doesn't change her feelings for him, because having romantic feelings for Siwon would be beyond stupid when her life is on a crash course to bum nowhere.

And if she does have feelings for him – which she refuses to believe is true – there really is no guarantee he'd even return the feelings. And even if he did, there's a very strong chance that the baby inside of her isn't his. If she declares she has some stupid little crush on him, what's she supposed to do? Pretend the kid's his and play happy families with Siwon?

He deserves more than that. She's not willing to play that game, even if she knows plenty of other women who would.

It's disastrous, she tells herself miserably, absolutely disastrous. In the dim, darkened space of her bedroom, she shivers, because she's never felt so...hopeless before. There's always been another way out, someone else to take the fall – and if that didn't work, money always did. But this time – well, this time, she's promised to keep a baby she's not even sure she's capable of loving, and in doing so has destroyed her social standing without even trying.

If that hazy plan of a shotgun wedding does come to fruition, they'll still know. They'll still whisper about her, whisper that she got pregnant deliberately when all she wants to do is scream that this was the last thing she wanted.

And as she rubs her goose-pimpled arms in the dark, she realises that it's true. She doesn't want this baby.

So why can't she just get rid of the damn thing?

***

Hyerin has always thought of her mother as a naiad: slippery, icily beautiful and totally unreachable. Of course, naiads aren't quite as plastic as her mother is, but the analogy still stands. Park Gayoon does not know how to care, and she never has. The closest her mother ever got to caring was when she wore something she deemed appropriate – usually Chanel, and usually oh-so drab and boring.

The truth is, her mother is terrified of being showed up by her younger, prettier daughter. Of being embarrassed and made irrelevant by the daughter she has long decided is inferior. Oh, she'll do – she's pretty enough in some respects, and she has some reputable friends – but the fact of the matter is, she's always wanted Narae for a daughter and has made that overwhelmingly clear.

She's never needed a therapist to tell her this – she figured it all out for herself, and while it hurts, there's not much she can do. So when her mother knocks on her door – two sharp raps, then a decidedly impatient silence – her heart leaps into .

It's nine-thirty in the morning, she is still not dressed, and she's pretty sure her eyes are haunted by that damnable dream – but her mother has a key, and she knows she's not afraid to use it. There is nothing to do but tug on one of her silk robes and tie it closed over her nightgown. Park Gayoon has the eyes of a hawk when it comes to her daughter's perceived flaws, and the fear that she will figure out her big secret is still overwhelming.

“Hello, mother.” She swallows, heart thudding when all she gets in response is the quirk of a razor-sharp eyebrow. “What brings you here today?”

Her morning sickness has finally begun to abate, but the sight of her mother brings it all back, and it's all she can do to keep from running to the bathroom. Gayoon's unimpressed look implies that she looks just as ty as she feels, and she doesn't know what else to say, or do. The only way she's ever been able to deal with her mother is to be emotionless, and well – what with all the hormones now running rampant in her system, it's pretty much an impossibility.

Gayoon sighs, sliding delicately past her into the foyer. She's always acted as if Hyerin's apartment is an extension of her own estate – never mind the fact that Hyerin paid for it out of the trust fund her father set up for her, one of the only things he's ever done right. “Just checking up on you, darling. Am I not allowed to? I am your mother, you know.”

Hyerin swears that she can feel the room getting colder with her mother's presence. For once, the uneasy feeling in her gut isn't the little parasite's fault – it's got more to do with the fact that her mother's ability to twist her cautious greetings into long-suffering comments on how her daughter doesn't love her scares her. “Of course, mother.” She replies, attempting to pull her robe even tighter.

Her mother gives her a disparaging onceover. “You've gained some weight, darling. Do try to lose it before the party, won't you?” Gee, I wonder why, Hyerin thinks sarcastically. She makes no sign of her disobedient thoughts, however – they'll just get her in trouble.

“I'll try, mother.” She forces a smile, the familiar, acidic taste rising in the back of . The only way she's going to lose weight before Heejin's engagement party is if she eats nothing for two weeks, but she doubts that's a healthy option for her – no, she still can't even think the word. It's too...she doesn't even know how describe the feeling.

“You ought to be more like Narae,” her mother tells her, that approving tone taking over as she mentions Narae's name. “She's always so, hmm,” she pauses for a moment, as if thinking of the perfect word for her perfect best friend. “Poised,” she says eventually. “Very elegant, very slim. A credit to her mother, I suppose.” She sniffs. “Not that Minhee could ever be described as elegant.” The inference is – as always – that Hyerin is none of these things.

Well, it's not exactly elegant to have in the back of a limo – actually, the position she ended up in wasn't elegant at all, even if it was rather satisfying – but she can't help her weight gain. She can't.

“I pray that I will reach Narae's lofty heights daily, mother.” She can't help the sarcasm, or the slightly bitter edge to her voice – the lack of sleep and her empty stomach are in no way conducive to being polite to her mother. “I can only beg your forgiveness as I work towards reaching Narae's level of perfection.”

The narrowed look she gets expresses Gayoon's distaste for her rudeness more than her face ever could. The botox took away any chance of Gayoon looking anything more than mildly surprised years ago. “I don't appreciate insolence, darling. You know that.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, and yet it still sends a shiver down Hyerin's spine. Because she does know her mother's distaste for insolence, and the stinging slaps of her girlhood aren't easy to forget.

“Sorry.” She says, not sounding very sorry at all. “Would you like a cup of tea, mother? I assume you're here to reprimand me for yet another misdemeanour, so no doubt you'll need a drink to keep your throat from running dry.”

She bustles off before her mother can reply, but the frostiness that now ades her apartment intensifies. She's in trouble, and yet, she can't find it within herself to care. Perhaps it's because she's in so much trouble already that pissing her mother off doesn't even register anymore.

Siwon always used to say she should find the balls to answer back to her mother, anyway.

Still, she can feel a tremor of fear running through her as she pulls a cup and saucer out of the cupboard. Her housekeeper has the day off today, so her mother will have to deal with her – no doubt – inferior tea-making skills instead. Not even Minki's encouraging purring can cheer her up, as he winds around her legs. He only wants to be fed – he's not actually here to be nice.

“Shoo!” She chastises, nudging him away with her foot. “Go play in my room, or something.” Minki – always a wilful animal – gives one interrogative mrrreow, and, seeing that his human is not going to feed him, flounces off with his tail in the air.

Hyerin sighs. She seems to be pissing people off all of the place at the moment. No doubt she'll make it up to the cat later, when he wants some fuss or more food, but her mother – well, that's an entirely different situation.

If she can get through this visit without breaking either one of her fingers or a teacup, it'll be a bloody miracle.

***

“Hyerin,” her mother's voice – disappointed as ever – holds a new, angry undertone to it as she carries the tea-tray into the living room. “Would you like to explain what this is?”

What Gayoon is referring to is not immediately apparent, but the vehemence in her voice is enough to have Hyerin's heart thudding in . She sets the tray down on her glass coffee-table, delaying the moment of truth for what she knows is coming.

When she looks up, she sees her scan photo – that blurry, black-and-white image of a child she's still trying to come to terms with – held between two of her mother's fingers. She holds it at the very tips of her fingers, as if the little photograph is dirty, filthy.

She supposes it is. It's evidence of her shame – her slip-up, her inevitable fall from grace – and for a second, one fleeting moment – she is relieved. Finally, she has no reason to hide it. Of course, then the reality of what's just happened registers and the desire to be sick suddenly reappears.

“Is it yours?” Her mother's voice is insistent, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The air is frigid, charged with her mother's fury, and it's all Hyerin can do to keep standing. Her fingers grip onto the side of the sofa; she can feel that her face has gone white, and her other hand presses against her stomach, as if that will keep her from throwing up. “Are you pregnant?”

It's getting harder to breathe, and all she wants to do is hang her head and mutter the words no, of course not, mother. But that scenario is impossible – she might not want this baby, she might flinch at the thought of it and resent its insidious takeover of her body – but she can't deny its existence. It's becoming more and more obvious every day. So she holds her head high, and gives her mother a stiff nod. “Yes.”

Gayoon closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and pinches the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. If she ever did anything so crass as to swear, Hyerin knows she would be spitting expletives at her right now. “Whose is it? Do they know? Who else knows about this?” She barks questions with the efficiency of an army officer, but Hyerin doesn't know where to begin.

Her knees buckle. The only thing holding her up is her death grip on the sofa, but her mother doesn't seem to notice. “Only my friends.” She murmurs, unable to look her mother in the eye. “Just Narae, Siwon. My doctor.” She avoids the big question.

“Whose is it, Hyerin?” Her mother's voice is dangerously calm – so calm, in fact, that Hyerin's gut freezes.

She's never felt more ashamed of herself than in this moment, when she is forced to admit to her mother that she has no idea who her child's father is. “I don't know.”

“You stupid little .” The venom-laden epithet is worse than the slap she'd half-expected to come whistling her way. “You idiotic, irresponsible – ”

“Alright mother, that's enough.” Her voice is faint, tremulous – but there's a strength to it that surprises her. “You've made it pretty clear what you think of me in the past, so let's not rehash it now. I'm pregnant, and there's nothing you can do about it.”

It's strangely freeing to say those words, even though she knows it's a complete lie.

“Oh, I don't think that's true.” Her mother laughs mirthlessly, the tea forgotten. “You're going to get rid of that baby, and you're not going to breathe a word of this to anybody – “

“It's too late, mother.” She interrupts, oddly serene. Her stomach clenches – idly she wonders if the baby can feel it; if the baby can sense the danger it's in right now. “I'm getting close to four months, you can't – ”

“Yes, you can.” Gayoon rolls her eyes. “And you will, Hyerin, I will not allow you to embarrass – to ruin – our family like this. You will get rid of that baby, and you will do it as quietly and discreetly as you can. Do you hear me?” She says the last phrase as slowly as she can, rising from the sofa.

Hyerin stares at her. She can't deny she's thought about it – considered what might be the easier way out, the best way forward – but then she remembers Siwon's earnest look. His gentle reassurance, Narae's unwavering support – and then she hears the rushing of her baby's heartbeat on that monitor, the flickering image on the screen – and all she can feel is guilt.

“No,” she says, forcing her back to lie ram-rod straight. There's a conviction in her tone that almost convinces her she can do this. “I'm not getting rid of it just because you want me to.” She's had enough, she decides – she's had enough of being belittled by her mother, enough of cowering in Gayoon's shadow. Maybe this isn't the best time – in fact, she's pretty sure it's probably the worst time she could pick – but for once, she's going to stand up to her mother.

Her mother's face is taut with fury, the strange, shiny texture of her skin taking on a metallic quality in the light. She looks even less human when angry, but strangely, that only stiffens Hyerin's resolve. “Oh?” Gayoon snorts, lips stretching into a mocking smile. “What are you going to do, then?”

The words come to her lips before she's even aware of thinking them. Folding her arms, she meets her mother's eyes with as even a look as she can manage.

“I'm going to keep it.”

***

By the time her mother is gone, she's already retching into the toilet bowl, fingers digging into unyielding porcelain and her arms shaking. She's on her knees, because even now, they can't support her weight, and although there's nothing in her stomach to throw up, she can't stop. Her mother knows. Her mother knows she's pregnant.

And she said she'd keep the baby.

It's a catastrophe, a disaster of epic proportions – she wouldn't be able to believe it was happening to her if the evidence wasn't right in front of her. Because it is – because she saw her baby, heard it, even. It's got arms and legs and head, and it's real and it's stretching out her body like nobody's business.

Her jeans don't even fit properly anymore. She's even got the beginnings of stretch marks and her s ache no matter what she does. She spills out of her bra, and yet she's too afraid to buy new ones because if she does, they'll find out – they'll look at her, see the weight gain, put two and two together and that'll be the end of it. Gossip Girl will be cackling at her demise before you can even say surprise!

. The sound that comes out of is a cross between a choke or a whimper, but the result is the same. She hangs over the toilet, vomiting strings of acid and saliva. What is she supposed to do?

She doesn't know. She doesn't have any idea what the right thing to do is, how to act, or even how to think. All she knows is that she can't be alone in this house, replaying her mother's words over and over again. . . Irresponsible. Stupid. And the worst thing is, she can't even refute any of those arguments. They're all true.

Her phone – hastily shoved in the pocket of her robe as soon as she heard her mother's signature knock – is her only lifeline right now. She doesn't even realise she's keying in Narae's number, before she slides the call button across the screen and holds the trembling phone to her ear.

Narae answers after only three rings. “N-Narae?” She can barely get the words out. “I need help.” Her voice breaks on the last word, her fear leaking through because this is it. She's come to the end of the road, and now there's only one path that will take her forward.

There are tears building up in , hot, desperate tears of shame and embarrassment, and even of a little regret, but she swallows them down, the heel of her palm pressing into her stomach. She takes one deep breath, willing herself to say the words.

“I need to get rid of this baby.”