It was a long way to the club, a small place near the police station; Amanda had overheard him talk about it before, on the phone mostly, making no effort to conceal his conversations with acquaintances about another woman from the club. During the weeks after they’d- after he’d screwed her, she’d started to listen to the conversations with a little more interest, wanting to know if he’d mentioned her at all, if he was going to acknowledge that little incident. But... nothing. Just the club, just how wasted that slut had been, just his life outside, understandable, true, but...
She shook her head, slipping her hood back up where from where it had fallen to her neck, trying to hide her face from the glares of street lights and passers-by. She knew it was stupid to think that they could know anything about her, that they could even suspect her of murder- John’s work- the crimes she was guilty of, but with the stares, directed at her smeared make-up for the most part, transformed by the shadows to become threatening... She tried to bury her face a little further into the hood. Why the fuck are you even going there, huh? John told you not to leave the warehouse unless necessary, that even though there was no reason, that- that it wasn’t safe. So why the fuck are you outside? You might have fucked him, that doesn’t mean he has to know, the self-righteous piece of shit.
All the thoughts questioning her motive for even stepping outside the doors of the Gideon- of the warehouse disappeared as she stood outside the entrance of the club, inhaling and exhaling with difficulty, as if she had crawled out of drowning in a bathtub- out of drowning. Taking in as much air as her lungs could allow her, she stumbled through the doors, into a haze of lights and smoke.
She could see him almost as soon as she stepped inside, sitting at the bar, not alone, as she would have hoped he would be. Instead, a short blonde- well, in other’s words, she would have been ‘petite’, but in Amanda’s mind, it was ‘short’- sat in his lap, long hair trailing over his shoulder as she twittered in laughter; Amanda unconsciously tugged at the short strands of her own dark hair, studying the woman with fascination, the immaculate neatness of her make-up, the way the lipstick hadn’t been smudged, the way her eyeliner stayed a line rather than a smoky circle around her eyes. The dress barely went past her hips, barely held in her breasts, which strained against the material in a way that screamed plastic surgery, not that Hoffman seemed to mind, judging by the way he half-discreetly slipped a hand onto one with barely-hidden pride. It took his bringing that hand away from the woman’s tit, lifting those fingers to her mouth, for her to suck with that red-lipsticked mouth, for Amanda to remember that she had something to say, that she wasn’t just going to stand there.
“Detective?” she spat, striding toward the pair, gaining a few looks from the other patrons of the club. Hoffman sharply turned his head to look at her, eyes wide as he hastily slipped his fingers out of the blonde’s mouth; upon seeing the face, recognizing the voice, they narrowed into icy slits as he stood, pushing the woman out of his lap.
“Amanda, what the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped, taking her by the arm, yanking her through a crowd parting obediently for him.
“I have to tell you something, Detective.”
“Really? And it couldn’t wait-”
“My period is five days late.” He stopped, his hoarse breathing the only sound she could hear, mouth partly-open in shock.
“Are- Shit, you aren’t just- just missing the- fuck, the cycle-”
“I’m regular as a fucking clock, Hoffman. And five days? We both know what this means, you son of a bitch.”
He blinked, slowly breathing out, visibly making an effort to remain calm, to stay as still as possible. His arm, surprisingly gentle, wrapped around her neck, covering her from the staring eyes of the others. “Amanda... let’s get you home.”
“What about the slut?” she muttered, glancing at the woman staring at them in a mix of rejection and confusion as they walked past, his stride changing into slower and shorter steps to compensate for her.
“Her? She’ll find someone else soon enough. Just... you’re sure? You’re- You’re really- And it’s- he or she- the baby’s mine?” he breathed as they stepped into the cool, brisk air of the street.
“All yours, Detective.” She cast her eyes down, staring at their shoes, side by side. “Not like I want it.”
“Amanda-”
“No, please, I can’t handle- John- I- Please, just... let me think about all of this, alright? I...” Her voice shrank to a creaking whisper, as he pulled her tighter toward him. “...I’m scared, Mark.”
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