The walk back was silent after that, his arm holding her against him, almost as if to absorb her into his body. Every word Amanda attempted was stifled by another squeeze, another soft shush, another backhanded, “Later, when we get back. Talk then.”
He opened the entrance for her, holding it for her to walk through, eyes never leaving her body, flicking from breasts to hips, traveling slowly back up, before dropping his gaze back down again. His tongue stroked his lips, trying to wet them quickly, eyes taking their time to go back to her face.
In his defense, her face was still drawn, pale, make-up smeared around it in a way that made her seem eight years old. He would have preferred to look at her physique, imagining the flat stomach swelling to accommodate a child- his child.
“You know, Mark, you’re gonna have to settle down someday... have a few kids-”
“Jesus, Angie, how many times do I have to say it before you stop asking? I’m not really the type who has those... things.”
She’d laughed at that, telling him that he said that now, but, sooner or later, he’d see, that maybe someday, he’d change his mind... that he’d find someone to-
“Hoffman,” she said, breaking the thought of her, dragging his mind back to reality. “I- I... I need to-”
Her voice broke into a whisper, completely inaudible despite the motions of her lips, as she looked down, staring intently at the ground. “Mandy, sweetheart, what is it? Honey, you can tell me anything. Anything.”
“I- I don’t want to... I don’t want to keep it.”
Total silence pervaded the room, nothing but her voice echoing those words in his head, letting it sink in, letting that thought, that she’d give up- no, kill his child. His fucking child. She began to talk again, about how John wouldn’t understand, how she wasn’t going to give up nine months of her life, all of it blending into one statement, that she had no regard for his child, for his DNA growing inside her, for him, period.
“...Mark?”
“Listen, you fucking whore. I don’t give a shit about what John thinks. It’s not his kid, you understand? This isn’t one of your junkie fuck buddies’, or your dealers’, or whoever was paying for your fucking smack habit. This is my child, you get that, stupid bitch? My child. If you harm her, him, whatever my child is... if you murder my baby, you’re next. Can you get that much through your head, cunt?”
He slammed his hand against the wall for emphasis, making her twitch as she stood there, flinching with every word he snapped at her.
“Mark, please-”
“What did I fucking say? It’s Hoffman, or Detective Hoffman. You might be carrying my child, but until you learn to treat me with some respect...”
“But- But, Mark- Please, Hoffman...”
“Amanda, I thought I made myself very clear.” He took a step toward her, gripping her shoulder, slamming her against the closest wall. “If you even think about getting rid of her... I won’t have anything between you and a bullet. Understand? Nod if you do.”
Her eyes were screwed shut as she nodded obediently, breath transformed into gasps of shock. He slipped away from her, leaving her to slide down the wall, her legs collapsing underneath her.
“I’ll be back with a test. Make sure you’re not just fucking me around.” With that he left her, a twinge of guilt as he thought of the woman in a heap behind him, so close to tears. It isn’t good for the baby if she’s stressed, Mark. She’s got the message... Don’t have to do it again, don’t do it again. You don’t want your child harmed, do you?
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