I awaken to find it is light outside and to find myself on Robbie's bed, wearing a pair of Robbie's pyjamas. The digital alarm clock says 8:30. I sit up slowly, frowning at the pain that twinges across my back. My hands instinctively fold over my fat middle.
"Mornin' sleepyhead!" Robbie calls as I wander in. He is lying on the sofa.
"Robbie.. Did you sleep on the sofa..?" He gets up, and I notice he is wearing nothing but his boxers. His muscular chest distracts me for a moment, but then I press on. "And are these.. your pyjamas? You didn't...?"
"Yes, yes, NO." He smiles. "I'm no creeper, I just stripped you down to your undies and put those on you." He pulls me into his arms, as close as we can get with my bulging belly. "Pancakes?"
"Mmm, yes. Baby agrees!" I laugh as I feel a nudge, the baby kicking out. "Speaking of the baby, it's my twenty week scan today, feel like coming?" I ask hopefully.
"Sure babe." I shudder at Zach's old nickname for me. "What is it gorgeous?"
"N-nothing. I'm just a little.. cold. How about those pancakes? Can I get a shower while I wait?" I say, swiftly changing the subject.
" 'Course. First door on your left." He says, pointing me down the corridor and kissing my cheek before heading toward the kitchen. I wander slowly down the corridor and take a long, hot shower. When I get out I pull on my pants and bra, then wander around looking for the rest of my clothes. I look down at my chest self-consciously, more than aware that I now have the cleavage most girls only get in a push-up bra.
"Rob-rob? Where are my clothes?" I call. He steps out of the kitchen and lets his eyes run up and down my body. I fold my arms over my stomach, embarrassed.
"Even in pregnancy you have a rocking body," He smiles, and points at the armchair, where my t-shirt and jeans are lying, neatly folded. I pick them up and pull them on. In the pocket of my jeans is my iphone. I pull it out, expecting a few missed calls and texts from my parents. There is one, from my friend Josie. That's it. A lone tear slides down my face, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. Do they really care that little about me?