Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 218 – Don’t Go to Sleep Angry

It’s a subdued night that evening by the fire. The ghosts don’t bother us, or perhaps they’re not here to bother us – perhaps they live in a different part of the forest.

But either way, the four of us are alone as we sit by the fire, eating our little dinner in silence. The boys glance between us, but they don’t say anything, perhaps sensing that a quiet dinner tonight is for the best.

I can’t seem to get rid of my anger and worry from this afternoon. I should probably focus on bigger things – like the ever-increasing ache in my muscles and joints – but I can’t seem to get Amelia off my mind.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

The word repeats over and over again, a terrible refrain. I grit my teeth, sick of it – sick of being in my own mind, listening to my own terrible thoughts.

So, I make a decision.

“I’m going to bed,” I say, standing up in a rush, tossing my plate down on the ground and turning away to the tent. I know I should clean my plate but…well, some nice possum will get a good meal tonight. Or a bear. I can’t muster up the energy to care at this moment.

“Evelyn,” Victor calls after me, his voice low and serious.

I turn to him at the door to the tent, my face expressionless.

“Don’t you think we should talk?” He says, staring at me, clearly frustrated.

“No,” I say simply, not bothering to give more than that. I just…can’t. Not right now. I need to sleep on it. So, I turn and enter the tent, zipping it shut behind me.

It doesn’t take long for the boys and Victor to come in. I lay with my eyes closed, my back towards the door and the rest of the tent, but I can still hear them. The noises of them cleaning up, murmuring soft goodnights to each other, changing quickly into their pajamas.

Victor quickly turns the lantern off and I feel Alvin climb into the sleeping bag next to me, pressing his back against mine.

As he does, I marvel, a little, at the difference between last night and tonight. How warm and kept and magical I’d felt last night. As opposed to the cold, anxious, distant me that I feel tonight. I sigh, frustrated with myself again.

But…well? Wasn’t I entitled to my emotions, no matter how complicated they are? I don’t have to be bright and sunny every day. Not for myself, and certainly not for the rest of them.

I sigh, though, and turn around in the sleeping back, wrapping my arms around my little boy, working hard to push the worries out of my mind.

be like this. I’ve never been like this – not really. I’ve always been someone who

that in a time like this, when my moments of life are running low, it’s time to pay the bill after all. To finally face some

hand up to rest against my face.

the dark, turning

murmur to him. “Is it all that

him nod his head on the pillow next to me. “Yes,” he says. “Which is good reason

cherish the sound, the feeling. Then, I let out a

apologize to Victor,

it doesn’t really matter.

be back to

light snores across the tent. It’s a lullaby I could sleep to every night,

my feet and

dreams that night

us, in the tent. Which is strange because I hardly ever dream of myself in the present. Usually I’m in my childhood home, or in

precisely like the tent which I had set up only a few hours

frightened, though. Instead, I stand in the middle of the tent, turning slowly around in the fog, the smoke of it turning and twisting

I look around, I realize that I’m alone in here – no Victor, no boys. Just me in

of the tent, then, and step

trees – had they been birch yesterday? – stretch high into the air, disappearing

My eyes catch on a figure, then, standing a

his hands to me. I smile and head

say, looking up at him

you doing here?” he asks, smiling down at me. “This is my

my eyes jokingly at him. “You are a figment of my imagination. After

says simply, climbing down from the boulder and coming over to me, wading through the chest-high fog. “I am precisely

say, laughing and looking around, taking

at my hand. I smile and follow him, listening to my little boy chatter as we move through the woods. He tells me pretty much every thought that comes into his head, I think, and I’m happy to listen along as he wonders about where this fog came from, and

time I so hard to process in a dream. Hours, days, weeks, minutes – I don’t really know

talking mid-sentence and