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.

like this – not really. I’ve

pay the bill after all. To finally face some of the things that I’ve been pushing off so long. But damn it, I was just so

reaching his little hand up to rest against my face. “Tomorrow it won’t be like

smile at my sweet boy in the dark, turning

I murmur to him. “Is it all that chocolate

pillow next to me. “Yes,” he says. “Which is good reason for you to give me more chocolate. Like, a lot more. Or else I

and I cherish the sound, the feeling. Then, I let

apologize to Victor, try to close that

he’s right – it

be back to

I drift back to seep, feeling my son’s steady breathing next to me. Hearing Victor and Ian’s light snores across the tent. It’s a lullaby I could sleep to

at my feet and slowly rising over me. But still, it’s not bad. I just snuggle deeper into

that night

myself in the present. Usually I’m in my

The dream world around me, for all purposes, looks precisely like the tent which I had set up only a few hours before. Except, it’s light with a bright golden light, like

of the tent, turning slowly around

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

turn to the open door of the

trees – had they been birch yesterday? – stretch high into the air, disappearing into a blank whiteness when they get too high

looking for anything like a billowing white sea. My eyes catch on a figure, then, standing a short

hands to me. I

I say, looking up at him on

he asks, smiling down at me.

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

simply, climbing down from the boulder and coming over to me,

looking around,

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 whether fog is just clouds flying low, and whether

so hard to process in a dream. Hours, days, weeks, minutes

when Alvin stops his talking mid-sentence