There really was something inside her, growing, forming... A life... The life that she had created with Pickles... Pickles... She knew who he was, but she didn't think that he would outright leave her like that, knowing full well that she could see him abandon her when she needed him the most... She was alone, frightened, and with a child that she never planned on having in her wildest dreams. She numbly wondered if this was what her mother felt when she had found out that she was pregnant...
Sitting up in the bed, the ultrasound wheeled back out of the room, the nurse and doctor gone, leaving her to her thoughts, Scout could only imagine the look on Pickles' face as he ran from the room. Her mother was gone, her father surely hated her for this, the man that she cared for more than anything else long gone, all she had left to her now was five to six weeks worth of what apparently amounted to mistakes...
"Yous ams busy?" Skwisgaar poked his head into the room, standing hesitantly by the door.
Scout never imagined him to have a hesitant bone in his body, or for him to be the one standing there in the door, "Skwisgaar? What are you doing here?" Looking like he regretted his choice to see her, he was about to turn around leave, but feeling bad for snapping, she was quick to amend, "Wait, don't go. I... I could use the company. Even if it is you."
Only slightly ruffled, he remained, taking a seat by her bed, "Is ams shocked thats yous ams nots withs Pickle."
"I guess that he got scared away." Choking back the tears that she wanted to shed, her throat constricted, her chest tightening, she put on a pathetic excuse of a poker face.
"Nej, Pickle is spec-kals tos yous. Is sees thes way yous twos looks ats each others." He was as cold as ever.
Afraid that he had caught on to her relationship with the drummer, such as it was, Scout was quick to try to cover (heaven knows why she would try to help a man that had just spectacularly spurned her), "I don't know what you mean by that. I don't know who the father is."
Skwisgaar wasn't fooled, "Ja, whats evers yous says. I ams knowings this feelings ofs grows ups withs outs a dads. It ams hows yous says... diffikults."
"Det måste ha varit svårt för dig (It must have been hard for you)," Scout's self pity-party turned outwards, to the fastest guitarist alive, "men du inte bli alltför dålig, antar jag. Och jag uppskattar inte vad du kallade mig igår kväll (but you didn't turn out too bad, I guess. And I do not appreciate what you called me last night)."
It was refreshing to not have to use English, "Din svenska är förvånansvärt bra, Scout. Bättre än Toki. När lärde du dig språket? (Your Swedish is surprisingly good, Scout. Better than Toki. When did you learn the language?)"
"Högstadiet." She had taken Swedish as a third language at her mother's prompting, "Så, vad den snabbaste gitarristen vill leva med mig? Att håna min smärta? För att säkerställa din gudomlighet? Om så är fallet, spara det, är jag nog smärta som det är rätt nu (High School. So, what's the fastest guitarist alive want with me? To mock my pain? To ensure your divinity? If so, save it, I'm enough pain as it is right now)."
He held up his hand as a sign of peace, "Nej, jag är inte här för att skada dig. Bandet ville att du skulle veta att du inte är ensam. Som Toki säger, du är vår lillasyster. Inte Pickle berätta detta (No, I'm not here to hurt you. The band wanted you to know that you are not alone. As Toki says, you are our little sister. Didn't Pickle tell you this?)?"
She froze, looking away, "Han skulle inte säga mig något. Han såg mig, och han sprang iväg ... Men säg mig, hur arg var min far när han sa er killar om mig (He would not tell me anything. He saw me, and he ran away... But tell me, how angry was my father when he told you guys about me?)?"
"Kanske du inte ska se honom för en stund. Vi har aldrig sett honom så arg, inte ens när vi dubbelt bokat (Maybe you should not see him for a while. We have never seen him so angry, even when we double booked)," He added out of guilt, "Han borde lugna ner snart, och när han gör det, jag är säker på att han kommer att förlåta dig. Hur du säger i tungan, 'vatten under bron' (He should calm down soon, and when he does, I'm sure he will forgive you. How do you say in your tongue, 'water under the bridge.')."
She scoffed, "Lätt för dig att säga (Easy for you to say)."
He raised a blonde brow at her, "Hur så? Jag är inte så annorlunda från dig i detta. Jag har barn, kommer du att ha ett barn. Vi har ingen riktig familj, övergiven av dem som gör anspråk på att älska oss ... Vi är inte så olika, du och jag. Du får inte acceptera det, men det är sanningen. När du kan inse det, vet att du inte är ensam (How so? I am not so different from you in this. I have children, you will have a child. We have no real family, abandoned by those who claim to love us ... We are not so different, you and me. You may not accept it, but it's the truth. When you can face it, know that you are not alone.)."
"Du kan se ironi dina ord, eller hur? Du säger att du har ingen, och ändå du fortfarande insisterar på att jag har allt detta stöd (You can see the irony of your words, right? You say that you have no one, and yet you still insist that I have all this support?)?" She was cynical of his words, pointing out the major flaw in his argument.
"Jag är annorlunda, har jag redan gett upp hoppet (I'm different, I have already given up hope)." He sat up and walked to the door, turning to leave, "Sos thinks abouts thats."
She called after his retreating back, unable to follow after him, "Skwisgaar!"
He left with replying, looking at her over his shoulder. Pft, caring about someone else? His own mother hadn't cared about him at all, not once in his life, so how in the world could he possibly expect anyone else to? That was part of the reason he was the way he was - he craved the attention, sought constant and multiple companionship, but once he acquired a fraction of what he sought, none of his company able to satisfy his real lust, he left, shoving them all away before they could slip under his guard. What could any of them know? What could she know? The stupid girl, she had tripped him up when she had began to speak in his native tongue. He hadn't even let Dethklok in passed the frigid exterior of the wall he built around himself, not even Toki, not for a single second.
He didn't even know why he had gone to see her in the first place...
- Metalocalypse -
Leaning his head back up against the wall, a dread snagging on the toothy stone material, he gazed up at the nights sky, steel infusing with soot before the crescent moon, promising to rain. Rain seemed only fitting in this abyss... Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Pickles sighed, taking the time to collect his scattered thoughts. Grey eyes flashed through his mind, blinking at him in horrified, curious shock, gazing at him, half lidded in sleep, the first he had had with a woman without laying a finger on her, burning fiercely as she worked out some her frustrations at her mother's funeral, timid yet so sure when she had given herself to him for the first time. Seeing the world in those magnificent orbs, the ups and the downs, he had never imagined that he would see both extremes at one time. Illuminated with an inner light, he had never seen her happier than when she had been sitting in that room, but at the same time, he saw the fear in them, the uncertainty she had, and the unlimited, unintentional anguish he had left her with when he ran.
So enamored by the moment, the dream that he could not only be loved but be loved by a young woman for a reason other than his fame, Pickles hadn't spared a moment to think, to actually consider where this was going. He really did care about her, but could he honestly say that he loved her? He enjoyed being with her, and they really did understand each other, but at the end of the day, was it all about her, or her pussy? They had a great sex life, almost all the time spent together naked or half, pawing at each other liking starving animals, but was that all they had? It was true that he had been there for her as she dealt with the loss of her mother, but had the ultimate goal clouded his mind, convincing him that he had to put the work in? But if so, why bother with it all? She had made it perfectly clear that if he had wanted it, she would have given in.
No, Scout wasn't just some floozy - she did mean something to him. But what? He couldn't say that he loved her, but he wouldn't call her a fling either, so what was he expecting to get out of this? She was pretty much his girlfriend, even though she had to hide it, their age difference alone enough to warrant trouble. That probably wasn't easy for her to do, lying to her father and the world, to have to sit back and pretend that they were only friends and nothing more. He had never meant to hurt her, but he never meant for it to get this serious either...
Pregnant... It was hard enough to think about what Scout had meant to him without adding that reminder into the mix. Where to even begin with that one, honestly! He hated kids, and they probably hated him too, the messy, noisy bastards... And besides what business did he have, becoming a father? He was a good-for-nothing has-been who never grew up or got a clue. He drank away all his problems, blacking out more than half of his life, he was doing nothing to improve himself, he was miserable and full of self-loathing, not to mention he had a violent temper. It was a miracle that Scout could even put up with him, let alone sleep with him.
Even if he could get passed this to be by her side, she would never forgive him...
He was no good for her, and he would be terrible for a child... Her child...
I do not own Metalocalypse.
I do not condone the actions that may or may not take place throughout the course of this story, including but not limited to language, sexual content, drug use, and any illegal activities involving minors.
All Swedish provided through Google Translate.