Chapter Text
Well, shit.
Jan tasted vomit in the back of his throat as he sat in the clinic, his worst fears confirmed.
Pregnant.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
"I can give you some informative leaflets," the doctor offered, "so you can think about your options before making any big decisions."
Across the desk from him in the examination room, she gestured to a rack of brochures with titles like "What to Expect from Your First Clutch" and "The Secrets of Successful Oviposition" and "How to Speak to Your Partner About Pregnancy", all featuring pictures of wholesome young men lovingly stroking their swollen bellies, or computer generated images of clutches of eggs, fragile lives growing inside them.
Just like the lives currently growing inside him. That acid taste again.
There was no decision to be made. He wasn't going to keep them. He couldn't.
He told her as much.
The doctor was patient but Jan could still feel her judgemental eyes on him. No, he didn't need to speak to his wife about the situation, there was no wife. No, he didn't need to be referred to post-assault services, there had been no assault.
He had let that stranger lay her eggs in him willingly, all those weeks ago. There had been drink involved, of course, but it hadn't felt like a mistake at the time. She had been interesting and charismatic with a great body, and the evening they met had been so much fun. He had wanted to be dirty and sinful. No one had ever laid eggs in him before and everyone knew it was supposed to be a deeply erotic experience, and who was Jan to say no to new and exciting sexual opportunities? And she had promised him that her clutch wasn't fertilised, that he could enjoy his 'egg bump' for a few days and then his body would simply break them down and reabsorb them.
Except, that wasn't exactly what happened.
He had been so proud at first, coming back to the apartment the morning after and showing off his belly to his flatmate, Jure, and then later to the rest of the guys. Feeling his eggs slipping around inside him, his clothes a little uncomfortable, glowing. Everyone had been excited to put a hand on his stretched belly, to ask him what it felt like. Bojan in particular was obsessed with every detail, a new warmth in his eyes that seemed to make Kris nervous (the two of them hadn't even moved in together yet, still looking for their first affordable place together, and there were a lot of big emotions going on between them that Jan tried his best to avoid hearing about). It was fun to scrub over his new body in the shower, to pretend to talk to his 'babies' before falling asleep, to be reminded he was a filthy, cheap slut every time the pressure made him give up half way through a meal or urgently need to pee. Great fun.
Except the bump didn't go down. A full week and it was still there. Another. But he'd never been through this before - how long did they take to reabsorb? Everything was probably fine. Another week, and he was getting nervous, trying to ignore it. Another week and... was he getting bigger? Parts of him were aching, parts of him were more slippery than usual. His nipples hurt.
Jure wouldn't stop making egg puns and Bojan was insane, so it had been Kris who supported him while he took a test. And a second, to be sure.
And while he booked an appointment at the clinic out of town. Now, Kris was waiting in the car. Jan had walked alone through the line of protestors, waited clammy and leg-shaking in the reception area, explained to the clinician that he did not want her congratulations.
"You'll need to make a decision soon," the doctor told him. "They're already quite well developed."
Well developed. Some stranger's jizz and some stranger's eggs were developing in his body and he had welcomed them in. Suddenly, the thought of being such a naive whore wasn't fun any more. The urge to claw them out of his abdomen right here and now was not fun. Jan was scared. He had gotten himself into this mess. There was only one thing to be done.
He chose a brochure with a picture of a meadow on the cover. It was titled "Coming to Terms with Termination".
"We oo olla enerr?"
Jan took his headphones off. "What?"
"I said 'when are you gonna tell her'?"
It was Kris. Jan stood on the balcony of Bojan and Martin's apartment, smoking into the cool summer evening. He hadn't wanted to come out, wanting instead to bury himself underground until all this was over, but didn't feel entirely safe on his own and had been easily swayed to attend movie night, albeit in an oversized shirt with the top button of his jeans undone. Something in the back of his mind nagged at him saying nicotine was bad for babies, but he didn't care. The little parasites deserved it. He was going to do much worse to them soon.
"I'm not going to tell her."
"You've got her eggs growing in you, man, you have to tell her," Kris reasoned.
"It's not going to change anything. She's not going to change my mind."
"You know it's not about that."
Jan was silent, taking another drag, burning himself from the inside. Kris continued.
"She needs to know what she's done. And she owes you some help. How much time are you having to take off work to fix this? How expensive is the procedure going to be?"
Procedure. Fear and disgust licked up Jan's spine. Kris was right but Jan was bitter and couldn't admit it.
"You want me to call her up and ask her nicely to pay halfsies?" he mocked.
"She needs to face some consequences or she's going to keep doing this to other guys. Anyway, it might have been a genuine accident, she might feel awful about it."
Jan thought it unlikely but still found himself promising his oldest friend that he would tell her. Not tonight though. He'd sleep on it and message her in the morning. Surely then he'd have a better idea of what to say.
Wrong.
Jan pulled up her Instagram, the smile in her profile picture not nearly as charming as it had been when he had first added her. He stared at the picture, wondering if this really was all just a terrible accident, if she was stupid and reckless or if she'd done this to him on purpose. Wondering how many other men she might have done this too before him, how many would come after. Not necessarily regretting the experience in itself but wishing it had been with someone he'd trusted.
He popped into their messages, the words rotting there from weeks prior.
Had a blast last night xx
Me too. Wanna do it again some time?
She had said yes but it had never happened. He had sent her (by request) some suggestive images of his bump which she had gushed flattering comments over. There was a mention of a film, of food. Of other friends, of being busy. Casually avoiding his questions of where she lived and what she did for work.
Then: Wanna go to this beer festival next weekend?
That was all.
She had never replied.
It was still morning (only just) and Jure had made breakfast between getting home from his nightshift and heading to bed for the day, and had left a portion for Jan. Their place was unkempt but homely and Jure was a very easy housemate (aside from getting himself locked out absurdly regularly) and had been welcomed into the group as just another one of the guys.
And Jan had to admit he made a damned good breakfast: bacon still crisp and some kind of zesty witchcraft in the dressing that he used over the avocados.
It was a pity everything tasted like anger and betrayal today.
What the fuck was he supposed to say? Maybe he shouldn't be messaging her anything at all, maybe this was a conversation that should be had face-to-face? No, he decided. She didn't deserve that level of respect.
Hey, he decided on at last. I'm knocked up. Already dealing with it, just thought you should know.
He hit send.
And fought the urge to throw his phone across the room.
The deed was done but Jan still couldn't bring himself to finish his bacon-avocado toast.
The message was read for a long time. Was he allowed to be angry? He had been dealing with this for a while but the news would be a shock to her, of course she needed time to get herself together.
Still waiting.
What would he do if she never replied? Nothing, he figured. But her silence hurt in an unexpected way. He hadn't wanted to get her involved at all but her refusal to even acknowledge him now that he'd found the courage to be honest was a slap in the face. Not even so much as an "Oops, sorry"?
He spent most of the day refreshing the chat. By 4pm, he was blocked.
So that was how she wanted it. Bitch.
It was almost a relief to have an answer after spending all day spiraling. In a way, he was off the hook - he had done the honourable thing by telling her and now it was over and he could get back to focusing on himself, getting himself booked for his termination. He was only able to self-certify off from work for two weeks before he'd need a doctor's note to explain his absence, and there was no way he was going to let his shithead boss (or worse - his colleagues) know about his condition. But he wasn't used to having so much free time; free time that he couldn't spend going out or having fun, time that was just stuck in the house feeling awful in his own body, watching the summer slip away, his hormone-intoxicated libido doing cartwheels in his loins. He could hardly even play guitar, his bump pushing the instrument away and knocking everything out of line. He felt bigger than he did just yesterday. All he could do was wait for all this to be over.
But by 6pm, he had another message.
Hi Jan. You don't know me but Melani told me what happened and I wanted to get in touch and see if there's anything I can do. Sorry you're in this position.
This was unexpected. The name on the profile was Nace Jordan. His message didn't say who he was explicitly but Jan was pretty sure why Mel had felt the need to tell him. There could be only one reason. Three stupid bastards had caused this mess: here was the third.
Jan scrolled through the guy's profile. A cruise ship musician, maybe a few years older than Jan was himself. Posts of dachshunds and cars and food. Well groomed, a scruffy mullet and tattoos. Yeah, this must be the guy. This must be the guy she'd been with 14-18 days prior to the night she'd been with Jan. This must be the guy who had fathered the eggs that she'd laid into him. Jan looked down at his bump. Little parasites, yes, and now he knew that they were also little Jordans. He wasn't sure if knowing made this better or worse.