Resent Reject Regret by Aqua Summers

“No, Brendan! Pleaseeeeeeee! I’m begging you, pleaseeeeeeee don’t!”

Brendan smirked and uttered, “Don’t? Don’t what? Aww, Deirdre, Deirdre, Deirdre. Are you playing hard to get now? How low can you sink?”

He could not care less about how she felt. If anything, hearing her sniffle and wail only frustrated him even more.

“B-B-Bren… Please, think of our child!” she heaved, pleading. Tears rolled out of the corner of her eyes. “Our… child…”

“Our what?! That thing inside you is the son of a wh*re. I have no relation to it!”

The coldness in his eyes could chill anyone’s blood. He wanted to punish her and humiliate her to jolt her awake from her delusion.

Most importantly, to make the child perish in the brutality of it all.

“Brendan—!” she cried out again as she struggled.

Suddenly, the man’s phone shrieked out of his pocket, forcing him to stop. He answered the call and put it on speaker. “What?!” he grunted.

Steven’s voice was palpably overjoyed. “S-She’s up, Mr. Brighthall! Miss McKinney is awake!”

…..

Brendan drove away in the thick of the night. It was past midnight, and yet a minute after the call, the man leaped into his car and hurtled into the darkness. His reaction showed his anxiety and excitement.

The woman of his dreams had returned. He no longer needed to put on a charade with this revolting pretender.

Deirdre rose and put on her night clothes. She looked through the balcony windows, her eyes tracing the car’s silhouette, which was fading at the end of the road.

She felt a chill in her heart that echoed the innumerable pangs prickling through every inch of her body.

Six years ago, Deirdre McKinnon had met Brendan on stage during a charity drive. He had been in a suit and tie, and she had fallen in love at first sight. The next time they had met, however, it had been amid the cackling flames of a house about to be ruined. He had been almost swallowed by the fire until she had selflessly dived inside and saved him.

Before falling unconscious, he had promised her that he would find her when he recovered. He had said that he would marry her, pledging to shower her with love.

After waking up, however, he had become Charlene McKinney’s fiance.

Deirdre had re-entered his life as a Charlene impersonator. Now that the genuine thing had finally woken up, it was time to retire.

-

Deirdre fell asleep with grief, but her phone jerked her awake later. The pain in her body had not fully subsided; she shrank into a fetal position before grabbing her phone.

Her lit-up screen revealed Brendan’s name.

The sight of it drained all her sleepiness away. There could only be one reason he would call her this early in the morning, but still, it was sooner than she had expected. Charlene had just woken up. Was he really in such a hurry to divorce Deirdre—to cast her aside and remove every trace of her from his life?

Another call came while she was in a trance. Too terrified to ignore it, she answered it and set it close to her ear.

Brendan’s impatient snarl blared from the other side of the line. “I want you here right now!”

“I’m not feeling well,” Deirdre replied softly. She had seen blood last night, and even now, she could feel jolts of pain assaulting her senses. “Can you let me rest a little bit? I’ll file the divorce papers afterward, okay?”

Brendan went strangely quiet for a moment.

“Just come back. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m not asking you to file for divorce now, and I’m not interested in hurting your kid.”

It was the first time Deirdre had ever seen him make concessions. It shocked her, but more importantly, it stirred something deep inside her. Brendan never lied. If he promised he would not hurt her kid, then he would not. But that still left one question unanswered: why the urgency to bring her back?

‘Could he have realized that—even though Charlene is awake—he harbors some feelings for me after all? That I, at the very least, deserve a heart-to-heart talk?’ Deirdre thought to herself.

The thought sparked a wildfire in her mind. She knew the possibility was slimmer, and yet she found herself moved. She quickly covered herself with an overcoat, got out of the house, and hailed a taxi.

The journey gave her imagination ample time to run wild. What was going to happen next? She wondered and wondered until she stepped inside the mansion.

The living room was more packed than Deirdre had expected.

As soon as Brendan saw her, his furrowed brows relaxed. “She’s here. Collect her blood,” said he.

‘Collect my blood?’ Deirdre was confused.

Deirdre did not have any time to react. Someone leaped from the couch and closed his fingers around her arm.

“What are you doing?!” Deirdre cried out and tried to wriggle her way out of that grip.

Brendan narrowed his eyes in impatience. “Charlene’s unconscious. Someone has to donate blood, and that someone is you. You’re going up there right now, so stop wasting precious time and save Lena’s life!”

Deirdre was struck dumb. “You… You told me to come… because you wanted me to donate my blood?!”

“Why else could I have asked you to come?” Brendan sneered. “Because I give a sh*t about you? Because I want you to come back and rest?”

Deirdre’s face paled. Her hopes—her wishes and imagination—had been fanciful fantasies all along. “I’m pregnant, Brendan! Can’t you just get emergency blood bags from the hospital or something? It’s more reasonable than asking a pregnant woman to give blood!” she said. Her lips were trembling, and she felt her heart sinking into a pit of shards and needles. “You’re asking me to die, Brendan!”

“And? You think I give a damn about you dying?”

Brendan had always hated how easily she mentioned her death—it was just so irritating. His attention focused on her waist, and a sneer crept onto his lips. “I’m not forcing you to do anything, though, am I? You’re free to say no, but you’ll be saying no to your kid’s survival too. I’ll make sure it won’t live to see tomorrow.”

Deirdre felt a chill seizing her body, and yet she could not fight him. She felt his men pushing and jostling her upstairs… toward the second floor.

She had never been there before—not even once—despite being married to him for two years. Nor had she ever imagined being granted the opportunity for the sole, cruel purpose of being someone’s blood donor.

They shoved her down on the bed, pinning her. Deirdre’s eyes fell on Charlene in bed next to hers.

She had always believed that they just looked alike. An eighty-percent resemblance, maybe, but that was not the case at all. It was like staring at herself—a clone whose features mirrored her own with absurd accuracy.

They were like twins. But that did not mean they enjoyed the same treatment.