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Not after he’d spoken to me with such venom.
I understood he was hurt and reeling. But to say what he had—to crush me like that? I couldn’t excuse it. When all I’d asked for was the truth and his promise to stay away from those men who had caused us such grievous harm.
The short trip home was still long enough for me to replay every moment of the night. The magic of the carnival, the joy at finding his kitchen fully stocked for me. The wildness of our lovemaking.
I was only eighteen. Too young to be truly in love. That was what I told myself as the subway train chugged through the dark, and I sat on the edge of a seat, almost hoping in some sick way that someone would make me hurt on the outside like I hurt on the in.
Maybe I was more like my sister than I’d ever guessed.
I let myself in the apartment and curled up on the couch without undressing. I didn’t get a blanket. Didn’t wash my hands or my face. I didn’t have the strength to move.
Morning came, and Mia and Fox went to work. I huddled into the cushions and mumbled that I wasn’t feeling well. Nothing to worry about. Just a bug.
I wasn’t truly sick. I was broken.
Later in the day, when Mrs. Knox had gone off to visit with friends and the apartment was blissfully quiet, I dragged myself into the kitchen and drank two glasses of wine on an empty stomach.
And promptly fell to my hands and knees in the bathroom and tossed it all back up.
After that humiliation—luckily witnessed by no one—I curled up on the couch and watched about thirty-two episodes of Bridezillas. I didn’t cry once.
The next morning, I went to school like normal. I laughed with my fellow students, took notes, and made one hell of a consommé. After that, I went to the Salad Hut for my normal shift. In short, I rocked the “act normal and no one will know your heart has been filleted like a day-old tuna” portion of the program.
After work, Kirk asked me if I wanted to go out to eat, which was code for come over to my place and play video games then give me a blowjob. Normally, I would’ve said no, as I had several times over the past month I’d been…engaged with he who shall not be named.
That night, I said yes, though we actually ate at a sandwich place. I skipped going home with him, and I definitely skipped the blowjob. I didn’t even kiss him goodnight.
So much for the sparks I’d once thought we had. Now they were kaput.
Tuesday, I went to school and then to the doctor’s as planned. My finger was doing okay, so I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d even bothered to keep the appointment.
Until Dr. Sherman walked in and asked me her typical barrage of questions before we actually got to the point of why I was there. All the usuals—trouble sleeping, any unusual symptoms, when was your last menstrual cycle.
And I didn’t have an answer.
I flipped through and tried to remember. After school had started, definitely. After Mia’s fight…the end of September? Maybe. It was now early November, so I was late. Weeks late.
I was never late.
“Carly? Do you know the date of your last cycle or…” She trailed off, looking grave.
“Oh, sorry. I have a lot on my mind.” I gave her a big, wide smile. “Actually, I just had it two weeks ago. Sorry. I didn’t mean to space out like that.”
“You’re sure?” Dr. Sherman leaned a hip against the gurney I was seated on. “Because antibiotics can alter cycles and efficacy of birth control, so it’s important to—”
Efficacy of birth control.
Right. Because now was the time for me to find out about that. Or else I’d just glossed over that information like I’d tried to gloss over so much with Gio.
“I’m good,” I said, cutting her off. “Can you just look at my finger?”
“Of course. Just wanted to make sure everything else was in order as well.”
Everything was fine. Just peachy.
I walked out of there a short while later with a clean bill of health for my pinkie and a baby in my belly.
The baby wasn’t guaranteed, of course. And I refused to take a test to find out. I didn’t want to know.
