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The picture that is making the rounds on Buzzfeed, stamped with a punchyNSFWlabel, is me. I’m officially a whore.
I slide off the toilet and turn just in time to throw up everything that’s left in my stomach. I dry heave and sob into the toilet as Ainsley rubs my back and holds my hair. She whispers in my ear but the words don’t resonate. It’s all just chatter, white noise, as my heart breaks—no, shatters.
I don’t know how long we’re there when I finally hear Ainsley talking to someone else. Someone with a low voice who is insisting she let him into the bathroom. She’s fighting with him.
“Ains,” I call.
She pokes her head in. “You okay, Megs?”
“Megan,” Derek calls. He tries to push past Ainsley, but she blocks him. “Let me talk to her. Let me just see her.”
“I think you’ve done enough,” Ainsley says.
I push myself up to my feet, slowly, too slowly. My mouth is so dry, my head is so hot, and I can’t fathom what he could possibly have to say to me. But the sooner he says it, the sooner he’ll leave. Because that’s the only way this can possibly end.
“Ains,” I say, curling my fingers around the door.
She looks up, her green eyes wide and cautious.
But I nod at her. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to him.”
She lets out a deep breath, and then opens the door, giving me a tight squeeze before she leaves.
“You need anything, I’m next door.”
I nod, and she moves out of the way.
Derek stands in the hall, wearing a green sweatshirt and gray joggers. His hair is a mess, as if he woke up and then did nothing but run his fingers through it in some sort of panic.
“Let me help you,” he says, reaching for my elbow, but I jerk back.
I can’t do it. Even the thought of his fingers touching me is enough to make me feel sick again.
“I can walk myself,” I say.
His eyes are round and hurt but fuck him. I wait for him to shift out of the way, and then I walk into my room and sit down on my bed. He hovers in the doorway, waiting for me to invite him in. He’s going to be waiting a long time if that’s what he wants.
“You saw the news?”
I nod. His eyes are gray and stormy, panicked. His jaw is tight.
“I should have told you sooner.”
“Yeah.”
“I was afraid.”
I laugh, but nothing is funny. It’s bitter and sharp.
“I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s not an easy thing to admit. Especially to you.”
“Say what you came to say,” I say.
I can’t be around him. His smell, his gravity, it’s all too much. All I want to do is touch him and hit him and hug him. I don’t know if it’s just him or if it’s the pregnancy hormones or if it’s everything all together. But it physically hurts me to have him here right now.
“I’m not going to lie. In the past, I hired Karlie.” His voice is low and the shame is heavy.
I can’t hold in the sob that escapes. He reaches for my hands and I pull them away. I can’t feel his touch right now. And I can’t look up to see the hurt in his eyes at the way I pulled away.
