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My attempt to leave swiftly has been stopped short by this new hurdle, and I’m unsure of how I’ll drive any significant distance in this state. I retch a few more times, vomiting over and over until there’s nothing left in my stomach but bile.
When I retrace my steps from the previous few days, I don’t find anything that would indicate the flu. I haven’t left my house in five days. How could I have picked up a virus?
None of my food has gone bad, and the water seems fine, so how could I be so sick?
Before my brain has the chance to run away with a cornucopia of terrifying possibilities, the runaway train of my anxiety is stopped dead in its tracks.
Could I be pregnant?
I’m not the type to keep pregnancy tests around my house, so I’m at a loss unless I drive out to the pharmacy and buy one. Maybe two. I’m not sure of the appropriate amount of tests to take, and I never thought it would be a difficult issue to figure out. Being this nervous is clouding my judgment.
I get in my car, newly repaired and relatively safe to drive, and make my way to the corner store a few blocks down. I’ve only ever come here for snacks on a whim, and the difference in my mood feels so alien in a place I usually associate with happiness.
When I find the aisle with the pregnancy tests, it’s hidden off in the back of the store near the vitamins and diabetic supplies. It’s as if even the owner themselves didn’t want to remember the risk of unplanned children.
The tests all look the same, so I pick three of them and practically sprint to the counter to pay for them. Saint is going to be wondering where I am any minute now, and I’ll have no idea what to say to him if he asks what I’m doing. It doesn’t take that long for anyone to pack a suitcase, and I’m afraid that he’ll feel like I’m not taking the situation seriously.
The cashier stares straight through me as if she’s barely conscious, and the pace that she scans the tests is infuriating in my current condition. I want to tell her to hurry the fuck up.I’m being stalked by the Russian mafia!
But who would believe me?
Eventually, she gives the tests back to me, and I grab them off the countertop without taking my receipt or even a bag.
The drive home is agonizing as my guts turn inside out from panic and sickness. I almost pull over to throw up on the side of the road, but I’m able to make it up my driveway before I can’t hold back anymore. I vomit on the walkway up to the house before I’m able to make it inside. If anyone comes up here while I’m gone, they’ll have quite a confusing scene to assess with the blood and vomit.
I’m finally inside, and I can’t get to the bathroom fast enough. I rip the first test out of its package, willing myself to pee enough for a clear result.
Now, all I can do is wait.
17
Holly
Staying with Saint has been much easier than I expected, and he’s been so understanding of my inexplicable sickness. He hasn’t confronted me once, only offering help and comfort when I need it.
Last minute, he decided to buy me a dress for the party. I try it on the night before, and I’m enamored with how beautiful it looks on me. I don’t even want to know how much it cost, but I can feel the luxury and quality in the fabric. It fits me perfectly, and I feel as if I never want to take it off.
The night of the party, I’m more anxious than ever. I’m going to be introduced to Saint’s associates, who are essentially his family at this point. It feels like a huge honor, and I don’t want to blow it by acting awkward or antisocial.
The ballroom they’ve rented for the party is illuminated by the glow of gold lights strung across the ceiling in a zig-zag pattern. It’s romantic and tasteful, and I glance around the room to try to find the person who might have decorated. There’s a magic to it that I haven’t felt since I was little and Christmas was still a wondrous, enchanting day for me. I appreciate whoever has given me this feeling again, even if I know it’s only temporary.
“Hey, I’m going to go get some champagne,” says Saint, running his hand up and down my arm affectionately. “Do you want some?”
I hesitate, my heart in my throat as he waits for my answer. “Um, no, I’m still not feeling the best after being sick for the last few days. I’m just going to skip it. I’m sorry!”
“Hey, you don’t need to apologize. It’s weird that this sickness has been holding on for so long, though. Maybe we should try to get you in to see a doctor sometime next week,” he replies, squeezing my hand before he rises to get out of his seat. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let anyone convince you to dance unless you want beer on your shoes.”
I smile sincerely, appreciating his concern as well as his sense of humor. So far, everyone I’ve met has been wonderful, even if they drink more than I’ve ever seen anyone drink before. We’ve only been here for two hours so far, and at least the last three people I’ve been introduced to are already hammered.
“Here, I stole some soda from the mixers. Maybe it’ll help, I don’t know,” Saint says as he returns to our table.
I take the cup from him, unable to hold back how charmed I am by his thoughtfulness. Even with the nausea hanging over my head for the fifth day in a row, I can’t help but blush a little whenever he shows me how much he cares about me. It feels like we’ve been together for years. He’s so considerate and protective of me.
A few more of Saint’s colleagues approach us, allegedly curious about his new girlfriend after years of being single. I knew that he’d said that he hadn’t had time to date much in the last few years, but I had no idea that he hadn’t had any girlfriends at all. I’d think someone like him could get whoever he wanted with little effort.
Artem comes over to our table, and he’s exactly the way that Saint described him – well-meaning, funny, and sort of awkward. He tells me so many stories about who Saint was when he first met him, about all the time they’d spent getting into trouble before they had to grow up and take over the bratva. They’re clearly very close, like actual brothers. I could sit here and listen to them tell stories about their early twenties all night. Saint even seems to enjoy it, even though many of the stories make him seem like a bit of an ass.
“Hey, do you remember that time that we broke into those abandoned apartments and started leaving weird shit in there to scare people? Like that deer’s foot that my grandpa left me? I wonder if anyone found any of that. If it did, I bet it freaked them the fuck out,” Saint replies, recounting yet another example of his immense growth as a human.
