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Something about what he says makes me sit still, even as he and Derek leave the room, chatting. I don’t think he even knows what he said, and neither of them give me a second glance, deeply engrossed in a conversation about screening in my back porch.
I haven’t had a fucking period in months. I was starved and tortured, so that’s a big reason. Now, I’ve been super stressed out, and I have a birth control implant so I should be fine… right?
Thinking back, I try to remember when I was supposed to get a replacement implant, but I can’t make my brain work. Digging my fingers into the chair, I whisper to myself, because it helps me focus.
“My implant was good for three years… Fuck, oh my god,” I whisper, shaking my head.
Hands trembling, I swallow hard. Even if I was supposed to get another implant in late November, it doesn't mean I’m pregnant. Nope, absolutely fucking not. The implications of what that would mean, and who the father is makes me swallow back a whimper. I have no idea how the drugs I was given at the mental institution would have messed with my birth control, so there’s a chance it failed. I can’t deal with this, I can’t imagine having such a tangible reminder of Hidden Hills with me every day. While all children are a gift, I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this. Swiping at my cheeks, I’m vaguely surprised to find tears.
I can feel myself starting to spiral, so I walk to the giant windows overlooking my backyard and stare.
I can’t handle this right now, and even if I wanted to know, I don’t think I can bring myself to take a pregnancy test at the moment. I need to move and do something, because I’m going to lose my shit if I don’t.
Taking a deep breath, I rush out of the room to see if Greg is still here. I can hear his voice still, so I shake out my hands, reminding myself to try to act normal. Between the guys and Greg, they can tell if I’m being weird.
“Hey Greg?” I ask, walking into the front of the house.
“Yeah, Lennon? Everything good?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
“Yep, I was just wondering if there were any boxing or sparring classes I could enroll myself in here. Would that be safe?” I ask, really hoping he’ll agree. I like sparring with him, but I don't want to tie up his time anymore than I already am.
“Tori goes for a run in the mornings three times a week, and then goes to a class afterwards. She’s known for grabbing treats on her walk home,” Greg chuckles. “Do you want me to get you signed up, and then you can go with her?”
It reminds me that I don’t have access to my own money, but fuck it. “Yes, please. Until all of this is over, I think I need to do something physical to keep myself from going crazy. Though, running and I aren’t usually friends,” I sigh.
Greg chuckles. “Don’t kill the messenger, guys, but your girl is going to need better bras so she doesn’t knock herself out running. Look, stop paying attention to the money, and just keep this card. Get what you need, and pretend it’s your money. We’ll figure it out after, okay?”
Roark snickers, but since we’re in hiding, we’re all in a spending freeze. “We can’t have you knocking anyone out or yourself if you’re taking up running, Lenny.”
Rolling my eyes, I take his card. “This is why I don’t run,” I grumble. My breasts are just large enough that I need decent support. My sports bras were fine while I was sparring, but they definitely aren’t going to be enough for running.
“It’ll be good for you. I’ll let Tori know to come swing by at six tomorrow morning,” Greg says with a smirk as he leaves.
“Fuck my life,” I sigh and Roark picks me up and throws me over his shoulder to make me squeal.
“I know you’re struggling over our situation, beautiful,” Roark says as he swings me down and tosses me gently onto the couch. “It's just for a little longer until it’s completely safe, okay? I’m not above living on the wild side if it’s to set up a trap, but why invite trouble, right?”
Nodding, I bite my lip as I think about trouble that I didn’t invite, but I may have to figure my way through anyway. The guys ask if I want to watch a movie and I agree, snuggling in with them, but I can’t focus on it.
I ask myself if I’ve been nauseous, or had any other possible pregnancy symptoms, but I can’t think of anything that wasn’t due to withdrawing from psychotropic drugs or infection.
“Lenny?” Roark asks, and I blink hard because I’m feeling emotional again. My breaths are shallow, and I squeeze my hands tightly, trying to remind myself that I’m safe. Roark leans into me, concerned. “You okay?”
“No,” I whisper. “I think I need an emergency appointment with my therapist.”
Turner stands, turning off the television to kneel between my legs. “Do you want to talk about it with us at all? Or, would you rather call her emergency line?”
I take a shuddering breath, tears starting to overflow as Turner rubs my thighs. Derek takes my hand and I thread my fingers through his. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Orion watching warily, uncertain of what to do.
That’s fine, because I don’t even know what to do right now. They let me sit for a second before I look down at Derek and my fingers.
“Roark,” I begin, swallowing hard. “Do you remember when the last time I had a period was?” I ask.
Living on a bus together, Turner and Roark have always tracked my periods so that they can have chocolate and heating pads ready. I don’t know what made me ask Roark instead of Turner, except for the fact that I’m scared of what this could mean.
“Oye, ah, the last time I remember you having one was… fuck I’m not sure now,” he mutters before he realizes why I’m asking. “Oh fooking hell. You haven’t had one since you’ve been home, but that could be for a lot of reasons, right?”
I nod, sniffling. “Yeah, yeah it could be. But, I was supposed to get another birth control implant in November. What if it failed? What if—” I sob, unable to continue.
