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Imadeitsixdays on my own until I couldn’t ignore the signs anymore. I had laid in bed all six of those days, fielding calls from Maddie and texts from friends asking to visit or get together. But I was too tired to even move.
Fox’s betrayal cut me too deep, leaving me bleeding out on the floor with no way to stop it.
He didn’t call. He didn’t text. He didn’t stop by. I never heard the rumble of his motorcycle coming down the street to even drive by and check on the house.
He was gone, like he had never been more than a figment of my imagination.
Here today, gone tomorrow.
But on day six of my solitude, the nausea started. I had gotten sick a few times since finding out that Blaine died but it had been controllable. Until suddenly, I couldn’t even lay down without throwing up.
Day seven and eight were the same and by the time day nine rolled around I was hardly able to walk to the bathroom anymore.
So, I did what any teenage girl who realized she was late for her period and was constantly throwing up in between long bouts of fatigue would do; I ordered a pack of twelve pregnancy tests on the internet with a bunch of ice cream pints from the pharmacy and chicken noodle soup from the diner down the street and had it all delivered to my front door.
I took my loot to the kitchen and opened the pregnancy tests there, unfolding the elaborate and extensive instructions as my stomach rolled once again.
This time, I was pretty sure the nausea wasn’t from potential morning sickness, and more likely caused by the anxiety of staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.
I couldn’t be pregnant.
I was only… twelve days late for my period.
Stress did that sometimes and god knew I was stressed right now.
And the nausea, it could be a stomach bug from hell or something.
“Just fucking do it.” I groaned out loud and forced myself into the bathroom. I peed on the stick, and then did another one just to be sure and laid them on the counter while I cleaned up. I paced back and forth in front of the bathroom door for the recommended three minutes and it somehow felt like years.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until I turned off the alarm on my phone and struggled to see the buttons.
Because deep down, I already knew the answer, and it devastated me.
I walked into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror, forcing a deep calming breath in before I flipped the two tests over at the same time.
Pregnant.
Times two.
I bought the digital ones, because there was no way I was going to leave it up to the famous ‘is that a line’ bullshit.
But as my hands shook on the vanity and more tears swam in my eyes, there was no doubting the results.
I was pregnant with Fox’s baby.
And he didn’t want me.
I’d stupidly let him stop wearing condoms early on because I was on the pill, and I trusted him.
I trusted him to take care of me if something like this happened. He had said he wanted a wife and kids one day but threw me out with the trash the next.
“What am I going to do?” I sobbed, covering my mouth and sliding to the floor once again as every decision I’d ever made in my life weighed me down like it had been the last few weeks. I cried on and on for what felt like hours until my legs and back ached from being on the floor.
I couldn’t just stay on the floor forever though, as enticing as it was. So I wiped away the tears that had started to run dry on my cheeks and forced myself to get up and eat. I didn’t want to, I wanted to just waste away to nothing and let fate take its hold of me. During my pity party on the bathroom floor, I imagined what my life was going to look like, alone and pregnant and then alone and as a single mom.
And underneath all the fear and regret and despair, there was a tiny bit of happiness or excitement or… maybehopewhen I imagined what the little baby inside of me was going to look like or act like. Whether it would be a girl or a boy. If they’d be tall like Fox or short like me.
