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He doesn’t move to unlock his desk drawer. Doesn’t move at all, just crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest and stares at me.
I feel like I’m going to be sick again, but this time I think it’s just worry.
“I can’t be pregnant.”
My voice sounds small and tremulous when I intended for it to sound strong and sure.
“Probably not,” Calvin says gently, to comfort me. “But I had Hollis buy you a test so we can be sure.”
I shake my head. I back up as if I can back away from what may have already happened. I’d lean against a wall and slide down it, but there’s not a wall behind Calvin’s desk, there’s a built-in bookcase that spans the length of the wall. “I don’t want to take it.”
“That’s unreasonable,” he says, finally moving toward me.
I hope it’s to take pity on me and unlock the desk drawer so I can have my phone, but it’s not. He takes my arm and drags me back to the master bathroom, grabbing the test off my side of the bed on the way.
I’m still feeling resentful, but logically I know he’s right. Whether I take the test or not, the facts won’t change.
Maybe a test will even reassure me that I’mnotpregnant, and serve the dual purpose of waking this lunatic up to the fact that he needs to start encasing his dick in a condom before shoving it into me.
The test Hollis bought for me is an early detection one. It claims it can even detect pregnancy before a missed period.
I can’t be sure—I track my cycle on my phone calendar, but I don’t have access to that right now to check—but I believe I’ve already missed my period.
I open the package and find two tests inside, so I guess if I don’t get the result I want the first time, I get one more shot.
I’ve been nicer to Calvin lately, but right now I’m grumpy as hell with him. He’s still lingering in the doorway while I open the test, so I glare at him over my shoulder. “Do you mind? I’d like some privacy.”
He doesn’t leave the room. Instead, he steps all the way in. He places a firm hand on my shoulder and leans in to kiss my temple. “I know pregnant women are prone to mood swings, so I’ll overlook the tone, but no, I won’t be going anywhere.”
My jaw hangs open and I stare at him. How dare he utter a thing like that? “I am not pregnant,” I grumble, ripping the foil packet open.
He remains by the sink while I take the test into the toilet partition, so at least he gives me that much privacy, I guess. I pee on the stick like I’m supposed to, then cap it and carry it back to the sink.
I try not to stare at it resting menacingly on the counter the whole time I’m washing my hands. The directions were specific that you should wait to read the results, and I don’t want to fill myself with false hope.
I don’t have my phone to set a timer, so I count to 60 in my head 3 times.
It’s a tedious task for my brain to focus on which is apparently exactly what I need while the time passes.
I take a deep breath before I look. I tell myself everything will be fine and ignore the tightening of anxiety in my chest.
I pick up the little stick that determines something radical about the rest of my life.
One strong red line sits on the right side of the window. I read the directions. They’re even printed on the plastic stick I’m holding, so I know one line means negative.
Unfortunately, a second, paler line is visible on the other side.
My heart drops like there’s a lead weight attached to it. I grip the test harder and try to breathe through the panic rising up inside of me.
I feel like I should speak, even if only to utter a denial, but my throat won’t work. My mouth opens and closes several times. Tears well up in my eyes.
That can’t be true.
Itcan’t.
This thing with Calvin was only supposed to be a detour, not a complete reroute of my life.
But now…
