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Oh no. Here it comes again.
I quickly dart to the toilet and throw open the lid to release the contents of my stomach before flushing them down. A soft cry escapes my lips and I swear this is the lowest moment of my life. I sit on the ground beside the toilet and bring my knees up to my chest. What is happening to me? I’ve known Cameron for three months. Three months. While I’ve fallen in love with him, this pregnancy is unexpected. I’m not ready for this. Or am I?
My head lifts from my knees and gently rests against the wall with exhaustion. If I am pregnant, I need to check and make sure. All this speculation with the nausea and the headache is doing me no good. A pregnancy test is in order.
Slowly, I stand and stumble to the sink where I take a deep breath to try and steady myself before washing my mouth out with water. I need some medicine. Are over the counter drugs okay when you’re pregnant? I don’t know, but the killer headache I have needs to settle if I’m going to go about my day.
I start to look through the drawers in the bathroom vanity but find nothing that will help. They’re mostly empty except for soap dispensers and washcloths. I’m on the verge of giving up hope when I decide to try the last drawer. Pulling it open, I freeze. There are packaged pregnancy tests already in here. I don’t know which part catches me off guard the most: the fact that Cameron actually keeps pregnancy tests lying around, or that I don’t know who they’re for. For me? For other women he’s bedded in the past?
It makes my mind shoot to dark places. After all, Cameron is a virile alpha male with a long dating history. It makes sense for him to have tests on hand for situations like this. Yet, the thought of Cameron with another woman is enough to make me feel like I’m going to go crazy, so I try to dismiss it and focus on the present.
Pulling out one of the packages, I tear it open like an animal and read the instructions before peeing on the stick and setting in on the counter to wait for the results. I’ve always heard girls say these are the longest five minutes of their lives, especially when they’re young and unsure, but I only have to wait two minutes before discovering my fate. My nerves get the best of me and even though I’m scared to check, I do, and what I see makes the blood rush from my face.
I am definitely pregnant.
Staring back at me are two vibrant blue lines which indicate a positive pregnancy. Oh my god. I’m going to be a mom! A groan escapes me and I crumple to the floor and bring my knees to my chest, shaking with shock. How did this happen? I know how it technically happened, but it’s taken me by surprise nonetheless. Of course, Cameron and I used protection but there were also occasions when the moment was so hot that we slipped and forgot. Oh God, what is he going to say when I tell him?
My phone starts to light up and vibrate on the floor. I’m thankful for the quick distraction but when I see the number, my stomach sinks even lower. It’s my father. My fingers quickly slide across the screen to open the text:
* * *
Jess. It’s your daddy. You can come home now. I got a new job as a handyman at Mirabelle Resorts. Good money. Just mailed in the rent check last night.
* * *
My eyebrows scrunch together at this text. Is Randy delusional? He really thinks everything between us is fine, and that I’ll come home like a good girl after being sold to a billionaire? It doesn’t even matter that he has a new job because I know at some point in the near future, Randy’s just going to lose it. I’m honestly surprised he even thought to text me to tell me to come home. I would have figured he’d love the freedom of being on his own without my nagging presence.
I stare at the screen and read Randy’s text multiple times. Suddenly, exhaustion overwhelms me. So much has happened in the last eight minutes that I’m astonished to be in this position. No part of me wants to go back to the trailer park, but what options do I have? Yes, I’ve completely fallen in love with Cameron but the odds of him loving me back are slim to none. I’m his playmate, his little toy every night that he enjoys without abandon. It’s why he has me prance around the house wearing skimpy lingerie, and why he expects me to wait on my knees for him in the evenings when he returns home. He’s not in love with me. He’s in love with the access to my body. He gives me food and a place to live in exchange for sex, and as much as it pains me to know my feelings will never be reciprocated, I know this to be true. Plus, with the baby, he’s going to be angry. There’s no room for a child in his life, especially when the mother is nothing more than a billionaire’s pet.
