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He doesn’t say a word all the way back to his house. Neither do I.
When we reach the house, I snatch up the bag and hurry out of the car and up the steps.
“Jordan!” Enzo calls. I ignore him and keep going. I have nothing to say to him. “Jordan, stop!”
I take the stairs two at a time and turn left, toward my old room.
Fuck him and his room. He can sleep in there by himself after all of this.
I slam the door to my room, figuring he’s going to come in regardless of if I lock it or not, so I don’t bother. I head into the bathroom, whip the bag with the test in it across the room, and slide onto the floor and cry.
The room is dark when I wake up. It’s quiet. So damn quiet. My neck aches as I sit up, so I press my fingers into the muscles, but it barely does a thing to help. That’s going to hurt for days. How did I fall asleep on the floor? The bathroom floor, of all places? Gross.
I stand, stretch, turn the light on and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess and there are dark bags under my eyes. Ugh, what the hell. What time is it?
I turn to head out of the room, and that’s when I spot the bag on the floor in front of the shower, and my stomach drops.
I’d forgotten all about it.
Everything from earlier today rushes back. For a short moment, I was peaceful, having forgotten about the fact Enzo is an asshole and I could be pregnant with his baby.
The man who stole me.
Yet also saved me.
Who has given me everything.
Except my freedom.
What a fucking conundrum my life is.
I pick up the bag, pull the box out, and stare at it.
I should get it over with. There’s no point in waiting. Maybe I haven’t gotten my period because I’m stressed out from being here.
Or more likely, I’m pregnant.
With someone’s baby.
Because Jesus, I don’t know if it’s his or Rafael’s. And I hope like hell he’s been stressed over the same damn thing since I screamed at him in the store because he deserves to stress as much as I do. He did this too!
I turn the box over to read the directions because I’ve never ever had to do this before. I’ve never in my life ever had to look at one of these boxes and haven’t a clue how they work.
Seems simple enough. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes.
I look around for my phone but can’t find it. Whatever, I’ll look for it later.
With a heavy sigh, I tug down my leggings, sit on the toilet, and do my thing. I put the test on the back of the toilet before I go into the bedroom to check the clock.
7:11.
Three minutes. I need to wait three minutes.
I pace for what feels like forever.
7:12.
Jesus.
