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My heated tears fill the bowl along with the water I had last night. Zapped of energy and my muscles aching for a reprieve, I sit on my knees, resting my hands on the toilet seat and my head on my wrists.
What the fresh hell is happening? Why is my body turning against me?
I wash up again, this time deciding to take a shower, but with no food in my stomach and a pounding headache, it’s safer for me to sit in the bath. The water comes down, the warmth helping to wash away some of the sharper edges of my pain.
With the new day, I renew my hope to get answers today.
But then I realize I don’t need answers. I just need him.
I grab my phone as soon as I return to the bedroom. The blank screen doesn’t upset my stomach, but my chest aches with pain. I’m not sure what to do or how to feel. Who just ghosts someone they love like this? I don’t understand.
The nuisance of tears fills my eyes again as I try to focus by digging out a pair of yoga pants and one of his T-shirts that stayed after the last wash. I get dressed and then check my phone again. He’s had hours upon hours of chances to reach out to me. Nothing makes sense.
Desperation wins, and I call him again. When the rings lead into his voicemail message, and then it beeps, I say, “Hi. I . . . I love you.”
Crazy ideas start populating in my head. I have his car. I could drive back to Haywood and pick him up. Maybe he couldn’t find a ride. That’s got to be it. That has to be it. One thing I do know is that I can’t sit here any longer. I grab his keys, my phone, and my purse, and decide to leave. Should I go to his apartment to see if he’s there, or should I go back to Haywood?
By the time I reach the bottom step, I’m out of breath, and my stomach is upset again. Is it possible to have food poisoning from something you ate two nights ago? I don’t remember what that could be, but it doesn’t feel like a cold or anything like that. Food poisoning is all that fits the symptoms.
I think I should visit the pharmacy before going anywhere else. I’ll grab something to settle my stomach and drink ginger ale. That’s what my mom always did when she had a bad hangover.
Worried the car ride will make me sicker, I cover the two blocks and cut down the next. After finding what I need on the shelves, I move to the check-out line at the counter. The cashier, a woman not much older than me, laughs as she scans the items before bagging. “Last time I needed this,” she says, holding up the anti-nausea medicine, “I found out I was pregnant. Sure you don’t need a pregnancy test?”
Her words amuse her until she looks up from the items, and her smile falls. “Honey, are you all right?”
“I . . .”
“Oh, no. Just because I said that’s what I needed, and a baby came nine months later after I mistakenly thought it was indigestion, doesn’t mean that you are . . . or that you’re not . . .” She stumbles through her words, apologizing right after.
But the implanted thought triggers something inside me, causing my stomach to do somersaults. “Maybe I should take a test?”
I don’t know why I’m even asking her other than I’m starting to freak out.
“If you think it’s a possibility—”
“It’s a possibility,” I snap, not meaning to take it out on her.
“Let me get one for you.” She adds it to the order, and then whispers, “I’ve always found this one very reliable.”
“Thank you.” I pay and take the bag, feeling like I’m doing a walk of shame at the door, as if I’ve done something wrong.
She says, “Good luck,” just before the door closes.
The walk back to my apartment is much slower despite the frantic beating of my heart. I use the time in the fresh air to recall the times we’ve been together more recently. He was wearing protection. Every time.
But then the memory of him dipping the tip inside me comes back . . .
“You feel so good,” I say, wanting to feel all of him with nothing between us. “I want you, Cooper. So bad that my body aches for you.”
That memory leads to the guilt I feel for not going to the infirmary. I was supposed to get on the pill this past week but got so busy with work and then preparing for the party that it slipped my mind.
Though I feel I could throw up again, I walk up the stairs in a hurry, fighting the quicksand of my emotions. I open the box and kick the door closed, tossing the other stuff on the bed as I rush into the bathroom. My hands are shaking, but I scan the pamphlet and manage to take the test according to the directions.
