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More ill, in fact, because I know what I have to ask next.
“Do you by chance have any pregnancy tests?”
___
I don’t want to take it.
I know how reckless we’ve been, and I’m not an idiot, so I knew the risks.
But I can’t face them.
It’s perfectly reasonable that maybe I’m just queasy all the time because Killian made my life so messy.
That has to be the reason, because I can’t be…
I can’t be pregnant.
It would ruin my life, and he has already ruined my life so much, but this…
No.
I can’t be.
I refuse to be.
If I never take the test, then I’ll never know.
I glare at the little wrapped stick on my bathroom counter, but then I realize living in denial is the thing I’m not supposed to do. All my choices are supposed to be the opposite of hers, and that means…
I need to take the test.
It could be negative.
It’s totally feasible.
I have a lot of reasons to be stressed out, and you can miss periods because you’re stressed out.
You can definitely experience bouts of nausea because you’re kind of dating Killian Walsh. I mean, there haven’t been conclusive studies done, but I’d put good money on it.
Just take the damn test.
Deciding to get it over with, I do a quick read-through of the directions I’ve already read three times, then I rip open the packet and do the thing.
I nod, feeling good as I put the stick down on the counter.
Definitely not gonna be pregnant, I can feel it.
I’ll hit Killian with a frying pan before I let him inside me without a condom again over the next few days, and then come Friday I’ll see the doctor and get emergency birth control. The fastest acting stuff they have so I never experience a scare like this again.
I don’t look at the stick until my phone timer goes off because I don’t want to risk inaccurate results, and when the time comes, I grab the stick and…
Fuck.
“Oh, no.”
I frown at the stick, then back down at the directions. Maybe I’m remembering the results backward…
Oh, dear.
