22
Bea
I was a wreck.
A total and utter wreck.
Five weeks had passed since I’d discovered the truth about the man I loved, but no amount of time seemed to be doing anything to curb the sorrow I felt over how we’d ended, even though we’d only had such a brief relationship in the grand scheme of things. I needed to move on, but all I felt like doing was moping around the house in my pajamas.
I really needed to get out and do something.
Seeing as the last sleepover at Claire’s had been such a success in terms of in-depth studies, it was easy for me to get my parents to agree to another when she suggested a get-together. Once again, it had little to do with college and was more about popcorn and movies, but after the last fib had involved being driven off by a mafia hitman to have mind-blowing sex, I didn’t waste any time worrying over this little white lie.
Looking forward to the night was currently keeping me sane, anyway. While trying to cope with the heartbreak of betrayal, I’d been expected to keep up with the looming deadlines for my studies, as well as stepping up my own contributions to my father’s Presidential campaign. Although my presence involved nothing more than standing in the background and smiling, I had to keep reminding my cheek bones that they were capable of such an action and, as soon as my mind wandered, they would just forget. I’d lost count of the amount of times the campaign managers mimed a big smile at me so that I could bring it back again.
Despite the emotional fatigue of this pretense, I was ironically far less fussed by the speeches and cameras than I had been for some time. If there was nothing mundane to fill the hours with, I would probably be wallowing in depression and, when a rare private moment did come along, I would find myself crying or shaking on the end of my bed.
Sometimes both.
I wasn’t the first girl to be betrayed by a lover, but if others had survived this kind of shock undamaged then they were made of sterner stuff.
On my last pledge to Damon, I had been as true to my word and not said anything to my parents. There were signs for the most perceptive to pick up on; I had started being sarcastic about the other agents, for example, calling them “cardboard cut-outs” or “the Frank Drebins”. My mother had frowned at me a couple of times for not knowing where this sudden disdain had come from, but out of puzzlement rather than anger and so no questions had been asked as to why I suddenly seemed to hate Secret Service agents.
That wasn’t to say that I’d avoided drama completely. Sharing the workplace with a constant reminder of Damon was just too much for me to take, regardless that I wouldn’t have spoken anything but highly of Felicia. Rather than spend some time away from the office and return, I’d visited my college tutor and asked for a transfer. The move felt a little vindictive towards Felicia, but I was unwavering, perhaps spurred on by the knowledge that it was only via his sister that I could look to give Damon a hard time for what he’d done. Felicia wasn’t one to turn her back on people and, since the transfer, had sent several messages to indicate that she understood while compelling me to reconsider. I’d ignored them all, finding that my soul was hardened to any kind of compromise.
There was surely no way that coincidence could transpire to tear my life apart even more but, little did I know, I was apparently a puppet on a string being toyed with for the amusement of some unseen and mischievous entity.
“Let’s get some of this down,” Claire suggested, opening a bottle of red just as Jaws was starting. It had been tough to find a film without love or loss as a theme to be found somewhere, though I hadn’t confessed that seafaring obsessives being eaten by a shark might offer me amusement in some other ways. The exhaustion I felt was accompanied by a slightly nauseated feeling though, so I decided not to have any of the wine.
“Oh, none for me right now. The thought of it makes me feel a little queasy for some reason,” I said.
“Really?” she asked, giving me a sideways glance.
“Yeah.”
“Hm…”
“What do you mean ‘hm’?” I asked, then looked back at the screen to see a naked young lady jump into the ocean. “Have you ever been skinny dipping?”
“Have you, Bea?” Claire replied, her expression still suspicious.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you’ve been saying that you’ve been feeling a bit sick quite a lot lately. When you were with Damon, did you use protection?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, how dumb do you think I am?” I asked. When Claire’s face remained blank, I added, “All right, don’t answer that…”
“What did you use?”
“Condoms.”
“Condoms aren’t always one-hundred percent effective, Bea.”
“I know that, but…”
“But what, Bea?”
“But the shark is coming!” I said, pointing to the movie on the screen.
“Well, maybe that’s not the only thing that’s been swimming into unwanted territory.”
I rolled my eyes again. “Oh, stop. I’m not pregnant.”
Of course it was nonsense. Sure, I’d been tired lately and a little nauseated, but I’d put that all down to stress. After all, it was well known that stress could affect the body in all kinds of ways. I couldn’t be pregnant, and that was exactly why I stopped at a drug store on my way home the next day to pick up a test kit and prove it. That was also exactly why I went straight upstairs when I got home and peed on the stick.
I wasn’t pregnant. No way.
Except…I was. As I stared down at the test, the little pink plus sign seemed to mock me, and my mouth dried up.
Oh, shit….