“I CAN’T BE pregnant, Brock,’’ I repeat for what seems like the hundredth time. I tighten my grip on the box with the pregnancy test still inside.
We’re back at his place and yet I can’t leave the comfort of his couch. I don’t want to open that effing box and pee on the stupid stick that would tell me if my life will be more messed up or not.
It’s not because I’ve been dizzy, tired and nauseous that I’m pregnant, after all. I’m a ball of nerves since my fall out with Brock, and I know that it’s what is making me feel so weak and ill. Knowing that there’s a high probability that he’s going to move away and leave me behind doesn't help at all.
His golden eyes are guarded, his thick eyelashes encasing his narrowing eyes. He’s barely muttered a word since we left the office and now that we’re at his place, his walls are higher, keeping me on the other side, far away from him.
“You could, and I don’t want to wait any longer. Move your ass and pee on that fucking thing.’’
I gulp and jump to my feet, my fingers squishing the box. “You’re such an insensitive jerk!’’
“I’m an insensitive jerk.’’ He shakes his head and stands up, unfolding his tall body. He takes off his suit jacket and throws it on the back of the couch. “I’m the insensitive jerk who spent my whole life loving you, and when I told you, you just brushed it off. Fucking irony.’’
“I didn’t brush it off!’’ I yell suddenly. Dampness invades my heated cheeks. I run the back of my fingers on my cheeks and find the tears falling hard as my chest is tightening and pressing down on my lungs. “You gave me an ultimatum, Brock! How do you think it made me feel, uh?’’
“I don’t know since you’re never willing to talk about it,’’ he replies with a cold voice that gives me chills.
I feel his eyes on my face, taking in every salty drop escaping my eyes, these tears that I’ve always tried with all my might to keep locked up. I can count on my fingers how many times I cried and even when I cried, I always tried to make sure that no one would see them. I don’t exactly know what he’s feeling or thinking at seeing me break down like this, letting my guards down, letting loose my control.
I can’t fight anymore, can’t keep my cool.
I’m losing everything that I cared about above all, because as much as I love my job and the company, Brock is more essential, and I’ve never been so close to losing him, something I’d have never fathomed before.
He walks to me, closing the space until we’re toe to toe. I can’t look him in the eye, so instead, I stare at his neck, at his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat every time he swallows. My eyes wander over all the little hair of his stubble darkening his skin, and I don’t try to hide how much I’m shaking with all these emotions stumbling inside of me.
“So tell me, Addy. Tell me how you feel.’’
I bring the box with the pregnancy test to my chest and let out a sob that wrecks me from the inside, turning my skin to pebble, hurting my chest. “I’m hurting so bad,’’ I whisper, but he can hear me. He’s so close. “There’s always been something I was sure of in my life, something I never doubted. You. I thought that no matter what would happen you’d always be there, in my life, and now you’re taking it away.’’ I finally look up and lock eyes with him. I tilt my head slightly upward and let him see the tears still coming in my eyes, the way my face must be blotchy and how much my lips are trembling. I’m bared even though my clothes are still on. I’m baring my very self to him. “I feel lonely, abandoned, hurt and afraid. It makes me sick, and I can’t sleep.’’
“Addy—‘’
“I’m going to take this test now,’’ I cut him off before he could say something, because what I’m seeing in his eyes now… That pain, that doubt, it’s too much. Toying that way with my feelings isn’t something I’m used to because I always make sure that I’m guarded.
Apparently, I should have made a better job of it with Brock too.
I turn around and walk to the bathroom, my heart in my throat, my stomach in knots and my legs shaky, almost buckling under my weight at my every step. I lock myself in the bathroom and lean against the door, releasing a breath I haven’t realized holding.
“Fuck my life,’’ I mumble and read what they said on the box. In roughly five minutes I’ll know if I’m pregnant or not. In other words, in five minutes I’ll know if I’ll be a mother in eight months and have my best friend in my life because of this baby or if I’ll be alone in Chicago without my best friend. I don’t know which is the worst.
I hike my skirt up and sit on the toilet, feeling weird contorting to pee on a ridiculous stick. Once I’m finished, I rinse my hands and watch the pregnancy test with disdain. I close my eyes for a second, trying to calm down the urge to scream, yell and destroy everything around me.
Chaos is so well-seated inside me that I want everything around me to reflect it. But I can’t let go like that. It wouldn’t do any good. So, I square my shoulders, re-open my eyes and walk out the bathroom, leaving the test on the sink.
I immediately zero in on Brock. He’s standing at the windows, his body stiff while he clenches and unclenches his hands. His legs apart, he’s imposing and distant. He slowly turns around, and I can’t read anything on his face or in his eyes. I’ve seen this side of him with a few women he went out with, but he never directed this look to me.
“We’ll know in five minutes.’’
He nods and goes back to admiring Chicago now fast basking in the night, the lights of the tall buildings and streets brightening everything, making the city glow to welcome the nightlife.
“I want to take that job offer.’’
Numbness takes over. It’s not a jab to my chest or nausea-inducing anymore. I’m just numb, feeling nothing aside from being lost. “Then take it.’’
“I can’t if you’re pregnant. I can’t leave you two.’’
I hug myself and glance at the darkening sky. There’s no star to be seen when you live in a city, and I miss that. The only times I saw stars was when we all went on vacation. “Don’t let me hold you back anymore. If I’m pregnant, we’ll find a solution.’’
“And you’re fine with me leaving?’’
I don’t want to look at him even though I now can feel his eyes on my face. I shrug and tighten my arms around me. “It doesn’t matter, Brock.’’
“It matters to me, Addy. You know how much you matter to me.’’
“Yeah?’’ I put my forehead against the cold glass of the window. “And yet you’re hurting me so much right now…’’ I straighten up and turn around to check the time on the big clock in his kitchen. There. Five minutes are up.
Without another word, I walk back to the bathroom and lock myself in. I steady my right hand and grab the test. Slowly, reluctantly, I turn it over and watch the small screen. My eyes water and I break down once again. I run to the door, swing it open and throw the test to Brock. It bounces against his firm chest before it falls to the floor between his expensive shoes.
“I’m not pregnant. Now call your new boss and make the arrangements. I expect your letter of resignation next week.’’ I turn back around, snatch my purse off the couch and run out and back to the comfort of my apartment.
I go straight to my bedroom and fall on my bed, sobbing loudly. I should be relieved now that I know for sure that I’m not pregnant and that Brock doesn’t feel the need to stay, but I’m such a mess that I don’t know what to make of my feelings and emotions. It’s worse than before.
There’re disappointment, relief, sadness, despair, anger, fear mulling in my head and my heart. Because now that Brock is going to leave and get out of my life, I realize that there won’t be a thing connecting me to him. At least a baby would have been a link to him, something that couldn’t be forgotten or overlooked.
From then on, there’s only our past, our time growing up and shaping ourselves into the adults we are today. But it’s just the past, something that will gradually dull. It’s impossible to live in the past because, at some point, the present and the future are more important, take more place. I’ll fade away, and he’ll fade away too, and it hurts.
I sob louder, my cries of despair echoing in my bedroom as my tears soak my comforter. My shoulders shake, and I can’t stop. Slowly, painfully, I bring my legs closer to my chest, and I lay there, crying my eyes out.
Faintly, I hear my phone ring, but my sobs and my buzzing ears make it easy to ignore. I’m in no shape to talk. I can’t even stop the weak and sad sounds coming out of my mouth.
I don’t care if someone is trying to reach me. I don’t care if there’s something wrong with an account or if a client has a critical inquiry. I don’t care if it’s my parents. I don’t care if it’s one of my friends wanting to go out for a drink.
I. Don’t. Care.