Page 92 of Sinful Scars

Calling my boss from the floor of my bathroom as I lean over the toilet was not how I wanted to start my day, but here we are.

“Hi, Karla,” I croak.

“Elle, honey, are you all right?”

“I think I’ve got a stomach bug.” Bile burns my throat. “And I slept through my alarm, so I’m going to be a bit late?—”

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetie. The last thing I need is a vomiting bug going around the ICU. Rest up and let me know when you’re feeling better.”

“Are you sure? I could maybe come in for afternoon rounds?—”

“Don’t even try. If I get wind that you’re sneaking around the ward, I’ll stick you on bedpan duty until New Year’s.”

I sigh. “Fair enough.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Karla, you’re the best.”

“So I’ve been told.” She chuckles. “Speak later.”

Catching the occasional bug is an occupational hazard, so I should be used to it, but I still hate it.

Once I deem it safe enough to leave my spot beside the toilet, I head straight back to bed and try to sleep off whatever bug is plaguing me.

It’s almosttwo by the time I wake up again. The rose is still beside me on the pillow, but it does little to cheer me up.

I feel like death, which means I’m going to have to give in and call a doctor.

Working for a private hospital means that I have excellent health insurance, and I’m able to get a phone appointment with my primary care physician almost immediately.

“How long have you been feeling nauseous?”

“Since yesterday afternoon.” My throat feels raw from vomiting so much, and my head is pounding from dehydration.

“And is there any chance you might be pregnant?”

I shake my head. “No…”

Right?

“Miss Conti? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, my god, I-I have to call you back.” I hang up the phone and run into my bathroom to check the cabinet under my sink.

Just as I feared, the box of tampons that I bought last month is sitting on the shelf, completely unopened.

“Don’t taunt me.” I slam the door closed. “Oh god, this cannot be happening!”

But it makes sense.

I should have gotten my period two weeks ago, which means it’s highly likely that I’m pregnant.

I run to the toilet again, but this time not from nausea but from panic.

My vomiting spells are too unpredictable to risk going out to CVS to get a test, and I definitely can’t call Lucia to pick one up for me.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

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