Page 56 of Imperfect Desires

Three weeks since he last touched me. Since his mouth was on mine, his hands in my hair, his body pressed into me, making me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

Three weeks since he walked away.

I stand in the middle of my bedroom, arms crossed tightly over my chest. My gaze flicks toward the large window where the early evening light filters through sheer curtains, casting dull shadows across the floor. My heart races beneath my ribs because I’m late.

Seven days late.

It’s not unusual—stress can throw things off. And I’ve had enough stress in the last three weeks to last me several lifetimes.

I pace toward the window and back again, my bare feet cool against the floor. My hand brushes my stomach as a wave of unease slithers through me. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind—a persistent, sharp ache—that refuses to go away.

No.

I stop in front of the mirror above the dresser and stare at myself.

I look……wrong.

My face appears pale, and my skin is nearly translucent under the soft light. Dark circles hollow the area beneath my eyes, contrasting starkly with the electric blue of my irises. My mouth is pinched, and my cheeks are thinner.

I know my body, and I can tell it feels different. Thanks to the internet, I now understand that the cramping in my stomach may be due to implantation rather than my period.

I know what I have to do.

I sit on the closed lid of the toilet, the small white stick resting on my knee.

My hand is shaking.

I force myself to breathe, dragging a hand down my face as the test lies cold and ominous beneath my fingers. I should just take it and get it over with. If it’s negative, I can stop worrying and breathe again. If it’s positive…

My breath quickens.

I’m just being dramatic. It’s stress- that’s all. My body is simply reacting to the trauma of everything that’s happened: Lev leaving, Viktor’s cold and harsh attitude, and my impending marriage.

My hand tightens around the test.

Just take it.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, then I uncap the test and press it between my thighs. My chest tightens painfully as I wait.

Two minutes.

I grip the counter with both hands, the cool marble biting into my palms. The phone timer ticks down, each second loud and violent in my ears. The timer dings, but I don’t want to look.

After a few more minutes, I reach for the test with trembling hands. Slowly, I lift it. My vision blurs at the edges as my gaze focuses on the small window.

Two pink lines.

Positive.

My breath leaves me in a rush. My hands shake so hard the test nearly falls from my grip.

“No.” I blink and look at it again.

Two pink lines. Still positive. My stomach flips violently. My heart races painfully beneath my ribs. My hand presses flat against my stomach as the reality crashes over me. I stare at the test again, my fingers trembling.

“Lev…” I whisper into the silence. But he’s gone.

“What the fuck have I done?” My breath hitches painfully. This can’t be happening.

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