Page 4 of The Little Black Rose

“Do you want to stay?” I ask softly.

“No, I should probably get home.”

He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes darting around the room, everywhere but at me. I’m blocking his exit. I bend over to grab my shirt before straightening, holding it against my chest. My pants and underwear are still attached to one ankle, and they drag across the carpet as I shuffle away from the door.

Zeke starts for the exit, then pauses to look back at me with uncertain eyes.

“This was nice…”

He thinks it was a mistake.

“…but maybe we should keep it to ourselves.”

He’s ashamed.

“I just don’t want Zoey to be put in the middle.”

In the middle of what? All of our future weird, uncomfortable encounters because you fucked me then immediately regretted it? And made me feel like a fucking mistake?

I don’t say any of this, though. I just give him a tight smile and nod in agreement.

Then he’s gone, and I’m left alone to pick up all the broken pieces of my dignity and self-respect.

Chapter2

Word Vomit at its Finest

Ava

Present day…

It’s time. I can’t keep my head buried in the sand any longer. Something is definitely wrong, and I can deny it all I want, but that won’t change the truth.

Six weeks or so ago, I got a stomach bug. I found myself puking randomly, then feeling fine the rest of the day. It’s weird, because the damn virus hung on for weeks, plaguing me with its vicious and ill-timed attacks. It usually hit in the morning, or when I walked into work and got my first whiff of cats and litter boxes.

When my body finally fought it off last week, and the puking lessened, I’d rejoiced. But then I noticed some swelling and tenderness in my breasts, and I’m so fucking tired all the time, I can barely get through the day without a nap. My mind immediately conjured up the worst-case scenario…the big “C” word. A quick internet search of breast cancer symptoms relieved my mind a bit, but I still had no idea what was going on with me.

Then a couple of weeks ago, I had an epiphany. I tried to block it out. Pretend it wasn’t true. Change my reality with repetitive thought and belief.

But I didn’t really believe the lies I was telling myself. I knew then, just as I know now what the result of today’s activities will yield. It’s why I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in two weeks. Why I haven’t eaten sushi or soft cheese, not that I consumed those much to begin with.

I haven’t had a period in almost six years. Not since I started on the birth control shot when I was twenty-six. So, it never even occurred to me…

It only took a quick check of my calendar to realize how badly I fucked up. I was scheduled for a shot four months ago, and I missed the appointment. That means I haven’t had a shot in seven months. And I stopped being protected a few weeks before…that night.

I look down at the plastic stick in my hand and blink back the tears filling my eyes. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I just have some kind of weird disease which produces symptoms that mimic…I can’t even think the word.

How am I going to survive the fact if I can’t even think it?

Shaking my head, I berate myself for being a coward and walk into my bathroom. Pulling down my pants and underwear, I sit on the toilet and shove the stick between my legs. I’ve never done this before, and it shows. I flinch as urine splatters on my fingers, and adjust the position of the stick so I’m peeing on the absorbent tip for a few seconds.

Cursing quietly, I set the stick on a paper towel on the counter and finish up before shuffling to the sink with my pants around my ankles to scrub my hands. Then, keeping my eyes averted from the pregnancy test, I methodically pull up my pants and underwear, flush the toilet, then wash my hands again.

“Fuck, I forgot to set a timer,” I whisper, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling with a sigh.

How long has it been? One minute? Two?

I drag in a long breath and hold it as I look down at the test. My eyelids blink rapidly, as if the strobe-light effect will change what I’m seeing. But it doesn’t.

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