Thinking.
Wondering.
Fucking praying that something like this isn't true.
But I just know. I know it is.
I get up, breathing through the nausea as I walk over to the sink. I turn on the faucet, sticking my head underneath and rinsing out my mouth to rid the acidic taste.
I know what I have to do, and that's get my ass to the store and pick up a pregnancy test. Another wave of nausea rolls over me at the thought of having to do this. I could call Rose and ask her to come with me. I know she would in a second and not even ask questions. Well, wait, she would ask a million questions. But she would still stand by my side the entire time.
No. I'm not going to go through the trouble of asking her to come with me when it might all be in my head. She's probably preparing for the big fight tonight. I haven't been paying much attention to the upcoming fight, instead spending all of my time and energy hating Jackson with every inch of fury inside of me.
I refuse to do that anymore, mostly if what's in my future is a little jellybean. Shit, I don't know if I can do this. I don't even know if I want this. I can barely take care of myself, let alone another human.
I brush off these thoughts. I can't even think about these things when I don't even know if they’re true. I'm going to go to the store, pick up a pregnancy test, laugh at myself for thinking I could be pregnant, and then go to the fight with Rose tonight. If I'm extra lucky, maybe I'll find a hot guy to help me forget my train wreck of a day.
Yes.
With my new plan in place, I walk into my room and throw on a sweatshirt over my tank. It's the middle of the summer, and sticky outside and in. There is no air conditioner in the house, only those window units that blow colder air in from the outside. Not like those ever do anything for this tiny house. Every room is so closed off from the next, it's impossible for any air to circulate through this hot box.
My house is similar to everyone else's on the block. One area with a kitchen and living room combined, then one side is a closed off master bedroom with a bathroom. On the other side of the trailer is my bedroom, which is so small the only way to get from one side of the room to the other is to go over the bed. I've got a lot of clothes, and no closet, so over the years I've grabbed as many free chests and dressers from the side of the street as I could find. Nothing matches, but it holds my clothes. I guess that's all that matters.
Where would a baby go?
I look around my room, trying to imagine a crib in here and knowing it would be absolutely impossible to fit one in here.
"What am I going to do?" I whisper to myself, reaching down and feeling my flat stomach.
I don't want a kid, and to be honest, I don't know if I could ever see myself having a kid. And with Jackson being the father?
Holy hell, no.
I slip on my Nike's and pulling my hood low over my face, I leave my house. It's cloudy today, warning of a heavy storm to come. Minnesota weather is always unpredictable. If they say we're getting a bad storm, we get sunny skies all day. If they say we've got a slight chance of thunderstorms, we'll get full blown tornado warnings by noon.
Like I said, unpredictable.
I start my walk, giving Jackson's house a heavy scowl on my way past. I blame him, even though he's not the only one to blame. I'm as much at fault right now as he is, but I'm too much of a stubborn ass to ever admit that out loud.
Walking to the store takes me about ten minutes. When I pass the bar where my mom frequents, I stop and take a look inside the window. It's empty, but when I look up, I see the apartment that sits right above the bar. The lights are on, and I know that's where my mom and stepdad are living. It's sad. The fact that they're able to write me out of their life so quickly. Not step-douche. I don't give a shit about him.
But my mom?
How can anyone abandon their child so easily? With so little remorse?
My hand instinctively falls to my belly again, and a chill runs through me, just thinking of what's to come.
I see shadows moving up above, and I quickly walk away from the window and continue on to the store.
The last thing I want is for my mom to see me lurking outside her window like some creep. She'd probably laugh in my face and tell me to get a life.
Yes, my mom would definitely say something like that.
My chin wobbles, the over inflated hormones inside of me taking over. I'm not usually an emotional person, but this day is already throwing me for a loop and it's barely even started.
Opening the door to the corner store, the little bell above me rings loud and obnoxiously. I keep my head down, not wanting to be noticed or conversated with. Not today.
Walking to the feminine hygiene section, I keep my eyes glued to the different boxes available as dread starts seeping in. Why are there so many?
One, two, three, four, shit. There are so many brands. Which one am I supposed to choose? Do I get the one with the plus and minus or just get the one that says pregnant or not pregnant?
And why are they so damn expensive?
My heart starts racing, and I grab two of the first ones I can reach, shoving them under my arms and speed walking to the cashier. I avert my eyes as the cashier scans and bags the tests and instead pretend to be interested in my phone, when in fact all I'm doing is scrolling through my Facebook feed at a speed that I can't read anything anyway.
I give them cash out of my pocket and snatch the bag off the counter, not even waiting for the change or my receipt.
The bell jingles again when I open the door to leave, but I barely give it a passing glance as I walk out of there like my ass is on fire. I race home, not even looking at that damn apartment above the bar this time around.
When I get home, I race into my bathroom and shut the door, grab the bottom of the bag and tip it over, spilling the tests onto my bathroom counter.
I grab the first one and look it over, reading the pink box that tells me it's nearly one hundred percent accurate and can practically tell you you're pregnant before you even get pregnant.
I roll my eyes. Whatever. Let's just get this over with.
I open the pink box and the blue box and grab the sticks out. Sitting down on the toilet, I shove the first stick between my legs, and then the next one. I bite my lip as my eyes fill with tears, and then gasp out a sob as I finish going to the bathroom.
I don't want this.
I wipe and flush, putting the sticks on the bathroom counter and then shuffling over to the other side of the bathroom, sitting down on the floor and folding my knees up against my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs and laying my forehead against my knees.
I don't want this.
I sniffle, hating what's happened and praying it isn't true, even when I know without a doubt, it is.
I don't know how long I'm supposed to wait, since I didn't read the directions fully. But I do know I'm supposed to wait at least a couple minutes.
I close my eyes.
And wait.
"Cara! Are you almost ready?" Banging on the bathroom door startles me from sleep.
I roll my neck to the side to relieve the stiffness and shout, "Hold on!"
I stand up, momentarily confused on why I'm on the bathroom floor. One glance at the bathroom counter and I'm reminded.
Those fucking sticks.
It's like there's a spotlight on them, enhancing the sticks and making the rest of the bathroom smothered in shadow. Like it's mocking me.