Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Hey!” Tatum’s voice meets my ears as she comes out with a bag in each hand, a look of concern etched into her features. “It looked like you were going to barf all over the floor. Are you okay?”
No. Not with the smell of Tatum’s perfume clinging in the air. The sickening floral scent suffocates me, making it difficult to breathe. Never mind the bile rising up in my throat.
I take off, lurching for the closest trash can and barely grabbing the rim with both hands before the nausea wins and I empty my stomach in the grossest, most public way possible. Ewww. Even as I’m gagging and retching, there’s shame in the back of my mind.
Finally, it passes, and there’s nothing left but a shaky, weak feeling left inside of me. Embarrassment tickles the back of my mind, but I shove it back. I can’t be the only person ever to vomit in a garbage can at a shopping center.
Tatum comes up beside me, gently touching my back, which she rubs in slow circles. “I’ll go to the vending machine and grab you a water. Wait here.” She rushes off before I can stop her. Not that I want to. The taste of vomit clings to my tongue and I need to get rid of it now.
I can’t bear to look at anyone as I sink weakly onto a metal bench next to the trash can. A few slow, shallow breaths of balmy air help clear the rest of the dizziness. Tatum returns, frowning as she hands me a cold bottle of water.
“Thanks,” I whisper. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Nobody will remember it in five minutes,” she assures in her typical no-nonsense way.
“Do me a favor, okay? Don’t tell your dad. You know how he gets, all anxious and whatever. I’m sure he has enough shit on his plate.” I play it off like it’s not a big deal, but in reality, if he’s even the slightest bit suspicious that there might be something wrong with me, he’ll send me to a doctor before I can object.
“Yeah, sure. Maybe that bloated feeling was something else. It seemed to appear out of nowhere.”
“Yeah. It did, but it’s probably nothing. Just a bug.”
I expect her to take the spot next to me, but instead, she folds her arms across her chest, the bags hanging from her wrists. “Hmmm, maybe. It’s possible, yes, but the fact that you got sick that quickly after being okay all afternoon, and you don’t want Dad to know.”
Oh. No.
“You’ve been complaining that you’re bloated,” she continues. “And then yesterday, you didn’t have a drop of alcohol at brunch.”
“I didn’t feel like drinking, so what” I whisper before taking another sip of water. My hands tremble. I can see the puzzle pieces clicking into place in her mind, each one moving strategically.
“Are you pregnant?” Tatum asks on a sharp laugh, like she doesn’t believe the words but needs to ask anyway. A lie rushes its way to the tip of my tongue, ready to tumble off, but I don’t have the heart to speak it. I’m tired of lying. She’s going to find out eventually, and then I’ll look like a hypocrite for trying to deceive her.
Damn it. This isn’t the way it was supposed to happen. I didn’t want her to find out like this—basically all on her own.
“Don’t lie to me. Please.” Her voice is low and flat, sending icy fingers of fear racing up my spine. “Are you? Or is there a possibility that you might be?”
My tongue is so thick I can barely speak. “I…”
Her eyes widen as a bright, red flush creeps onto her cheeks. “Fuck. Stop. Don’t say anything else.”
I press my palm to my clammy forehead. This isn’t going well. Not at all. The fear of our friendship melting like snow in the summer terrifies me. I can’t lose her. She’s my best friend. “Wait, please. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear. I’ve been taking birth control. It was an accident.”
Her lips part, except nothing comes out. Every second that passes hardens her face a little more, until she might as well be wearing a concrete mask. I can’t read her, and I hate it. “I… I need a minute to figure out how to feel about this.”
“Please, don’t hate me.” My legs tremble as I stand, but not from nausea. This is so much worse than I pictured, even in my darkest, most fearful nightmares. I can visibly see her pulling away from me.
“I don’t,” she claims, but her shoulders pull up around her ears when I reach out, seeking to hug her.
My arms fall back to my sides. “You look like you do. I swear, I didn’t plan for this. I don’t even know what to do or how to feel. And he doesn’t know. Not yet,” I add in a rush.