Spring [Completed]

THIRTY-THREE

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HER

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stress
noun

1. a state of mental or emotional strain or tension resulting from adverse or very demanding circumstances.
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The rhythmic patter of the shower running does little to drown the anxiety festering within me. The air, thick with steam, chokes me as I sit on the bathroom floor with my face buried in my palms. My soaked hair clings to my back and shoulders like a second skin, shaking with every sob that leaves my body.

I tremble under the heat of the water as it rains down upon me, hating the heat, but knowing that I deserve the pain.

I can't believe I was so careless...so selfish. After all of the problems and mistakes I've made for myself, the last thing I wanted to do was bring another innocent life into this mess.

Running my hands over my face, I push my hair back and sigh. My breath hitches as I wearily stand to my feet and turn off the shower.

With the mirror fogged up, and no one else around to tell me how pathetic I look, I feel it safe to come out of the place I've been hiding in for the past half hour. I sniffle, keeping my eyes cast to the ground as I dry my body.

I lotion up my body, hesitating when I get to my abdomen. With trembling hands, I place a hand below my stomach where my unborn child resides. Biting my lip, I steal a glance at my foggy reflection.

I'm having a baby.

My hands tremble as a sudden panic consumes me, and I shut my eyes. Tears threaten to spill, so I shut them tighter, willing away my self-pity and steadying my breathing.

I open my eyes with a new agenda in mind, one that doesn't involve wallowing, but action. There's no use in dwelling on what I can't change, so I need a plan. I need to figure out what I'm going to do before anyone notices.

Just as I pull my shirt over my head, I hear the bedroom door swing open.

I let out a nervous breath and focus on pulling my hair into a tight bun as Josh's voice booms through the walls.

"Imani!" he calls, and my hands shake as I fiddle with my hair tie.

Everything is quiet for a moment, and I foolishly steal a glance at the French doors adjoining our bedroom. The moment I look at them, the doors swing open, violently striking the walls with a bang.

"Imani!" Josh says again, anger rolling off him in waves as he holds my purse in one hand and the pregnancy test in the other. "Why the fuck is this in your purse?"

I take a step back, opening my mouth to respond before pausing. I narrow my eyes, outrage replacing my fear. "So you're going through my stuff now?" I ask, placing a hand on my hip. "Who the hell do you think you are—"

He yells over me, the veins in his neck bulging with every word. "Imani, why do you have a pregnancy test in your purse?" He slams it hard onto the counter and I can't help but flinch.