Another Door Opens

55 - Single use plastic sticks

- EDEN -

I’ve peed on five plastic sticks.

I don’t know that I’ll be able to produce any more pee for a sixth, but I have that and a seventh ready to go. If there were any more at the pharmacy on my way home from Luna’s baby shower, I’d probably have snatched those up too.

Right now, I’m hoping that at least one of the last two remaining will give me some hope that the first five are errors. A defective batch of tests that are trying to convince me that I’m pregnant.

But I can’t be pregnant.

Because that would mean that I’m carrying Austin’s child seeing as he’s the only one I’ve slept with in the last few months.

Austin. A guy I thought I knew and liked, but who turned out to be an altogether different person to the one I thought I was dating. I think my conversation with Miles the other morning made that clear. He provided me with the impartial perspective I needed to really hold a mirror up to myself and realise what was going on.

I don’t want what Austin does. If I’m in a relationship, I want the other person to want to be in it with me and only me. Maybe it might work for some to date multiple people at the same time, but I’m pretty sure I’m not one of those people. I could pretend and try to force myself to be okay with it, try to make it work; but the effortlessness of the relationships surrounding me, in which there is less than no pretending going on at any time, makes me know for certain that it’s not for me.

As is what I’m now coming to accept is an almost certain pregnancy given the sixth positive test.

I feel like I’m going to be sick all over again.

After the first incident in Luna's bathroom, unfortunately witnessed by Miles outside the bathroom door, it started again when I saw the first positive, and I’ve proceeded to gag pretty consistently since. I really can't be sure if it’s because of the pregnancy and my body clock thinking it’s morning not early evening, my thoughts towards said pregnancy, or what the hell I’m going to do about it.

I never, ever, envisioned I would be in this position. I've persisted my whole sexually active life in taking the pill religiously to hopefully avoid these types of unwelcome, life altering situations, and so I don’t quite know how this has happened unless I’m one of the unlucky 1% who fall pregnant while on it.

As I’ve known for a long time, despite loving kids and enjoying their company, I'm not sure I want one for myself. I see Piper and she almost makes me reconsider because I love her more than anything in the world, which I’m sure will be just the same with Luna and Wolfe’s baby. But I like being able to dip my toe into the world of children-having---babysitting Piper, playing with her, reading her stories---and then going home to my clean, quiet house without the responsibility of keeping an eye on someone at all times to make sure they don’t break something or themselves.

My body’s visceral revulsion to the dawning realisation that I am indeed pregnant has solidified that more concretely than ever before.

I’m not excited. I’m not thrilled. And while I imagine mortal terror may be a normal response for some pregnant people, mine is threatening to boil over and consume me altogether.

I feel like I can barely breathe, and I don’t know how to stop crying these joyless, endless tears. I remember the tears when Luna and Wolfe Facetimed to tell me about their pregnancy. Ones of sincerity and excitement and genuine, shared thrill.

I have none of that. All I feel is dread and sorrow that I’ve somehow ended up with the worst possible scenario I can think of after ending things with Austin.