It was an hour later when I heard loud knocks on my door. I ignored it, curled up on the sofa, a tv show playing as I tried to focus on that and not the thing that may be in my stomach.
"Alana!" I recognised his voice.
But he was going to leave me anyway, if only it could have been a clean cut, not a messy one. I closed my eyes curling more on the sofa. He tried calling me a few more times, but I shut out the sound of his voice, the man that would be leaving me.
"Alana! Please." He sounded anguished, worried and very alarmed. There was slight anger in his voice as well, hardly concealed. "Alana, I deserve to know." It was a strange statement. But the knocking stopped and I tried to focus on whatever movie was showing.
I didn't hear the weird sounds from my door, the sound of someone picking a lock. But I did hear the door open and a distressed looking Philip entering my home. He spotted me on the sofa watching television and a sound of disgust escaped his lips.
My eyes move away from him to two normally dressed men behind him. Both were fair skinned but ripped, their shirts barely concealing the muscles. Philip was 5'9 but the two men with him made him feel shorter. The brown haired man closed the door, and stood there. It felt wrong.
There's a bag in Philips hand, there were boxes inside, he held out the bag to me. "Check," he demanded.
"I'm pregnant," I replied softly. There was no use, I just knew I was. I suspected he told them, the two large men and sure enough, no shock registers on their faces at my proclamation, they looked impassive as ever.
Philip tried forcing the bag in my hand, "Check again," he insisted, he sounded frantic and angry. Desperate.
I refused to take the bag, Philip pressing it on my hands. "No, Philip please, just go." I replied, moving away from him.
"Not until you check, in front of me." I shook my head, tears falling from my eyes. Raw irritation itched his voice as he grabbed my shoulders, the swinging bag whacking on my arm "Please Alana, for my sake, check again."
I fell to my knees crying.
A exasperated sound came from Philips lips, but he sat down on the floor, pulling me to him. "Check, Alana. You might not be pregnant."
It took him fifteen minutes of coaxing and reassuring me before I stood up, grabbed the plastic bag he bought and went to the toilet.
Inside, there were at least fifteen different pregnancy tests. Ten were the sticks you needed to pee on, the other five, blood tests requiring you to prick your finger on, those looked expensive. I read every instruction set, and then arranged them, following the instructions. I heard knocking on the door as I urinated on one of the sticks.
"You bought fifteen tests, let me get to it," I shouted.
"Hurry then."
I could only pee so much, I peed on five sticks, and waited.
"Alana, let me in."
"No," I shouted back.
Ten minutes.
"Alana!"
Letting out a breath. I flushed the toilet, the five sticks laid out in front of me. I headed to the door, opening it, slightly grateful to find him alone outside. He entered the toilet quickly picking up a stick. "One line," he said relieved, "you're not pregnant."
"The box said you have to wait for ten minutes," I replied.
Philip blinked, then put the test down, waiting. He glanced at the clock in the bathroom, and checked his cell multiple times. When ten minutes passed, He was the first to pick up the stick. He threw the first one down, picking up the next, and the next and the next till he picked up the final one.
"Drink more water," he ordered, "do all of them."
Then he left the toilet.
I picked up one of the test results, already knowing the answer.
Positive.