Knock-knock.
I just looked at the door, my thoughts still in turmoil.
Knock-knock-knock.
Yeah, door, you're right. I just got knocked up. Soon, people would start calling me messed up, fucked up, knocked up Sophie. Not a good way to describe someone, but it has a nice ring to it.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.
"Hey, Sophie! Are you planning to live in there? If so, just tell me so I could move out my toiletries and you could move in your clothes. Do you also want to put your bed inside? Or do you want a bathtub to sleep in? You know, like in Kyle XY. We could-"
I opened the door and stood facing Bianca, my roommate and bestfriend. I could feel the weight of the four pregnancy test strips on my pocket even though they weren't heavy at all. I don't know why I couldn't tell her that I'm pregnant. She has been my bestfriend since we were four and I've told her every bit about myself, no matter how embarrassing or depressing they might be. Why not this one?
Because I have to tell Dave first. Yeah, I could fill Bianca in later.
She looked at me from head to toe and nodded knowingly. "That time of the month, huh?" she said.
I winced. Yeah, I wish, I mumbled to myself. If I'm really pregnant, which I most probably am, I wouldn't have that time of the month for nine months. At least, that's one faint ray of sunshine on my bleak and cloudy day.
"Nah, just constipated," I managed to croak.
Bianca wrinkled her nose in mock disgust, but soon made a face of genuine concern. "Are you sure?" she asked, sounding like the older sister I never had. Her large brown eyes searched my face for untold answers, and I felt myself slowly breaking apart. Again.
I let out a sob.
"Do you know how it feels, B? When you can't get something out and it totally hurts?" I couldn't fight back my tears anymore, and they streamed down my cheeks. "That's how I feel right now. I don't know what to do, B. I'm effing constipated!"
With that, I stormed past Bianca and out of the room, leaving her wide-eyed in shock.
Standing in front of our dormitory, I patted my pockets for a cigarette to calm my nerves. But I felt the PT strips against my thigh and I realized I couldn't smoke anymore, for the sake of my baby.
My baby. Well, technically, it's not a baby yet. It's just a bunch of cells growing inside my womb. But I sounded like a heartless bitch so I mentally shook my head, absentmindedly placing a hand on my stomach.
I stood there for some time, dazed and glassy-eyed, only half-aware of the looks the passers-by were giving me. Yeah, I know I look like a freaking imbecile right now, with my disheveled hair and tearstained clothes. But believe me, when you found out something that could change your life in a really bad way, looking gorgeous would seem like a very mundane thing.
Wow, I think this was the first time that I didn't care about my looks. I was often called the nerd fashionista, but right now, I'm just a plain old nerd. Ugh.
Finally, I flagged down a cab and hopped on the backseat, telling the driver Dave's address and to step on it. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, and with a look (scared? surprised?), he sped away.
It's getting darker now, and soon the city was filled with bright lights and blinking neon signs. It was a perfect ridicule to what I was feeling – dull, dark, and dead. In just a matter of hours, I felt like my world has turned upside down, and I wondered, would things ever get back to normal?
Yeah right, who was I kidding?
I leaned my head on the car window and silently cried, for the nth fucking time today.
"Wow, that time of the month, huh?" Dave said as soon as he opened his front door. We've grown so close now that he could easily read me in just a glance. Given a different time and place, I would even smile at the thought that he could tell my mood instantly, but not this time. Oh no, not this time.
'Cause this time, I feel like he wouldn't know me. Heck, even I don't know myself anymore.
"Tell that to me again and I'm gonna punch you," I growled.
"Whoa, who woke up your evil counterpart, hun?" he teased, but upon realizing that a snotty-nosed crybaby was now sobbing in front of him, he took me in a warm embrace. I buried myself on his shoulders, and although I was always resenting the fact that he is way taller than me, now I'm glad, thankful even, because I could sense that his strong frame is my only support right now.
"Hey, what's wrong? You know you're still gorgeous even if it's your period. Why are you crying like that?" He soothed, concern etched in his voice.
"I'm not gorgeous!" I wailed. "And soon I'm gonna get fat and grow like a watermelon and... waaah, Dave! I just don't know what to do!"
"Wait, calm down. Sssshh. What are you talking about? Could you start from the very beginning?"
I didn't know where to start. I just continued whimpering and he just kept on shushing me while hugging me tight, not caring that my tears were staining his expensive clothes. He then ushered me to the living room and let me cry some more. He was that patient.
After a lot of Kleenex and a glass of water, I finally began to subside. Dave was sitting beside me on the sofa, his eyes looking intently at me as if searching for signs of trouble.
"So..." he began.
A hiccup. That's all I answered.
When he figured out that I wasn't talking, he stood up and paced the room. He was always like that – always moving, always doing something, as if he couldn't stay still for a minute. "What's it about you getting fat? Is that your problem? Have you looked in the mirror lately? You are effing skinny, Sophie. Okay, not too skinny. You know, just right! So, why on earth were you marching up my front door and telling me that you're gonna grow like a watermelon-"
"I'm pregnant."
"-Oh!" He halted in midstep. I swear he could be a bit dense sometimes. He stopped talking for a few heartbeats, and, in an attempt to lighten the mood, finally said, "I'm not the father, I hope?"
I just glared at him. Really, Dave, don't you have any tact?
He chuckled softly, but then looked at me apologetically. "I'm sorry. Remind me not to get on your bad side from now on. I heard pregnant women tend to be a little bit... temperamental."
Oh, great. Just great! How much more temperamental could I get? I already bitch, rant, curse, and complain for about a hundred times a day, give or take a few, and that's on a normal sunshiny day. Just imagine if I got a little bit more temperamental. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a bitter girl with a lot of issues. I could be sweet, friendly, and bubbly if I wanted to. It's just that I don't live in a fairy tale bubble. I'm a realist, not an optimist.
Okay, I admit, I let myself dream of nice things from time to time. And look where it got me.
I looked at Dave, who was gazing outside. The sliding glass door leading to the veranda was open just a little, and the wind was sneaking in. It wasn't that cold, but I felt myself shivering. What was he thinking? I could see his faint reflection on the glass – his intense gray eyes lost in thought, his lips set in a thin line – and I could tell that he was weighing a lot of options in his head.
He ran his hand through his jet-black hair and half-whistled. "Goddamn Sophie, this is fucking complicated," he told me as he went to sit beside me again.
"Yeah, tell me about it," I simply uttered.
"What are you going to do about this?"
"No, Dave. We. What are we gonna do?" I returned the question. Exhaustion was already wearing me down, all my distress draining the life out of me, but I still needed to force Dave into helping me. "You're not gonna leave me, are you?"
"Of course," he blandly answered, his smile tight and strained.
I contented myself with his response and let my body drop on the sofa. Through my droopy eyes, I could see Dave watching me with contained sadness, and I just realized... I didn't know if his answer was a yes or a no.