“Fascinating stuff,” Sadie drawls. She jumps slightly when she hears the barista call our names, then grabs her travel mug and storms out. I follow quickly, not bothering to look at Dickhead and Snotty Marie again.
“Bastard, arsehole, wanker, fuckface, cockwomble - ” She mutters savagely to herself as she stomps back to her flat.
“Easy there, Gary,” I tease, and she pauses, looking at me and smiling reluctantly.
“Sorry. Just… What the fuck was that?! Who does he think he is, and why the fuck would he think I’d want him to say hello?! I want him to drown in a vat of human shit from the nearest music festival loos. I don’t want to pass the time of day with him. Or hisfiancee,” she finishes, imitating Cecelia’s whiny voice. “Bloody nerve. And the way they looked at you? You are fifty billion times the person either one of them would ever be!” She growls harshly, and starts stomping back to the cafe. “I oughta go back there and - ”
“Hold up, before you go all Bruce Lee,” I chuckle, catching her around the waist and carrying her a few paces back the other way. “Take this as a timely reminder that they’re not worth it.”
“Youare, though,” she snarls.
My heart melts. My fierce, loyal, scrappy Sadie.I love you, too. I think I’ll have to wait to hear the words, but this is a big indicator to me that I’m not alone in this heartspace. “And I couldn’t give a flying fuck what either of them think of me, and nor should you. Don’t waste yourself on him anymore. Now. If you keep wriggling like that, a certain part of me is going to start pointing due north, and that’ll be entirely your fault. As fucking usual.” She stills, and I feel her ribs vibrate as she starts busting a gut laughing.
“And if there’s one thing I’ve learned,” she purrs to me, turning in my arms, “it’s that a Leo Mills erection is a criminal thing to waste.”
We don’t waste it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sadie
When I wake up, my heart is pounding feverishly, and I’m covered in a light sheen of sweat, my camisole sticking to me. Even considering how hot and humid the weather still is, this seems worse than I’d have expected. I put it down to a nightmare, but if it was, I don’t remember it. Probably just as well, if this is how it’s left me. Gross - even the roots of my hair feel damp.
I’m glad Leo didn’t stay over and isn’t here to see me all crappified like this. I know he’s seen me in a worse state, but there’s plenty of time yet for him to see me looking and feeling like garbage. Let me maintain the illusion a little longer.
I get up and have a glass of water to try and settle me down, and then let Gary out of his cage so he can stretch his wings. He lovingly tells me to bugger off as I fill up his feeding tray, but I’m suddenly too light headed to laugh about it, and I have to steady myself on the table. My stomach feels tight and jumpy, my fingers are tingling, and…oh, shit. Was it me, or did the floor just move?
I stand straighter, hold onto the counter behind me, and stay still for a while, hoping the feeling will pass. This is not how I usually feel with a build up to a migraine, but I guess stranger things have happened. Or maybe I’m coming down with something. My stomach churns and lurches, and it doesn’t pass, it only gets worse, and then -
“Oh, god,” I grunt, my throat tightening, and then it gets worse. My throat feels like it’s exploding as I start retching, and I barely make it to the toilet before puking my guts up. Loudly.
Loud enough to scare Gary, apparently. Although the gut wrenching, putrid act of throwing up is pretty distracting, I’m still aware of him flapping his wings in a tizzy. He keeps screaming, “What the FUCK!” and “Oh my fucksies!” over and over, interspersed with shrill alarm calls as he flies back and forth in a blind panic.
When I’m finally done and flush it all away, he perches on the edge of my sink. “What the fucking fuck?” he shrieks.
“Sorry, my baby,” I whisper-coo at him, hoarse but starting to feel a little steadier. Remarkably so, really, considering that vomiting usually wipes me out for the rest of the day. I want to rinse the horrible sour taste out of my mouth, and start to scramble to my feet, when the words I just said echo in my head like an alarm clock.
My baby…
I stop short.
There’s no way. I’m on the implant, and it has virtually a one hundred percent success rate.
Although I did have it put in a while ago…I count the months since it was installed on my fingers. Yep, it’s coming to the end of its life.What if it wore out early?
Gary squawks again, still agitated. I rub his head with one finger the way he likes, gentling him. If only my own thoughts could be calmed as quickly. A seed of doubt has been plantedin my head, and I hunch my shoulders against the possibility. It’s extremely unlikely, I insist to myself. I probably just ate something that didn’t sit right, or caught a twenty four hour sickness bug. I’m getting myself all worked up for no solid reason. And the fact that my period hasn’t shown up yet this month means nothing. The implant, the thing thatprotectsme from situations like this and hasnever let me down, means that I either have a light month or an occasional skipped month. Nothing unusual has happened here, and everything can be explained away quite easily.
My tits are still pretty sore, though. I just put that down to a mixture of hormones and some repeated rough play with Leo recently.
I close my eyes, already knowing what I’m going to do. Just for peace of mind. And for the avoidance of any doubt whatsoever, I’m picking up a digital pregnancy test.PregnantorNot Pregnant. No room for any error or uncertainty, no is-that-a-line-or-am-I-seeing-things. They’re not cheap, but they’re worth it for the lack of ambiguity and the stress they save.
Once I’ve swirled some mouthwash and thrown on a sundress and sandals, I head out, making a beeline for the nearest supermarket. I don’t have any appointments until this afternoon, thankfully. The walk over there does me some small good, the fresh air easing the last traces of queasiness. By the time I’ve gone to the aisle, picked the test I want, and used the self-service checkout, I’m even smiling. I’m beingsoridiculous. It’s probably just delayed food poisoning from those damn shrimp po’boys a few nights ago. Eli’s normally an excellent chef, but maybe I just copped an unfortunate prawn this time, and for some reason it’s taken its time to hit me with its best shot. Could happen to anyone.
I can’t wait to tell Liaden and Em about this over cocktails,alcoholiccocktails because there’s no reason why I can’t havethem, so we can have a bloody good laugh over my silly bout of paranoia.
Gary has calmed down once I get back in, and greets me pleasantly from the top of the TV. “Tart.”
“I know you are, but what am I?” I mumble. He mutters various little obscenities, still a little peeved from my terrifying vom session, and I blow him a soothing kiss before heading to the bathroom.
