“No,” I whisper to myself, the word escaping before I can stop it. “No, no, no.”
The sound of my voice only makes it worse. The weight of the silence in the apartment presses in on me. I’m not sure what to do, not sure what to think. I can’t be pregnant. I can’t.
I place a shaky hand over my mouth, trying to calm myself, but the dread only grows.
I’ve been careless. So careless.
The memories of that night flood back—Lukin, his touch, his intensity. I think of the moment we shared, of everything that happened, of how I let myself get swept up in it all. And now, this. I’m on the pill. How could this happen?
I try to tell myself it’s nothing. It’s probably just stress, I think. It’s been a hell of a week, with all the designs I’ve been trying to finish at the store, late nights spent working, barely getting any sleep. Maybe that’s it. My body’s just reacting to all the pressure, all the stress I’ve been under.
I’ve been through worse. I’ve been stressed before.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to breathe. This isn’t happening.
I took the day-after pills both times after Lukin and I had sex. There’s no way this is pregnancy. I was careful.
No way could I be pregnant. I would’ve noticed something earlier, right? This couldn’t possibly be happening.
Still, something in me tells me to buy a test. To just check, to be sure. But I push the thought away, refusing to give it any more space in my mind. It’s just stress. I’m just running myself too thin. That’s all.
I shake my head, trying to dismiss it. I’ve never been one to let things get out of hand. I’ll be fine. I’ll take a few days to rest, get my head back on straight. It’s nothing.
The silence in the room is deafening, the weight of everything pushing down on me. I sit there, my mind racing, the uncertainty gnawing at me like a hunger I can’t ignore.
And then, as if on cue, my phone buzzes in my hand, jolting me from my thoughts. Jason’s name flashes on the screen.
For a moment, I consider ignoring it. I’m not in the mood for his usual overenthusiastic energy, but the truth is, I’m desperate for a distraction. Anything.
So, I answer.
“Hey, Zoe!” Jason greets me warmly, his voice upbeat and carefree, like he’s been waiting for this moment. “I’ve been expecting you to call. You said we’d hang out soon.”
“No, I didn’t say that.” I roll my eyes. “I said I’d let you know when I’m free to hang out.”
There’s a pause on the other end, then he pushes again. “Okay. But can you please consider this?”
I frown, confused. “What?”
Jason’s voice becomes apologetic, the plea clear in every word. “There’s a fundraiser a mutual friend is hosting. It’s a great event. I’ve been invited. I was hoping you’d be my date.”
I immediately feel a flicker of resistance. I don’t want to get involved in something else right now. I don’t want to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.
“No,” I reply quickly, the word escaping before I even have a chance to think it through.
“Zoe, please.” His voice softens, and I can almost hear the pleading in it. “It’s a short event. Just an avenue for us to talk. There’ll be others there so we won’t be alone.”
I sigh, the words hanging in the air, my thoughts spinning. I’ve been hiding away from everything—Lukin, the uncertainty, the fear. I can’t keep doing this. Maybe I need to live a little. Be a normal person.
Instead of spending my nights alone, consumed by the pregnancy scare, by the constant thoughts of Lukin, why not just go out? I’m young. I’m beautiful. I deserve to feel something else, something other than this constant ache.
I try to push away the guilt, the nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I’m doing this for all the wrong reasons, but I push through it. This isn’t about Lukin. This is about me.
“Okay,” I say, my voice almost quiet with uncertainty. “When is this party?”
“This weekend. I can pick you up.”
I hesitate, the thoughts swirling in my head. A part of me wants to say no, to shut it all down. But another part—something more urgent—wants to break free.
