In a rush, I reach for the box closest to me, and I practically run in the opposite direction of the couple approaching so they don’t see what I’m buying.
I opt for the self-checkout so I don’t have to interact with anyone, and before I know it, I’m back in my car.
The drive home is a blur. So is getting into my building and climbing the stairs to my second-floor apartment.
As I push inside, I don’t see the state of my home.
I’m blinded by fear.
With the box that will determine the direction of my future clutched to my chest, I walk on autopilot to my bathroom and close the door.
I wish I could get it over with, but seeing as this is the first time I’ve ever done this, I need to at least skim the instructions. I can’t risk doing anything wrong and getting an incorrect result. As much as I might be terrified of what I’m about to confirm, I need to know without a doubt that that’s correct.
I read through the instructions.
Pee.
Wait.
Future determined.
I blow out a breath, my eyes locked on the plastic stick between my thumb and forefinger.
“Now or never, Walsh,” I mutter to myself as I undo my pants and lower my ass to the toilet.
My heart races as I do my business and put the cap back on the stick. I place it screen-down and start the timer on my cell.
I’m not looking early. I don’t want any false results. I just want the truth.
You already know the truth.
I try blocking that little voice because, as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. All the signs are there. And with the way my life has been going recently, it’s almost predictable.
I don’t know what I did to piss the universe off, but whatever it was, it really didn’t like it, and it’s making sure I suffer.
For the next two minutes, I pace back and forth across my small bathroom with my heart in my throat and panic knotting up my stomach.
A million thoughts race through my head so fast that they make me dizzy. But the biggest one of all is: what the fuck am I going to do?
I swear, the second the alarm sounds, my heart plummets into my feet so fast it leaves me breathless.
I cancel it, plunging the room into silence.
The weight of what I’m about to discover presses down heavily on my shoulders.
Just turn it over.
My hand trembles violently as I reach for the stick resting on the edge of the sink.
Memories from that night come back to me in vivid detail.
It’s not the first time I’ve thought back to it. If I’m honest, I replay it at least once a day, and more often than not, it’s while I have my vibrating friend in my hand and I’m alone in bed.
Every time it’s over, I chastise myself for using him as my spank bank material, but I can’t help myself. It was hot, and it gets me off in record time. But one thought of the way he had mepinned against the wall with his thick cock buried deep inside me, and I’m gone.
He shouldn’t still have that power over me. It’s been three weeks. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since. Okay, that’s a little bit of a lie. I have seen him many, many times.
Stupid social media algorithms.
