The question hangs there, cold and mean.
I drop onto the couch, head in my hands. Arrow’s just watching me, disappointment radiating off him in waves. For a second, I consider it. Just coming clean. The relief of not having to carry it anymore.
But then I see April’s face, the way she looked at me tonight, trusting, open. The risk of breaking that is fucking terrifying.
But I’m selfish. I want her, even if it means lying for just a little longer.
Arrow sighs. “Do whatever you want, man. But when shit hits the fan, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He grabs his guitar, leaving me with that bitter taste in my mouth.
I stare at my hands, remembering every moment. Her skin under my fingers, the way she trembled, the sounds she made.
Arrow’s words loop in my head.If what you’ve got is real, the truth won’t break it.
But I’m not brave enough. Not yet.
So, I just sit there, completely wrecked. Wondering how long I can keep this up before everything falls apart.
Chapter 11
April
I jolt awake,drenched in sweat. My shirt glued to my back, my pulse hammering out of control. There’s pounding behind my eyes like I’m coming out of a nightmare. But I don’t remember dreaming. There’s this awful, clawing heat in my gut, and it's way more intense than cramps. A nausea that hits with no warning, ugly and violent. I barely get to my feet before my stomach heaves, bile already rising in my throat.
I race into the bathroom, slam the door behind me, and crash to my knees. I grip the edge of the toilet and violently throw up. Every muscle in my body seizes until I’m shivering and empty. This time, I don’t even bother trying to keep quiet. I don’t care if the old guy next door hears me. Let my stepmom come scream at me for barfing at three in the morning.
When I’m empty, I sink back, ass hitting the floor, and let my arms flop at my sides. My heart’s still racing, clawing up my throat.
And then it hits.
I press my palm over my mouth. Not because I’m about to puke again. Because I know…I know, even before my brain will let me say it.
When was my last period?
Fucking hell.
I stare at the wall, counting backwards in my head. I never, ever screw up my pill routine. My phone alarm goes off at 7:40 a.m. every single day, even on the weekends. I’ve been so careful.
My cycle is always regular. Four weeks, no matter what. Except this time, there was no warning, no spotting. Nothing. I grab my phone with a trembling hand, unlock it, and open my period tracker app.
My last cycle started seven weeks ago.
I reread the data twice, praying for a typo.Maybe I skipped a month logging and just didn’t notice?Please? I scroll and scroll, but it’s all there, like a smug digital bitch in pink fonts. No missed pills. No missed cycles.
Oh my god.
I slap my hand over my mouth even harder, this time to muffle the half-scream that wants to come out. My whole body is shaking. My legs barely hold me as I drag myself upright. I rinse my mouth out with tap water, swish and spit, but the taste doesn’t go away.
I manage to stumble back to my bedroom, flop onto the edge of the mattress, and just stare out the window. My breath is ragged and shallow. I can’t get enough air.
No. It’s not…I mean, can it even happen like this?I took the pill. Every damn day. Isn’t that supposed to be foolproof? Sure, I’ve read the horror stories. My stepmom’s always going on about “girls these days” and “unwanted consequences,” but I always figured she was just being her usual charming self, trying to terrorize me into celibacy.
But the sick feeling won’t let go. I rock back and forth on the bed, fingers digging into my thighs.
It’s got to be stress. People get late periods all the time. Finals are coming up. The last few weeks have been insane. Classes,my family on the warpath about nothing, Ben…oh god, Ben. My stomach flips again, but I force it down this time.
Or maybe it’s a bug? Food poisoning? Anything but…yeah, anything but that.
