But I know. Deep down, I know exactly when it started.
One night.
One anonymous, reckless, stupid, perfect night. I was a virgin before that, always too scared of something going wrong. I never even considered that one time would be the time.
It feels like my body is closing in on itself.
I jump to my feet, because if I sit still, I’ll go crazy. I pace my bedroom, nearly tripping on my backpack. I yank the covers off the bed, shove them back into place, then do it again. I can’t stop moving.
I’m not. I’m not. I can’t be.
My hands are shaking. I keep checking my phone.Maybe the period tracker will re-calculate and tell me I’m just being dramatic.
It doesn’t.
I grab a pair of sweatpants and pull them on over my pajamas, the fabric bunching at my ankles. Hoodie goes on next, sleeves way too long. I find my keys, slide my feet into sneakers, and fumble with the laces. All the while, my brain is screaming at me to stop, to sit down and wait until morning.
But I can’t.
I step out, careful with the door. The house is dead silent. Outside, the streetlights flicker in the fog, making everything look washed-out and empty. I get in the car, my hands barely steady to get the keys in the ignition.
For a second, I just sat there, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, eyes closed.
I can’t do this.
But I have to.
I make myself back out.
It’s not a long drive, but it feels endless. Every stoplight is red. Every homeless guy shuffling down the sidewalk looks up at me like they know exactly what I’m doing. At one point, I have to pull over and dry heave into a fast-food napkin, but nothing comes up. I’m running on empty now.
The pharmacy is in a strip mall by the highway, the only place that’s open at this hour for desperate people…drunks, stoners, panicking idiots like me. There’s barely anyone in the parking lot, which is a relief and also somehow makes it worse. My car looks weird and obvious parked right up front, like a neon sign advertising, “SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH ME.”
I walk inside, and the place is so bright, I feel like I’m getting smacked in the face with a flashlight. The floors squeak under my shoes. There’s an old lady at the register who doesn’t look up when I come in, and a bored-looking security guard slouched by the door. I keep my head down, hoodie up, and head straight for the family planning aisle.
My hands won’t stop trembling. The ‘feminine care’ sign looks radioactive in these lights. Right next to it, the rows of white and pink boxes. Pregnancy tests. I stand there forever, staring, trying to remember what kind is supposed to be the best. My brain is shot to hell, but I grab the First Response Digital, the name screaming “99% accuracy” in bold pink letters right on the box.
I look down and realize I’m holding it so tight the box is dented. I stuff it under my arm, grab a random pack of gum off the shelf so I don’t look so obvious, and practically run to the register.
The old lady at the counter barely looks at me. I can’t tell if that’s mercy or if she doesn’t give a shit. She scans the test and the gum, doesn’t say a word, pointing at the card reader.
If she knows, she doesn’t let on.
I fumble my debit card out of my wallet and pay. The whole thing takes less than a minute, but it feels like forever.
She bags the box and slides it over to me without a smile. I snatch it, mumble a thank you that comes out more like a croak, and get the hell out.
Back in the car, I rip open the bag, to make sure it’s really in there. The box looks way bigger up this close. All that glossy white plastic and aggressive pink. “YES+” or “NO-” is what the screen is supposed to show. My brain can’t even process which one I want.
The gum falls out of the bag and bounces onto the floor. I don’t bother picking it up.
For a few seconds, I sit in the empty parking lot, staring at the box in my lap. I’m breathing like I’ve just ran a marathon, lungs burning, fingers throbbing from how tight I’m gripping the test.
Maybe it’ll be negative. Maybe this is all just some bad joke. If I wait a little longer, my period will show up, and I’ll laugh about this in a few weeks.
But I know.
I fucking know.
