Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
E MERALD
I haven’t left the bedroom. Saint hasn’t come home tonight. Things are weird between us. It’s like Saint can’t comprehend that it’s perfectly normal for a person to grieve the loss of a best friend.
Milena knocked what feels like days ago, telling me that pizza was here, but I ignored her. My eyes are puffy and red. My mouth feels like cotton balls have been shoved into it. My skin is pale and resembles ash. I grip the edge of the sink on the bathroom as I stare at myself in the mirror.
Ronnie is gone.
Really gone.
There’s no getting him back. No more conversations about stupid things that don’t matter. None. Poof. Everything’s gone.
It’s really hitting me now.
It’s like the initial shock has dissipated, leaving only sadness behind. And it’s a sadness that’s consuming me.
I lurch as the world spins. This is the third time I’ve lost what little remains in my stomach. I press my forehead to my arm as I suck in a deep breath.
“Em?”
“Yeah?” I croak.
“Um, we’re heading to bed. Do you…need anything?”
I turn to look at my siblings all clustered in the doorway and looking at me.
I shake my head, not trusting myself to open my mouth and not puke my guts again.
“Do you have a tummy ache?” Jaspar asks softly.
“Did you eat too much candy?” Giulietta asks, the caring lilt to her voice pulling at my heart.
“No, you dummies, she’s sick.” Milena sighs at them. “We’ll leave you be. If you need something, come let me know.”
I bob my head, and it’s a mistake. I swallow thickly, breathing harshly through my nose.
“Is Saint sick too?” Jaspar asks Milena.
“Is that why he’s not come home tonight?” Giulietta adds.
“I don’t know. C’mon, I’ll tuck you in,” Milena replies. Their conversation fades, and once more, I’m left by myself. I suck in another gulp of air before sinking to the ground. I sit there on the cool floor for a second, trying to get rid of the taste of bile from my mouth.
I didn’t think I’d cry so hard for Ronnie. And I hope Ria’s okay despite all the times she’s been mean to me.
With another deep inhale, I push to my feet. Maybe I’m just starting my period on top of all of this. That’d explain everything—my overwrought emotions and feeling sick. But it seems pretty late in the month for that.
What if…
I freeze.
My head feels congested and heavy, but I mentally go through the days of the week, counting as I go. That’s not right. It can’t be right…
I risk moving into the bedroom slowly to grab my phone. I flip open the calendar.
“ Fuck .”
My word is a whisper as my phone clatters to the ground.
My legs turn to Jell-O, and I just barely make it to the bed as I sink down. This is bad. This is really bad. This is freaking bad.
I mean, we haven’t even talked about it. We were safe. Always. Right?
My head spins, and I feel bile rise up my throat again, but I manage to swallow it down. This doesn’t mean anything. I could just be late. I’ve been busy and stressed with everything going on. I mean, that’s it. That has to be it. This is just down to stress. There’s no reason to jump to conclusions. My period has been crazy before. A week or two missed when the stress at home and with my mom got too overwhelming. This is just like those times.
I have a spare pregnancy test somewhere. I always keep a couple, just in case. I remember once having a scare when I was with Ronnie, and having to go out in the middle of the night to buy a test didn’t help my nerves, so I resolved to always keep a spare test at home in case the need ever arose again.
I rummage through a box in the closet. I never got around to unpacking it. I find spare cosmetics, winter sweaters, various paperwork, and then what I’m looking for—the pregnancy test.
I pray Saint doesn’t come home just yet. I don’t know if I can face him right now. I get that Saint’s not good with emotions—maybe that’s why he doesn’t understand what I’m going through. I mean, Ronnie’s dead . He was one of my best friends. Yeah, we didn’t work out as a couple because he was truly shit as a boyfriend, but we were best friends before that, and we eventually managed to go back to being best friends after that as well. It’s like Saint doesn’t get that guys and girls can just be friends. I know we have history, but I was one hundred percent over all of that.
I know I’d also be this upset if Jacquetta and Nicki, my other best friends, died. I would be just as distraught. Would Saint show such a lack of understanding then as well?
I sigh and head into the bathroom. “Okay. Just pee on the stick. It’s not hard,” I murmur to my reflection in the mirror, trying to psych myself up. If the mental gymnastics I did are right, I’m almost two weeks late. It’s just stress.
The timer is set, and I lean against the wall, tapping my foot up and down. Every little noise in the house makes me jump.
Three minutes is an eternity when the only thing you can think of is how it better not be positive. Because I don’t even know if I’m ready for a baby. I mean, one day, but not now when I have my siblings to look out for and when my relationship with Saint is so up and down. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. When did it even happen? I’m on the shot, so it seems impossible, right?
I’d say it was an Immaculate Conception, but I’m not the religious type, and Saint’s not a god even if he thinks himself one. Gnawing my lip, I try to think back. We’ve been fairly active—perhaps a little excessively—but it’s hard not to give in when he knows just how to play my body.
The buzzer of my phone fills the space, and I scramble to shut it off quickly. Holding my breath, I wait to hear if anyone heard it blaring. My chest heaves. One second. Then two. I relax slightly and close my eyes.
“Okay, it’s gonna be fine,” I whisper, trying to will my eyes to open. I lift an eyelid a millimeter at a time.
The room spins.
“Oh, come on!” I grip the vanity edge.
Two little blue lines stare up at me, and I think I’m going to be sick again.
My hands shake as I toss the test, box, and instructions into the trash, tying up the bag. I gnaw my lip as I go downstairs and dump the bag into the bin outside. I need something to take the edge off. To keep me from going crazy. And I know exactly what’s going to help. I can’t drink. I can’t sneak a cigarette. But I can do the next best thing.
I grab my purse from inside and tell Dario that we need to go out again. And as we drive, I let my mind race over what my life has turned into—something I have absolutely no control over.
I let out a shaky breath. The good thing about New York is that there’s always a store with late hours. This outlet mall is no different, and people are still milling about. I slip into the crowd of evening shoppers, Dario and another one of Saint’s men tailing me.
I’m like a junkie in need of a fix. I watch as people move in and out of the stores with their purchases. Off the bat, I know exactly which stores will make good marks. The security is slow here, too busy trying to stay awake or looking at their cells.
It’s like riding a bike. I lick my lips and slip into a store after telling the guys to wait outside. This place mostly sells women’s clothing, but I head toward the small area off to one side. It has a sign with building block icons and the word ‘Baby’ splayed across it, making my heart rate triple.
But I’m just here to browse.
I’m just here to get that adrenaline rush.
I’m not going to steal anything—because I’ve stopped that.
I start browsing, eyeing the cameras and reflective mirror in the corner. A lot of stuff has no security tags, which would make it easier if I was going to steal something. But I’m not going to steal .
My fingers brush the soft onesies in pastel colors. They’re cute. Little giraffes, bears, and elephants decorate a lot of them. My hand skims past them. I stop when there’s a onesie with chess pieces and puzzle pieces decorating it.
Should I buy it?
Probably…
But I’m not buying it.
I dart a look over each shoulder before picking up the onesie. Then I turn toward the entrance like I’m looking at the other racks. My fingers smoothly slide the outfit from its hangers, I slip the onesie into my spacious purse, and the hanger is discarded by hooking it onto a messy sales rack.
My body is thrumming to life as I move out of the store.
I keep an eye on the security as I make my way down to the fancy boutiques, but they don’t even pay me any mind. Easy. And I feel alive.
I know what I’m doing is completely wrong. But the only thing I can think is that the anxiety bubbling and boiling over in my stomach has settled. And for the first time since I woke up today, I feel like myself.
Well, myself plus one .