22. Chapter Twenty-Two
22
Wren
You’d think after a month, everything would be okay; I’d move on from the idea of Ryker and smile at the bright sun on any other day. That’s not the case. My stomach rolls with the need to puke for the third time this week as I swing my legs over my bed.
The fuzzy carpet beneath my seat does nothing to stop the sickness inside of me, and I quickly reach over, snagging the small trash can next to my bed in front of me, just in time for everything I ate last night to come out.
I groan loudly and throw myself back, running a hand over my aching stomach in the process while a small headache builds in the middle of my skull. Just like the puking, my headaches have been happening a lot more lately – it always starts when I wake up, then gradually increases throughout the day.
My phone rings from my nightstand, forcing me to lift from the comfortable spot on my bed and snag the device before flopping back down. “Hello?” I didn’t even bother looking to see who it was, but I no longer hope that it’s Ryker’s voice on the other end.
That is long gone and never coming back.
“Sweetie,” my mother says softly. “I was hoping we could get lunch together, if you’re feeling up to it today.”
This is the second day in a row she’s asked me to join her, each with me letting her know I’m not feeling well, and I’d hate to hurt her feelings by stating the same thing again. At first, when I was staying in the comfort of my house so I could cry over the loss of Ryker, I was simply saying no because I didn’t want to move.
How could everything ache from simply lacking the presence of another person? I’m not sure, but that’s what was happening to me.
Who am I kidding? It’s still happening, just not as often – I guess I can be happy about that.
Elias has tried getting me to talk about Ryker, but I’ve refused and made sure to block everything about him from my feed. I don’t want to know anything going on.
Maybe today will be a good day to spend some time with my mother. I clear my throat and sigh. “Sure, Mom, I’d love to.”
“Great! I’ll pick you up at eleven, unless you want to go later?”
I pull the phone away from my ear, glance at the time – which tells me it’s close to ten now – then shake my head against the device. “No, eleven will be fine. I’ll start getting ready now.”
After we hang up, I do my best not to stare too long at the sun pouring through my open window and slowly make my way into the bathroom. Thankfully there’s not as much light in here, which is a relief for my head, and I turn the water on before shedding last night’s clothes from my body.
The steam sticks to my skin uncomfortably, and an image of Ryker walking in to join me threatens to push itself to the front of my brain. It happens every time, with little things I do around the house, but this is where it happens the most.
That’s why my showers never last long.
Once I’ve gotten my hair rinsed of shampoo, I quickly scrub soap over the parts of my body that matter most for the day and step out before the images of Ryker take over. A good look at my reflection and I can tell there’s still exhaustion deep in my bones, but I can’t bring myself to worry about that right now.
My mother deserves to have a day of lunch with her daughter, she shouldn’t have to worry that I’ll continuously reject her invitation.
When I get into my room, I roam lazily through my closet until I find something that is somewhat presentable. I pull the thin blouse from the hanger, throw it haphazardly onto my bed, then walk over to my dresser and grab the first pair of jeans I lay eyes on.
I eye my red curls in the mirror, debating on if I should mess with them or not, and shake my head before moving over to my vanity. There’s dark circles under my eyes that my mother will notice almost instantly, so I grab my concealer to cover them up and add a small dab of lip gloss to my chapped lips.
If Ryker were to see me now he’d wonder what he got himself into getting involved with me.
Guess it’s a good thing he’s no longer involved with me.
The shirt is more slightly snug against my stomach, but I don’t think anything of it because I can’t recall the last time I wore the damn thing. It’s when I slide the jeans up my legs and go to button them that my stomach curls inside of itself with anxiety. I pull the fabric away from me, double checking that these are the same ones I wore last week, then frown at the confirmation.
How could these possibly be too small?
I shake my head and walk over to my dresser, pulling out yet another pair of jeans, but the same thing happens again. At this point, the anxiety is only getting worse and I worry I’m letting my body go without any care in the world. Before I make myself worry too much, I find a pair of leggings that will look just as good with the blouse and throw them on.
There’s a soft knock on my front door, letting me know my mother is right on time, and I hurriedly pull it open while simultaneously reaching for my knee-high leather boots. My mother eyes me curiously, surveying me, and I clam up under her scrutinizing gaze. If anyone will notice something different with my weight, it would be her, and I’m not sure I want to hear her say it aloud.
My mother clears her throat and cocks her head to the side when I straighten my spine, my boots zipped up and ready for a day on the town.
“Wren, sweetie, how are you feeling? You look a little pale.”
I sigh heavily and shake my head. “I’m good, Mom, just got sick this morning but it seems to be subsiding.”
She nods slowly, then chews on the inside of her cheek before asking, “And this has been happening a lot?”
“Uh, I guess, maybe a few times this week already?”
When I look into her eyes, noticing the question in them as she stares back, and she reaches out to grab my hand. “Sweetie, is it possible you’re pregnant?”
What?
Pregnant. That can’t be what’s going on. I’d know if I was pregnant, right?
I just had my period… over a month ago.
My mother’s eyebrows dip in concern as the blood drains from my face and I stumble back until my ass lands on the arm of my couch. Thank goodness I’ve got a small place, or else I’d be on the floor by now.
“Uh, no,” I manage to choke out, then brush a curl behind my ear. “I c-can’t be, Mom.”
This would ruin any amount of progress I’ve made in the last four weeks, or has it been longer than a month? I bring my phone out nervously and take in the date flashing in front of me, then dip my eyebrows together with a frown.
It’s been over a month, how could I have lost track of so much time?
“Maybe we can take you to the doctor, or I can go to the drug store for you?”
“Why would I need that?” I ask incredulously, like it’s the most insane thing for her to ask me. “I already said there’s no way it’s possible.”
It can’t be , I repeat to myself silently.
Instinctively, I bring a hand to stomach and run small circles over it while my mother starts toward the front door without looking back at me. “What are you doing?”
She turns to look at me over her shoulder, giving me a bright smile in the process as a way to help me feel better – which doesn’t work, by the way – and says, “I’m just running down the road, I’ll be back.”
“O-okay.” It’s barely a whisper, nothing that she can hear, but I’m sure the loud thumping of my pulse could be heard from a mile away.
I don’t move from my spot on the couch the entire time she’s gone, even when my mother comes to a stop in front of me I don’t move my gaze away from the threads sticking out of my carpet in the entryway.
This can’t be happening.
My mother snaps her fingers in front of my face, bringing me back to the present, and dangles a plastic from the tips of her fingers with a small smile. “Let’s go find out, yeah?”
I don’t have the energy to argue more with her about the results right now. She’ll see when I flip the test over and it shows I’m not, then everything can go back to normal.
Like life has ever given me that luxury before.
While I head into the large bathroom adjoining my bedroom, I watch as my mother slowly sinks onto the edge of my bed so I can pee on the stick by myself. I’m an adult, yet all I want is to cry into my mom’s shoulder and beg her not to let me do this alone.
If the results come back positive, though, I’ve got to get used to doing things alone anyway. This could be a good way to start. Instead of begging her to come inside with me, I shut the door softly behind me and take a deep breath before walking over to the toilet with shaking hands.
It’s going to be negative.
It has to be negative.
Three agonizing minutes later, I rest my hand over the stick and take a deep breath before flipping it over. A tear slides down my cheek at the sight of not one, but two pink lines, and my shoulders shake with quiet sobs while my stomach rolls with unwanted anxiety.
***
After the results, I spent five minutes throwing up into the toilet with my mother holding my hair back so it didn’t drop into the stream. Now that the rolling anxiety has passed and I’m on my way to my parent's house since I begged my mother to let me see Luna, all I can do is let silent tears fall down my cheek.
I sit upright in my seat when we pull into the long driveway and come to the top of the hill, my eyes laser in on the sleek black vehicle resting outside the house and sticking out like a sore thumb. I’m about to ask who’s visiting, but my mouth drops open like in those cartoons as I watch members of Raising Havoc step out of the vehicle.
My gaze darts along their frames, hoping that one of them is Ryker, but it doesn’t surprise me when he doesn’t come into view.
Brent, the lead singer, looks around the place with a pleasant smile on his face, while Evan, the other one, places his gaze right on me and Mom, sitting silently in the car.
I glance at her, trying to make any sudden movements as if they’ll pounce as soon as I do, and ask, “Is there a reason members of Raising Havoc are currently standing in your driveway?”
My mother swallows thickly and shakes her head so discreetly that I almost miss it, and then she takes a few deep breaths before climbing out of the car with that warm smile everyone loves. It doesn’t surprise me when the guys throw it right back to her, but I still can’t bring myself to climb out of the car behind her.
What reason could they possibly have for being here?
Brent says something to my mother, who responds animatedly, and then his attention falls on me in the car.
It can’t be good that he’s sauntering over to me with that beautiful smile.
It's not as beautiful as Ryker’s, but still beautiful.
Can my day get any more drama-filled than finding out I’m pregnant with a rockstar's baby?
Just as I ask the question, my heart drops to the pit of my stomach when Ryker climbs out of the vehicle and greets my mother with the smile I’ve missed – only getting greeted with in my dreams.
I spoke too soon.