Chapter 2
Ihad brain cancer. Or cancer of the eyeball. Or maybe my ex had given me syphilis, and that was affecting my vision? Considering I’d broken up with him twelve months ago, when I caught him being spanked in his apartment by the building’s Armenian maintenance man, syphilis could be an option. I probably should’ve gotten checked way back then, but I’d been heartbroken, and honestly, poor as hell.
I regretted it now, because obviously whatever venereal disease that fuck had given me had migrated to my brain. For weeks, my eyes had been blurry. No, blurry wasn’t quite the right word. I’d gone to an optometrist in the mall, who’d told me I had perfect 20/20 vision. But that couldn’t be right, because there were strange disturbances in my sight. Little streaks of light danced through my vision, as if my eyes were on a slower shutter speed, creating stars.
It had been the optometrist who’d told me I should go and see my family doctor. He’d suggested what I was describing was maybe some kind of synesthesia, though it didn’t present with colors like it normally would.
My doctor had transferred me to a specialist, and at this point, I was pretty sure that if I didn’t die of some kind of brain-melting disease, I’d die of starvation, because the medical bills were killing me. Not even Java Llama’s decent benefits covered MRI scans, which was what the specialist had suggested during the previous appointment.
Luckily, I didn’t have to take the day off work, instead setting my appointment for after two, but I still had to get a rideshare to the doctor’s office, and it was all eating into my meager savings.
I thanked the driver and stepped out in front of the shiny neurosurgeon’s office. It was a sleek building made of walls of glass. It was obviously architecturally designed, all sharp angles and economy of space, and held all sorts of specialist offices, from brain surgeons to podiatrists.
A couple walked out in front of me, smiling sweetly at each other. He squeezed her hand, and the light flared around them, the streaks of light wrapping around both of them like a ribbon, and their faces transforming into someone else. Something else, with longer faces and bigger teeth. They looked like monsters.
“Argh!” I screeched, scrabbling away, shaking my head. When I opened my eyes again, they were staring at me like I was the monster, these two perfectly human-looking people.
Fuck.This was bad.
Tears welled in my eyes, and I felt my lips form into an apology, but the couple were hurrying away, the man’s arm wrapped protectively around the woman’s back, like he was ready to throw himself between us if I attacked.
I was going crazy.
I couldn’t breathe as I slid into the elevator, relieved when no one hopped in after me so I could rest my head against the glass of the mirrored wall and breathe.
I’m going to be okay.
I’m going to be okay.
I hit the button for the floor I needed, and deep-breathed the entire trip up.
When I stepped into the reception area, the receptionist frowned. “Name?”
“Wren Mahone.”
She looked at her screen, then nodded. “Take a seat.”
I sat beside the water cooler, grabbing a paper cup and filling it. Gulping down the ice-cold water, I filled it once more. And then again. And again, until I was feeling more alive.
I suddenly realized I was sweating, my skin cold and clammy, but my insides felt like they were on fire. I stared down at the water as if it might hold the answers to why I felt like this, but all I saw was my reflection and the long fluorescent lights.
“Wren?”
I dragged my eyes from the water up to the concerned face of Dr. Kash. He was around sixty-five, but he had barely any lines on his face, which told me he either had really good genes or a great hand at Botox.
I stood, dragging my backpack up with me. There were coffee stains on my shirt, and my hair was probably a wild mess, but I didn’t care. I walked through to his office, with its beige furniture and great view of the river. He waved at the same hard leather seat I’d sat in last time.
“Take a seat. How are you feeling, Wren?”
I tried not to cry. I really did. I’d even forced a smile onto my face, but someone hadn’t given my tear ducts the memo, because tears started pouring down my cheeks.
Dr. Kash handed me a box of tissues. “So, not well?”
I shook my head. “It’s getting worse. I feel like I’m losing my mind.” I didn’t tell him about the fact I thought I’d seen monsters exiting his building earlier. I didn’t want to get thrown in a padded cell.
He looked at the screen of his fancy laptop, a frown on his face. He winced, and my stomach fell out of my butt. It must be cancer. A brain tumor. Something bad.
“Well, the blood test determined a significant possibility for what’s causing your visual disturbances.”
“Is it a tumor?” I breathed, and when he shook his head, I couldn’t help the relieved whoosh that blasted from my overfilled lungs.
But he was checking for parasites too, right? Sometimes, they could lodge in your eyeballs or in your brain… Ew. Ew, ew, ew! “It’s not parasites?”
Dr. Kash looked almost amused. “Well, yes, some would say so, by definition.” He chuckled, though I failed to see what was amusing about a hookworm in my eyeball.
Though surely the optometrist would’ve seen a worm in my eyeball, right?
“You’re pregnant.”
Obviously, that meant the parasite had to be in my brain. That sounded bad. Did they do surg?—
Dr. Kash’s words suddenly permeated my panicked fog. “Excuse me, what?”
“Pregnant. We won’t know exactly how far along until you have a scan, but your blood work suggests you are definitely pregnant.”
I shook my head. “Um, no.”
“I know this might be a surprise?—”
I shook my head more vigorously, making the lights dance and sway like a disco. “Not a surprise, Doc. An impossibility. I haven’t had sex in… a long time. Like, twelve months.”
Dr. Kash was frowning again. “You haven’t had any late nights out in the last few months, where you may have imbibed a little too much alcohol? Any time you might have been sexually active?”
The only time I’d even partied in the last three months had been Camila’s farewell. Her boyfriend had gotten an acting gig in LA, so they were moving to the West Coast. We’d gotten rowdy, but definitely not black-out drunk. I remembered most of the night… didn’t I?
Even as I thought it, doubt crept into my brain. Maybe there were a few blank spots, but I’d remember fucking someone, I was sure of it. I wasn’t that type of person. I was more an I’ll take your number and call you kinda girl, and sometimes I called and sometimes I didn’t. Sure, more often than not I didn’t these days—after my ex and the Armenian—but that still didn’t mean I’d hook up with a person and not remember it. Right?
Fuck, maybe I had. Well, obviously I had, because the doctor was looking at me expectantly. I realized my head was still shaking from side to side. “I don’t know. I don’t think so?”
Jesus fucking Christ on a Christmas cracker.
“I’m not trying to be insensitive, Miss Mahone, but regardless of how, the fact still stands that you’re pregnant, and I believe this may be causing your visual hallucinations. It isn’t unheard of, though exceedingly rare. I’m going to rule out any conditions that may have this effect with an MRI, and then I’ll transfer your case to the perinatal mental health department of Brighams. Sometimes, it can be a sign of pre-eclampsia, or even gestational diabetes, so I’ve referred you to an obstetrician in this building. I’ve also had my receptionist book you an appointment with the ultrasound techs the next floor down, just to confirm.” He smiled softly at me. “In case the tests were wrong.”
“Is there a chance of that?” I couldn’t keep the hope from my voice.
He shook his head. “No.” He stood, coming to stand around the other side of his desk. I felt shaky; my whole world had been not just turned upside down, but pile-driven into the ground. “I know this seems like the end of the world, but I have to tell you, Miss Mahone, that the rest of the tests are perfect. You’re a healthy, pregnant young woman. There are no signs of anything else to worry about, and I hope that eases something in your mind.”
I snorted. Eases something in my mind? Fuck, he’d just dropped a baby on me, and he hoped that not having a brain tumor made me feel better? I still managed to mutter, “Thank you,” through my incredulity.
I stood, and he ushered me gently toward the door. “You’re welcome. See the receptionist; she’ll give you the bill and also direct you to your next appointment.” With that, he stepped back into his office, closing the door in my face, like he hadn’t just fucked me right over.
Fuck.
FUCK.
The receptionist handed me a bill that made me want to cry again, then pointed over at the elevator. “Level two. Your appointment is in forty-five minutes.”
And that was how I found myself sitting in a waiting room, surrounded by six pregnant women, one guy with bronchitis, and a lady who was jigging around like she was about to pee herself. Each one was encased in imaginary streaks of lights that hurt my eyes.
I looked down at the bill in my hand and opened my bank account app on my phone.
Then I cried yet again.