34. Wrinley
Wrinley
I wake with a start, sitting straight up and inhaling a large breath of air. One glance around the room and I realize I’m not at home.
Where the fuck am I?
Within seconds, I recall Axel carrying me in here and putting me to bed. I pat my chest down and lift the covers–okay, fully dressed. That’s a surprise.
I take a moment to slow my breathing and inventory the unfamiliar space.
There appear to be blackout blinds covering every window, which would explain why it’s so dark in here and I’m not entirely sure if it’s morning or night.
The space is generally sparse. One dresser.
One nightstand. One lamp. It’s cold and distant and everything I’d expect from Axel, considering he holds everyone in his life at arm’s length.
I pull the basic black cotton comforter up my body, pulling it to my nose and inhaling the distinct spicy scent of him that lingers on the fabric–cinnamon and sandalwood.
It’s heady and travels straight to my goddamn vagina like she’s been conditioned to respond to him like he’s here to take care of her like only he can.
So annoying.
My eyes instinctively roll back into my head at the audacity of her to be such a slut for him.
I look over at the nightstand to see a bottle of water sitting on top of a piece of paper.
Trainwreck–
Drink this entire bottle of water! Just do it.
And eat something. I’ll be back late tomorrow night.
The truck keys are by the door. It’s yours now.
Use it. If I find out you’ve used a rideshare, we’re going to have a fucking problem.
And don’t sit there and bitch that you can’t. You’ve already proven that you can.
See you soon–
–A
Well… he signed it correctly. A definitely stands for Asshole.
My bladder pulls me from the way too comfortable bed, but the second my feet touch the ground, the room takes a little spin, dizzying me until I’m back on my ass. I think I’ll drink that water now.
Grabbing the bottle, I take a long pull letting the cool liquid slide across my tongue and down my throat.
Okay, I don’t drink water, but that was actually enjoyable.
When the nausea follows soon after, I’m reminded that I threw up after Axel forced me to drive his truck.
I thought for sure the anxiety was driving my upchuck reflex, but being in his space, surrounded by his scent, I feel the exact opposite of anxious, so what’s my excuse now?
Fuck.
When was the last time I had my period?
Nope.
I. Am. Not. Going. There.
Eventually, I make my way to his huge ass en suite bathroom so I can do my business.
When I finish, I wander the space and let my fingers lazily slide over every surface.
This rainfall shower will definitely be put to use later.
I stop when my fingers land on the black marble that surrounds the sink and my gaze catches on myself.
Damn. I look like shit. Pulling each article of clothing off, one at a time, I take the time to really soak in the image staring back at me.
My tits look bigger and that realization makes my breath catch.
I snake my palms up my waist, over every soft curve I have until they land on my breasts, squeezing them, the skin and flesh sore and sensitive under my own touch–more than usual.
I’m no expert in human anatomy, but I distinctly recall a very uncomfortable conversation I had with my mother when I got my first period.
Wrinley - Age Twelve
“Honey, you’re not dying. I promise. You’ve just started your period.” My mothers voice is so calm as she tries to soothe me after I went to the bathroom and discovered blood in my underwear. Realistically, it’s not much, but any amount feels like the end of the world at this point.
“Are you sure, Mom?” I sniffle. “My stomach hurts and it’s never felt like this before. Not even when I’ve been sick.”
“I swear to you. This is all part of becoming a woman.” She sits on the edge of the bathtub and stretches her arms out, silently asking for me to put my hands in hers.
I’m still sitting on the toilet with my bloody underwear around my ankles.
This is so weird. “Look, your period is a rite of passage that we, as all women, have to take. And I hate to break it to you, but being your first period, this is just the beginning of the pain you may have every month when it comes time.”
She can’t be serious. Really?
My hands begin to tremble lightly in hers and a thin sheen of sweat forms in my armpits. “Like what?”
“Well, your back might hurt–your lower back specifically. Your nipples might hurt or your boobs in general might be sore and sensitive. You also might feel extra moody and have emotions that you don’t know what to do with.”
“Sounds like being a woman is not very fun.”
Her head tips forward as she laughs. “Sometimes it’s not, but the good things far outweigh the bad.
One day, when you have a husband and you’re ready to start a family, you’ll get pregnant and find that the symptoms can sometimes be pretty similar–at least they were for me.
You won’t be so unhappy about being a woman when you’re bringing new life into the world. ”
“Were you happy when you got pregnant with me?” I know it’s a silly question to ask, but it’s hard to imagine being okay with any of this.
Her thumbs rub small circles against the tops of my hands for a few moments before she squeezes tightly.
“Babygirl, the best day of my life was when I found out I was pregnant with you. You knocked my wedding day to your father out of the top spot. You are the sunlight of my life, Wrinley Anne. You always will be.”
Present Day
Shit.
I swipe my forearms across my eyes in a feeble attempt to get rid of the tears sliding down my cheeks. I don’t remember the last time I had my period. I’m definitely not bleeding now.
Continuing to stare at my reflection, my heartbeat thrums against my chest as my eyes go wide and I puff out my cheeks at the thought of a life growing inside me.
Maintaining eye contact with myself, I contract and relax my hands repeatedly like I’m trying to make sure they’re real.
Like I’m real.
Like this is real.
I remember the period talk with my mom like it was yesterday.
After she taught me how to place a maxi pad, we went to the living room and binged 80’s movies and stuffed our faces with caramel praline ice cream…
so basically, we did nothing. After that, I was too caught up in my own emotions to take the time and bond with her over something only women can.
I didn’t know it at the time, but my opportunities to just sit with her…
were limited. It sounds so trivial, but the next time I got my period after she left us…
I would have given anything to do nothing with her just one more time.
My hand moves to cradle my stomach. If I really am pregnant, what the hell am I supposed to do?
The day I became motherless, I knew I’d never be a parent.
How could I bring a life into a world that can so easily take the most important people from you?
What if the same thing that happened to me, happens to my child? It’s so unfair.
Fuck.
I have to get a test and find out for sure.
I make quick work of pulling my clothes on and head straight for the door.
I let out a slow breath when I realize my options are limited.
His truck keys are right there. I really don’t want to drive at all, let alone by myself.
But the alternatives aren’t much better.
If I call Ari, she can’t come here and I can’t go to her or I might as well tape a note to my forehead that her brother is the one and only Fallopian Fiddler.
I know I have to tell her eventually, but now is not the time.
My shoulders slump forward as I whine to myself, “Okay, so we’re doing this.”
I stumble back through the door of Axel’s…
what is this called? Whatever it is… I’m back.
I survived the drive to the drug store that was definitely within walking distance.
So, I definitely could have saved myself from an almost panic attack.
Love that for myself. If I truly am “with child”, I’m going to blame the tiny parasite for stealing my common sense right out from under me.
I kick off my shoes and shuffle back to the bathroom. It says I need to pee directly on this tiny part of the stick? The makers of these things know we don’t have the right parts for aiming right? My eyes roll as I pull down my shorts and lower myself onto the seat.
Let’s do this damn thing.
A few minutes, one pee covered stick and a wet hand later, I now know I am not into watersports. Gross. Now the stick sits idly on the counter, taunting me. This will officially be the longest three minutes of my life.
Maybe I’ll pace. That should help.
Before I can move, my phone buzzes on the counter, and to my disappointment, it’s just a text and not the timer.
ASSHOLE: saw you left the loft.
It’s a loft. Of course it is.
ASSHOLE: were you a good girl or do I have to punish you when I get home?
I could take this conversation one of two ways. Lucky for him, I’m not in the mood to choose violence right now.
ME: calm your tits. I just went to the drugstore and I took your truck like the perfect little angel princess I am.
Okay, maybe I want to choose a little bit of violence. The bubbles that tell me he’s typing appear, then disappear before reappearing once again. Axel Bradley, are you censoring yourself?
ASSHOLE: good girl. I’m proud of you. Don’t forget to christen my pillow for me.
Christ, this man’s depravity knows no bounds. I have to admit, I don’t hate him calling me a good girl, though.
The timer dings in the background, vibrating my hands at the same time, alerting me that my three minutes is now complete. I scrunch my eyes closed and pick up the weird pee stick. “Okay, Wrinley. It’s go time. Just look at it. Rip the band-aid off.”
I inhale a large breath, holding it as I let one eye slowly peek open.
A singular bold word stares back at me:
pregnant
Fuck.