Page 126 of Mafia and Gold Digger

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.

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