Page 5 of Shattered Soulmates

Bachelorette Party

Hot pulses of fire throb through my abdomen as I vomit again. Hands thread into my hair as Syn gathers it, securing it with a tie.

"Are you pregnant, babydoll?" she coos, running her hand up and down my back.

I spit and lean back against the wall, sliding down. The pain is excruciating. Tears stream unabateddown my face as heat engulfs me, and a fine sheen of sweat clings to my skin. "I don't think so," I pant, leaning forward and pressing my head to the cold tile floor. "I think I’m dying." The agony intensifies, like flames consuming me.

I ride the waves of pain for about thirty minutes, alternating between writhing on the floor and dry heaving in the toilet. A cold, wet towel is pressed to my face, giving me a modicum of relief. Someone offers me a couple of pain capsules, but they’re useless; I can't swallow them. I’ve never felt anything like this in my life.

Syn calls out to the living room. "Hey, Rach. Can you come here?" Rachel is the medical assistant and our closest thing to a doctor.

She appears at the bathroom door. "Paisley, are you okay?"

"No!" I croak.

"Are you pregnant?" she asks.

"I don't think so," I manage to gasp, thrashing on the floor in pain. My limbs tremble uncontrollably.

"I'm going to go to the med bay and get a pregnancy test, along with some pain meds. If you’re pregnant, it could be a tubal pregnancy, and we may need to fly you out."

"She tried to take a couple of pain capsules, but she couldn't swallow them. I doubt she could have kept them down,"Syn volunteers.

"I'll get an injectable pain med. That should help,” Rachel assures her. "And something for nausea."

The queasiness is finally easing, but I’m still weak and trembling. Rachel reenters the room and sits down beside me.

"I have a couple of medications here,” she explains, holding up the two syringes in her hand. “One will settle your stomach, and the other is for the pain. The combination should knock you out for a couple of hours.”

“Okay,” I agree weakly. “Thank you.”

She takes an alcohol swab to my thigh. After cleansing the area, she administers the injections, one after another. Swiping again with the alcohol, she says, "There, that will help alleviate your symptoms."

I nod, nearly comatose by this point, so worn out by my ordeal. Thankfully, the fire has subsided, along with the debilitating pain. I’m not sure why, since the medicine hasn’t had time to take effect yet.

"I need you to take this pregnancy test before you pass out," Rachel orders. She and Syn help me back up,steadying me as I shakily provide the urine. It takes all my strength to keep myself upright.

After I pee on the stick, I place it on the sink. My shirt rides up, as they steady me while I pull my underwear and shorts back on. "Holy goddess, Paisley!" Syn shouts. "What have you done to your stomach? Did you fall?" We freeze as Syn lifts my shirt, revealing my entire torso, covered in black welts. Everything clicks into place. My stomach sinks with a different sensation. Betrayal. I recognize these symptoms now.

I attended a teacher's continuing education seminar about a month ago in Stone Mountain City. During the week-long conference, we were inundated with information. With my eidetic memory, I can vividly recall Dr. Skye Roberts’ PowerPoint presentation. As the foremost authority on Cheating Mate Syndrome (CMS), she explained it to us, showing stats, photographs, case studies, and symptoms. Reflecting on it, I realize I’m experiencing the same exact signs. Miles is cheating on me at his bachelor party. My heart shatters. I can't believe this!

"Well, you're not pregnant, thank the goddess." Rachel's voice snaps me back to reality, echoing in the stillness of the bathroom.

Standing there before the toilet, my friends holding me up, my stomach begins to roil again. Red-hot flames shoot through my veins, unrelenting. Fire snakes up my body.Oh goddess, no! Once would be a mistake. But a repeat? That's no mistake.

Dr. Roberts said that with every incident of cheating, the innocent mate endures another assault, and their body deteriorates.

How? How could he do this to me? To us? He said he loves me.

Everyone warned me about him.

Every.

Single.

Person.

But did I listen? No!

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