Page 22 of Never Really Mine
An hour later, we’re finishing up the shoot, and I’m feeling like I’m about to vomit. I am at the point where I’m not evengoing to clean up the studio when she leaves. I can deal with it tomorrow. My bed is calling me.
Another wave of nausea roils through me, and I have to swallow down the extra saliva gathering in my mouth. My forehead is clammy, a sign of impending doom. The only perk right now is that I’m currently wearing a thin bodysuit, so at least I’m not sweating through my clothes.
We finish up, scheduling a time next week to go over the images, and decide which ones she wants to have printed. After saying a quick goodbye, she’s gone.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I’m dashing toward the small bathroom, heaving the measly breakfast of a banana and toast I was able to eat into the toilet. My stomach clenches and my eyes water as I get sick, cursing my own existence the whole time. I fight the urge to lay my head down on the cool tile floor, because, gross. My eyes start to drift close as I hold myself over the toilet, threatening to give into the overwhelming exhaustion I feel.
“Marley?”
I shriek, immediately flinging my arms out in front of me in an attempt to hit this unknown person. Am I being kidnapped? This is not how I wanted to go. A hand rests on my forearm, and I kick out my leg in an attempt to break free. I know I should have locked the door behind my client, but I had other, more pressing needs.
Hopefully, my kidnapper likes an overly exhausted, sick girl, cause that’s what they’re going to get.
The kidnapper grunts, but I don’t open my eyes.
“Marley, it’s Beau!” he shouts. “Open your eyes!”
At the sound of his familiar voice, I do what he says, immediately opening my eyes and halting my attempt to maim him. “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“I came to talk to you,” he says, slumping down on the floor next to me. He leans his head back against the wall, tugging at the roots of his hair. “What’s going on, are you sick?”
I nod, leaning back against the wall again. I realize I’m still in the deep purple lace bodysuit, but honestly, I can’t find it in me to care. “I think so. I’ve just been really tired and nauseous the last few days. I probably just have a bug or something.”
Beau’s dark eyebrow raises as he glances at me. “Let’s get you home. I’ll drive. I don’t think you're in a good place to be behind the wheel.” He stands, offering me his hand. I grasp it, glancing down at the toilet with a groan. I quickly flush it, even though I know Beau has more than likely already seen the mess of vomit.
I nod, feeling slightly grateful for his presence. Driving right now sounds like the very last thing I want to do. “I need to change.” I steer myself in the direction of my office, and grab my leggings and sweatshirt off my desk. Beau follows me in, standing at the corner of my desk.
“Can you… Can I have some privacy?” I ask.
Beau hesitates. “I don’t want you to get sick or something again.”
“Beau, I’m fine.”
He raises that brow at me, silently calling me on my shit.
I groan. “Ugh, fine. Just, turn around, please?” I beg, using a swirling motion of my finger. He does, shoving his hands in his pockets, and kicking the door shut. Once I’m sure he’s not looking, I throw my sweatshirt over the body suit, and then work on pulling it down from underneath it. Now that I’m feeling a little better, I’m cold as hell, and thankful I have something cozy to climb into.
I shimmy the bodysuit off and snatch my leggings from the chair I laid them on, tugging them up my legs as quickly as humanly possible. I jump, hiking them up and over my stomach. Sudden dizziness causes me to break out into another clammysweat, and I drop down into the office chair. “Woah, head rush,” I murmur.
Beau rushes over, clasping my head in his hands. He pushes my bangs out of my eyes, his own eyes searching into mine, with such concern and care, I fear I might burst into tears.
What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t regulate my emotions for shit, feel like utter crap, and I’m so tired I could sleep for a week straight. Though, this doesn’t feel like a normal stomach bug. What could possibly be going on that I feel so crummy?
My chest grows hot, stomach turning for a completely different reason. Beau must reach the same realization as me, because both our eyes widen, and Beau’s cheeks pale of any color.
But... no. There is no way I could be. I mean… he wore a condom, and I’m on birth control. My eyes flit back and forth over his face, watching for any sort of reaction. He stands up straight, clearing his throat.
“Marley,” he grits out. “Are you,” he coughs. “Are you pregnant?”
Blood drains from my face. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it until just now. You wore a condom, right?”
He nods. “Yes, but… not right away, remember?”
“Oh god,” I say, dropping my head down to my hands. I shake my head in my hands. “I can’t be. I mean, I’m on the pill. I never miss a day.”
“You could be,” he says.
“No. I’m just sick, that’s all. We’re overthinking this, having second thoughts about what we did.” I lift my head, frantically waving my hands back and forth. My heart is pounding in my chest, a sense of panic overwhelming me.
