Page 271 of Phobia
I’d laugh if I weren’t so freaked out, my churning stomach threatening to bring up this morning’s scrambled eggs.
“You are in control of your body,” she continues. “You never have to get pregnant… you can control that. And…” She lets go of my hands and releases my seatbelt. “You can do this.”
Kelly gets out of the car, and I take one last deep breath. “I can do this.” I’m about to walk into my not-cousin-cousin’s baby shower.She’spregnant. Not me. She’s happy, and I need to get my shit together so I don’t give anyone in that house more reasons to think I’m a freak.
“Yay!” Nat squeals when she opens the front door, immediately pulling Kelly in for a hug. Releasing her, Nat looks expectantly at me, edging closer, her arms still open.
Sweat trickles down my spine, but I keep my smile on my face. I’ve learned to control my outward reactions to avoid offending others, and I have my mantra.
I’m in control of my body. It’s OK for others to be pregnant. It will never be me.
“You made it,” Nat sighs as she pulls me into her embrace; her protruding bump presses against my stomach, and I fight the need to recoil.
“Of course,” I exhale, and she releases me, respecting if not fully understanding my boundaries.
Nat leads us into a room full of her friends. I was at the same school as most of them, but we’re still not close. It’s my fault. I’m not the easiest person to bond with. It’s not that I don’t like them. I just got tired of people walking on eggshells all the time and feel safer sticking to the little family I have.
Nobody wants a pity friend.
Everyone smiles, and I head over to Ellie, handing out the drinks. “Prosecco?” she asks with a smile.
Fuck, yes!“Please.” I glance around to assess the room, and when I turn back to Ellie, I almost vomit. She’s holding a baby bottle and attempting to pass it to me teat-first.
I’m sure there’s a law about serving alcohol in a baby bottle, and if not, I’m lobbying Parliament.
Hiding the need to crawl out of my skin, I ask, “Are there no glasses?”
“It’s a baby shower, Naomi. Everything’s themed.” Ellie waves her hand around the table, and I notice the rows of bottles and baby plates.
If she tells me I have to piss in a potty, I’m out of here.
It’s just a baby’s bottle; there’s no danger. I’m being stupid. They know it, and so do I. What they don’t know is that when I look at Nat, I don’t see the future cuddles, nappies, puke and love she’ll be surrounded by. I don’t see a future at all.
If this were my baby shower, I’d be counting down the days until I die. Looking at all the items someone else would use in my absence and doing my best to force the image of my bloodstained corpse—my future—as far away as possible.
Ellie clears her throat, and I focus back on her confused face. She doesn’t understand, and that’s fine. This has always been my burden to bear.
Accepting the bottle, my hands sweating, my heart breaking, I take a deep breath.Think of the prosecco.
Gritting my teeth and making it look like a smile, I take the bottle and slowly move the teat towards my mouth. I can feel the flush creeping up my neck, and I feel like I’m going to gag.
I can’t.
I take a deep breath. It’s not like I’ve not had worse things in my mouth. The most rancid five minutes of my life were spent sucking Jason Barker’s cock when we were eighteen. He hadn’t showered for two days, but it was more appealing than the prospect of him ejaculating inside me.
Fuck!Shouldn’t have thought about Jason’s crusty cock…
I slam the door to the bathroom and silently wretch over the sink. I got as far as the rubber teat touching my tongue, and it was game over. I just needed to suck on a baby’s bottle—that’s all. Maintain a semblance of normality for a couple of hours, and I couldn’t even do that.
A few minutes, and I’ll get it together. I’ll face them all, take the fucking teat off the bottle and drink my prosecco like an adult.
I look myself over in the mirror and do my checks: my poker-straight hair sits perfectly above my shoulders, chocolate brown with recently touched-up caramel highlights. My nude lips are smudged, but that’s easily fixed, and my shimmering peach eyeshadow illuminates my green eyes.
Everything’s as it should be because it’s how I made it. I’m in control of my body. I can do this.
“She’s got to be faking it.”
Here we go—the backlash. I walk further down the hall from the safety of the bathroom, following the sound of their hushed voices.
