Page 323 of Phobia
I’m on the pill. It’ll be OK.
I check my menstrual app again: one day late. Reviewing my history tells me this isn’t unusual. Once, I was four days late. That doesn’t help, though, because this situation is different to any other because there was no condom.
I reach for the search bar on my phone, then force myself to stop. I already know the statistics by heart.
Two days late.
I feel sick, but I’m confident that’s just because I’m freaking out. Only one thing will help.
“Babe!” Kelly screeches down the phone. “God, I wish you came on this cruise.”
“My period is late,” I blurt out.
My ever-patient cousin knows the drill. “OK. How late?”
“Two days.” Bile rises.
“Naomi…” She pauses, planning her response. “Unless something happened in Milan with some sexy Italian you didn’t tell me about. Then there isn’t a problem, is there?”
Shit.How can my cousin provide reassurance when she has no clue what’s been going on? We only communicated by text when I was with Dom, and when she asked for a photo, I either sent something from the internet or resurrected one from years ago.
“Naomi?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
I hate lying to her, but she can never know what happened. She’d skin both Ant and Dom alive—or die trying. “I know… Ignore me. I’m just being stupid.”
“No, you’re just being you in all your lovely and complicated glory.”
I force a laugh, but all this conversation is doing is making me feel worse.
“It’s Saturday morning. Take yourself off to the shops, or, better yet, call a friend to go with you. You do have them, you know?”
“Course,” another lie. I hardly ever make plans that don’t include Kelly. “Gotta go. Have an amazing time. Speak soon.”
Hanging up the phone, I grab my shoes and bag. There’s only one thing I can do to set my mind at ease now.
***
Pee on stick. Wait three minutes.
It sounds simple, but my body won’t cooperate even though I’ve drunk three glasses of water. Reaching for the taps, I turn one on, and after another minute, the pee flows.
Bladder empty, I put the test to one side and wash my shaking hands: my eyes focused anywhere but the sink.
There’s no blood. It’s all in my mind.
I’m only doing this to stop myself stressing.
It will be negative.
Even in my head, the words feel like a lie. “I’m not pregnant.” No. Saying them aloud doesn’t help, either.
I look back at the digital test, which, after only thirty seconds, is still deciding my fate.I can’t look.
Opening the door, I rush into my bedroom and then stop dead.
