Page 59 of Wicked Prince

All I can do is nod and lean back against the counter again, because I suddenly don't feel very steady on my feet. The nausea that's plagued me for over a week now becomes even sharper, a gnawing ache in my gut that makes me feel empty inside. Empty and cold.

"Hey, it's okay," Anthony says, pulling me into a hug.

Before I can collect myself and insist I'm fine, the dam breaks and tears start streaming from my eyes. I collapse in his arms like a pathetic child sobbing over a broken toy, and that's how I feel right now, except my life is the toy and it isn't just broken, it's shattered.

I can't even blame it on my weird emotional state as of late, because I know this kind of news would rock my world even in the best of moods or circumstances.

No matter how hard I try, I can't stop crying, and I'm not even fully aware of how Anthony and I eventually get back over to my bed. He pets my hair, mumbling reassurances here and there. His presence feels like the only thing keeping me from falling completely apart.

And I guess it was pretty stupid to avoid him just because I was feeling off, because if he hasn't run out the door while I'm having a complete breakdown in his arms, he's probably not going to.

Once I finally manage to stop blubbering enough that I can speak, I wipe my eyes off on the wad of toilet paper I grabbed from the bathroom. I probably look like a raccoon or a mime, but either way, my outward appearance can't even come close to reflecting the chaos roiling within.

"It's going to be okay," he says for what's probably the hundredth time, putting a hand on my back. No matter how many times he says it, or how certain he sounds, “okay” feels like a foreign concept. It was elusive enough before and I can't even fathom it now.

"I'm pregnant, Anthony," I sniff, hugging myself, like that's going to stop me from being sick again. Although I'm not even sure this is morning sickness. More like complete and utter panic and despair. "I'm pregnant with Lorenzo's baby."

Just saying those words out loud causes another wave of anxiety to crash down over me, but it's with enough force that something seems to break. Numbness sets in and I latch onto it, desperate for a moment's reprieve even if I know I'll pay for it later.

"I know," he says, his voice strained as he sounds a little less certain. "I know, but..."

I can tell he's trying to come up with something. A silver lining, a word of reassurance. The fact that this situation has proven a match for his optimism just makes it even clearer how fucked I really am.

"What are you going to do?" he finally asks.

It's a question that sets my mind churning on another line of subject. I've been struggling enough to process this current moment, and that seems impossible to overcome on its own. The reality waiting on the other side of the door is something I don't even have the ability to form into a thought right now, let alone a rational decision.

I shake my head. "I don't know. I don't fucking know."

He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but I can see his face clearly enough out of the corner of his eye to know how troubled his expression is. He falls silent for another few minutes, or maybe longer. I've lost the ability to keep track of anything but the present second.

"The second line was blurry," he says as if he's had a sudden realization. "Maybe it's just a false positive."

"What are the odds of that?" I mutter.

Probably a hell of a lot less than the odds of getting knocked up the first time I had sex.

"I don't know, but... maybe you're worrying about all this for nothing," he offers.

He's grasping at straws for my sake, and as tempting as it would be to go along with it, I'm afraid to let even the slightest bit of hope edge its way into this. I feel like going through this all over again will completely undo me, and I was already hanging on by a thread.

"The box says a false negative is more likely than a false positive," I say, sounding more coherent than I should. It certainly doesn't match what I'm feeling inside.

Honestly, everything feels like it's happening around me, not to me. Like at some point, I just checked out and left my body, and now I'm a distant spectator while someone else pilots it.

"Yeah, but... it can't hurt to get a second opinion, right?" he asks hopefully.

"Where, at the campus clinic where everyone else goes?" I challenge.

"They have HIPAA laws and stuff," Anthony reasons. "Even at this school, I don't think they'd let something like that get out. But you could always go to a regular walk-in clinic if that would make you feel better."

I pause to consider it, even if the whole thing just feels so far out of reach. I don't know how I'm going to make it through the next moment, and going somewhere else feels utterly insurmountable.

"Maybe," I sniff. "But not tonight. I can't."

Anthony nods in understanding. "Yeah, I get it. But when you're ready, I'll go with you, okay?"

I look up at him, unable to help but smile even though I still feel like another wave of tears is going to come at any moment. "Thank you. Really."

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