Pregnant By My Best Friends Boyfriend ( wattys2017 )

6

Edited:
•8/17/18
•3/15/22
•11/5/24

**A Month Later**

The familiar rush of panic coursed through my veins as I jolted upright in bed, my heart racing as a wave of nausea crashed over me. It was all too familiar—a sensation that had become an uninvited guest in my life. I leaped out of bed and sprinted down the dimly lit hallway towards the bathroom, my stomach churning violently as I struggled to combat the impending urge to vomit. The previous night's dinner, whatever it had been, was about to make its second appearance.

These relentless mornings had become a cruel routine over the past two days, and today was no different. Just as I was washing my face and trying to compose myself, I heard the soft knock of my brothers, Jack and Jake, at the door. They burst in, concern etched across their faces, their casual morning demeanor replaced with something much more serious.

"Are you okay?" Jake asked, his brow furrowing as he took note of my ashen complexion.

I groaned in response, already reaching for my toothbrush, my mind too preoccupied with the nausea to muster any reassurances. "No, I feel sick."

Jake's expression darkened. "If this happens again tomorrow, you're going to the doctor," he insisted firmly, his protective instincts kicking in. My stomach twisted at the mere thought of sitting in a sterile waiting room, surrounded by sick people and the overwhelming scent of antiseptic.

The following morning, much to my dismay, the same nauseating routine reared its head. I tried to convince myself that it would pass, but my body had other plans. Before I could even gather my thoughts, Jack and Jake stood at my door, their expressions a mix of determination and worry, suddenly pushing me toward the front door. "We're going to the doctor!" they declared in unison, their voices leaving no room for argument. I was still clad in my pajamas, but my protests fell on deaf ears.

The car ride was a blur of emotions. My brothers chatted in the front seat, trying to lighten the mood with jokes and banter, but all I could focus on was the gnawing dread building in the pit of my stomach. As we arrived at the clinic, I felt a whirlwind of conflicting emotions: a sense of overwhelming relief to seek help, mingled with the paralyzing fear of what those help-seeking might uncover.

The waiting room felt suffocating as we sat amid strangers, each lost in their own worlds of discomfort. After what felt like an eternity, my name was finally called, and I stood up, trying to mask the trepidation bubbling inside me. "I'll be back," I reassured my brothers, though uncertainty lingered in my mind.

The nurse ushered me into a small, sterile examination room, instructing me to sit on the crinkly paper-covered examination table. The wait stretched on, each second ticking by like a countdown to an execution. The door creaked open, and the doctor entered, her demeanor professional yet warm. She conducted the usual examinations—checking my ears and throat, tapping my abdomen, and asking me a series of questions about my symptoms.

Then came the moment that felt like a rite of passage in every doctor's visit: she handed me a small cup, instructing me to provide a urine sample. Typical doctor stuff, I thought, trying to keep my mind occupied as anxiety clawed at my insides.

Eventually, the doctor returned with a mixture of seriousness and sympathy etched on her face. "I have good news and bad news," she began, and a bolt of panic fired through me. My heart thundered in my chest. "You're not sick," she said, and a wave of relief washed over me like a cool breeze on a scorching day. But then came the sting of her next words: "But... you're a month and a half pregnant."

Those words struck me like a freight train, the weight of them crashing down upon me. My mind raced as tears pricked the corners of my eyes, blurring the sterile room around me. I thanked her, my voice shaky, and stepped out into the waiting area, where my brothers were, their faces etched with concern.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, a web of lies forming in my mind even as the truth churned within me. "Just ate something bad," I added, hoping to distract them for the time being. They nodded, albeit skeptically, and their worry seemed to lessen, at least momentarily.

As I settled back into the car, a storm of thoughts erupted in my mind. What was I going to tell Alec and Kay? The prospect of confessing, especially to Alec—who was the only one I could think of sharing this with—was overwhelming.

*Karter: Can we meet?*

*Alec: Sorry, can't. With Kay.*

*Karter: It's important. Tell her you have to go home or something.*

*Alec: K, fine. Meet me at KZ's Ice Cream.*

*Karter: Okay, I'll be there.*

Tonight was shaping up to be one I wouldn't soon forget, and amid the anxiety and confusion, a flicker of resolve ignited within me. I had to face the truth head-on.