Live, Laugh, Loathe

Chapter 10: Drew

I feel like absolute shit.

It's been two months since I fucked my boss, and things aren't any better.

At least he's stopped apologizing. But we're still weird around each other. He barely looks at me, and when he does, it's like he's forcing himself to. If I had realized that having sex would make him act like this, I would have preferred staying sexually frustrated.

Which I still am, by the way.

Yeah, apparently, being fucked and discarded by your boss isn't enough to kill your insane attraction to him. If anything, it's gotten worse. The other day, we were in a meeting where he was presenting, and I had to squeeze my thighs together as hard as possible to relieve some of the pressure in my clit. His command of the room was overwhelmingly sexy.

And to make things worse, I feel like I might be coming down with something today. I'm nauseous and achy. My boobs, especially for some weird reason. But we have a huge presentation in a couple of days, so I can't afford to miss work right now. I just have to push through.

Just before Damon and I are supposed to have a check-in meeting to prep for our afternoon, a delivery person shows up with food for him. I carry it and my laptop in, feeling a little woozy, doing my best not to faint or vomit. Without a word, I'm a little afraid of what will happen if I open my mouth; I hand him his food and take a seat.

He gives me an odd look because I'm not usually this silent despite our general iciness towards each other. My stomach is roiling, and I'm starting to sweat.

You will not puke. Drew, you will not puke. You've already had enough embarrassing moments in front of him. You absolutely will not puke.

"Is it ok if I eat while we chat? I didn't have time for breakfast this morning, and I'm super hungry."

I just nod, keeping my lips firmly sealed, desperately trying to breathe normally. But I was doomed from the beginning. There's no stopping this.

I was done for the second he opened the container, and the smell hit me. I sprint to his private bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before ralfing. Loudly. At least my hair is in a bun today.

As I finish, I feel him enter the room. I rest my head against the seat. I don't care how gross it probably is. Right now, it's cool and feels good. I hear the water run briefly and then feel a cool cloth being placed on the back of my neck. That feels nice.

But when he starts rubbing my back? I burst into tears.

"Drew." His voice is low and kind, which just makes me cry even harder. "If you're sick, why did you come in today?"

"Because," I hiccup, trying to calm down. "Because we have so much to prepare for Thursday's pitch. I can't afford to be sick right now." When I finally look at him, I see genuine concern. Honestly? A welcome relief from the cool, emotionless expressions I've been getting lately. All because I vomited in his presence.

Lucky me.

"Drew, you're no help to me or anyone else if you're sick. Go home." I know I can't argue with him. The tone of his voice is absolute. So, I let him help me up and gather my things. He even escorts me all the way downstairs, where his driver is waiting. I don't even protest when he bundles me into the back, rattling my address off to the driver. For a minute there it felt like he actually cared. It was nice.

---

Hours later, I've mostly settled my stomach and managed to squeeze in a nap. I'm still a little nauseous, so I pull out my medicine drawer and start looking for anything that might help. I'm stopped in my tracks by a completely different medication.

Oh.

Oh.

Sitting there, unopened is a box of Plan B. And as I stare, the last couple of weeks become perfectly clear.

Trying not to completely freak out, I run to my corner bodega and buy three different brands of tests. I practically throw my cash at the clerk, desperate to get home. Twenty minutes later, I stare at all three tests. And it's unavoidable. Right there in black and white.

I am pregnant.

---

For the rest of the week, I'm a robot. I keep my mind on the pitch and trying not to get sick again in front of Damon. Who has been watching me like a hawk. He knows something is up but hasn't asked yet. Which, honestly, is a relief because I don't know how I feel about this yet, and I do not have the emotional capacity to hash it out with him right now.

Finally, finally, we reach the weekend, and I'm able to shut everything out and concentrate on what I want to do about this. It's terrifying.

---

When I was eighteen, I had an abortion. I had just started college, and the boy, because honestly, we were still just kids, was not someone I could raise a kid with. I didn't have anyone besides Sofia, the woman who helped me escape my family. And by then, she was starting to rapidly age. There was no way. I would have ended up creating a miserable life for us, and I could never do that to a kid; I had spent too much of my own childhood in misery.

So, I took the only course of action I had and ended the pregnancy. I don't regret it, and I never will. Because now? I'm not helpless. I have a good job and potential for even better ones. And while the father and I might not be on the friendliest of terms, I have no doubt he will at least take financial responsibility for his part.

I'm a little surprised at how much I want this. In the back of my mind, I always imagined the family I would have one day. Happy, healthy, living a good life. Definitely not like this. But now? My head and my heart have no problem editing that dream. It's still scary, the future still murky, but it's no longer doomed.

I want this baby. And I know, this time, I can be the mother it deserves.

I can do this.