She paces the band room floor, unable to sit still for even a few seconds. Her boyfriend sits nearby, holding his head in his hands. The kid rehearsing his clarinet in the front practice room throws them confused glances every once in a few bars. The clock at the front of the room ticks loudly, mocking them.
“How long has it been?” she asks softly.
“Four minutes and twenty seven seconds,” he says quietly, barely glancing at his watch. He doesn’t look up into her face.
She sighs slightly impatiently and wrings her hands in frustration.
“Babe,” he says curtly. “Calm down. Be patient.”
She frowns and bites her lip, willing herself to ignore the tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re not the one holding your whole fucking future in your pocket.”
He suddenly looks up at her and glares. “Don’t say that. This isn’t only your future, it’s mine too.”
With a silent nod, she bites her lip. Part of her is overwhelmed with guilt for potentially sharing a burden with him, but another part of her is thrilled she won’t have to go through it alone.
If that is the case. Which, you know, it may not be.
But if it is, she’ll be crushed. She will cry so hard and hate herself forever and she will hate him forever and fall deep into a pit she doesn’t know if she can crawl out of. What would happen to all of her plans, her dreams?
Just as importantly, what would happen to his dreams? Say goodbye to a doctorate in physics and hello to night school. Farewell to that Steinway and parlor she's always wanted, hello to a crap apartment on a tree street where people are shot every other weekend.
So many thoughts run through her mind at whirlwind speed.
It was stupid of them. She should have said no. He should have said no. But how could they? How could she deny him when his hands were all over her body and she could feel every muscle in his arms and his chest and, God, his lips were on hers, then on her neck…
“It’s time,” he says, crashing her train of thought. His voice is barely above a murmur and he finally looks at her with wide eyes.
She hastily reaches into her back pocket, her fingers shaking and clumsy. She drops the tiny little device to the ground and her nerves begin to jitter again as she bends down to pick it up.
One tiny blue line.
“We’re okay,” she whispers, staring at the test before staring at her boyfriend.
He gives her an astonished look. “It’s negative?”
“Yeah. It is.”
Slowly, he stands up and she walks towards him, stepping over chairs and piles of music left haphazardly around. She puts her arms around his middle, holding him close to her. He puts his arms around her as well and the two stand there together for a few minutes. She holds the plastic white stick tightly in one hand, afraid that if she lets go the little symbol will change.
“Thank God,” he whispers. “I was so worried…”
“I was too…” she tells him, muffled slightly by his chest. “I’m so glad.”
He kisses the top of her head, a rare occurence. “Let’s not do that again.”
“No, let’s not.”
The nightmare has passed, leaving it's two victims scared out of their wits in it's wake.
