The Fake Girlfriend

Chapter 2

t w o

 (zach)

              I lay, practically bathing in a pool of my own sweat, sweating and panting and instantly regretted ever drinking alcohol. My head was somewhere else and whatever thoughts I possessed seemed like a foreign language. I was drifting in and out of unconsciousness when I looked over to the digital clock hanging against the pale walls. 

              It was quarter to ten. I'm sure as hell never going to go back to sleep with this annoying throbbing sound filling my eardrums. The stinging sensation seemed to worsen each second, I needed aspirin.

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((r o s e))

 

           This wasn't my typical Sunday night, I thought as I arrived at the doors of Joe's Pharmacy. Particularly because I was shopping for pregnancy tests at night which, as dishonest as it sounded, weren't for me but my friend Mila Preston.

              We lived in that type of tight-nit town that everyone knew everyone and grew up together; though you'd think we all got along and were like this one big happy family, no. If we were the E4 sit-com Desperate Housewives, then yeah maybe. But here, really we all spoke behind each other's backs and the only real foundation of our community was the gossip supplied by the richer kids that trickled onto us poorer kids (the normal ones).

              Which is what brought me to risking my —already low— esteem for Mila, my best friend.

            Mila's parents are one of the wealthy acclaimed couples in this town. Even though we'd been friends since Year 7 I still had no idea what high-earning occupation her dad worked, but whatever he did, he earned some serious cash. Mrs Preston, on the other hand, didn't work because why on earth would anyone want to work if their husband's pay-check could feed two states in America? 

              Call us paranoid but a trip to the pharmacy meant there'd be rumors of pregnancy floating around the lovely, endearing town of Bath, London if she was seen by a common gossiper. Unlike Mila, I was virtually a nobody. Just that girl with no interesting background except the fact she's attending a substantial Academy earned by hard-earned money. Gossip about nobodies weren't exactly intriguing.

           As I entered the pharmacy, a young brunette lady at the cash register offered me a kind, welcoming smile and I regarded her with a smile. According to her name-tag she was called Sasha.

             I relaxed when I noticed there weren't many familiar faces except for Mr Iano, the town's butcher, and Miss Vines, an old retired P.E teacher who stalked young children on her front porch.

             Pacing to my destination, I couldn't help feeling judged by the cereal boxes as I walked past. I turned into the upcoming aisle; passing Miss Vines on the way and she half-smiled at me. I wasted no time deciding on which pregnancy tests I should take, since I literally could not care as long as they did the job of converting urine to a blessed negative sign. I grabbed a few then secured them under my arms before I bee-lined to the cashier.         

           The violent sound of shop doors being flung into their walls caught my  —and every shopper's— attention.

                  "Zach Hanson." I heard Sasha say under her breath.