No Pills

Goodwill

*Charlie's P.O.V *

When I unlock Sydney's door, she appears desolate on her bed. She's looking into space. There is no pregnancy kit in sight.

"Charlie," she starts. I hide my trembling hands between my thighs, sitting beside her.

"Are you okay?" Her dead gaze darts to me.

I nod.

"Well, I'm not preg-nant -" There's a crack in her voice. I open my mouth to apologise, but she raises a hand to hush me. "I'm almost forty, for crying out loud."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." She breathes deeply. "Dan wouldn't make for a good father. Even... You listen more than him."

I touch her hand as she finalises," So, that's that."

"Don't worry; you'll be fine. You're Sydney, a star and scriptwriter, after all." I nudge her, teasing.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the pack of condoms. "I'm still keeping these. You can inherit them when you get married."

"They can't fit, but ok."

For three seconds, she gives me her most stupefied look before slapping my head. " Krypton! -"

"AW-" I wince." Sorry! Sure!" I scurry to the door and whirl to certify if she's just being jovial or what.

She scoffs, and then it dawns on her. "Aha, where were you? Why did you lock me in?"

I shrug. I haven't practised a coherent answer yet; my brain can still play tricks with me.

She considers my ghastly face and sighs, "Give me something, at least."

What's there to tell which won't endanger you? I ponder. Her brows furrow till I say, "Please, have I told you about the modelling...thing?"

Her frown doesn't fade. "Why would you want to model?"

"Ur, Halima's friend offered me the opportunity."

"I asked why would you -" She freezes.

I step forward. "Syd?"

"Leave."

I flinch. Her eyes turn to slits as she reiterates, "Leave."

"Ok...?" I oblige, though perplexed. Her door shuts before she laughs. She laughs like Sil. When the apparent reason dawns on me, I reach my room and push it to the back of my mind.

What matters is that she's okay. Perhaps I'm delusional. I should rest. I try to. I can't.

Enough of this. I get out. Nightmare-car is not outside. I set out on my board. I am a feather.

*
*

At the skatepark, I see his board in the air and run, only for his mate to land with it.

"Yo, Charlie?!" Roon pants. I halt, hoping the distance between us is enough for him not to realise my paleness.

"Leo told us you're ill," he says, "Are you better now?"

I shake my head. "Where is he?"

"He's dancing at some studio."

"Dancing?"

"I know, right?" Roon sighs at my confusion. "Sometimes, it's like: 'Yo, leave some talent for others!' Then other times, it's: 'Don't you wanna go home?' "

I frown. Fortunately, Roon cuts my trance with a suggestion. "Wanna go there?"

"Yes, please."

Roon snorts that, leading the way. We enter his car, and he drives us to a bustling multipurpose building twenty-eight minutes away. Inside, we ascend many stairs to reach a transparent wall. A foreign pop song echoes as I try to pinpoint Leo. Many dancers are moving and reversing on beat, and Roon is too excited; only their water break helps me spot him.