THIS CAN'T BE happening.

A bead of sweat trailed down my temple as I gripped the cool, ceramic countertop of the bathroom sink with white knuckles. Bile threatened to rise up in my throat but I fought against it desperately, trying to maintain even the slightest shred of my composure.

"Fuck," I whispered, vision blurring.

But the haze of tears couldn't fully obscure the array of cheap, plastic tests scattered across the surface of the counter. Two lines. All of them.

Pregnant.

A cold panic flooded my chest, spreading quickly until everything was frozen. My breath came out in shallow gasps as the room began to spin.

No, I thought fiercely. No, this isn't right.

My fingers trembled and I reached for the nearest test, clutching it tightly and bringing it close to my face, as if I'd read it wrong somehow. It was useless. There was no way I'd misread four tests. I felt like I'd fallen into a nightmare as I thought about the past few weeks. The constant fatigue, the way I'd been beginning to feel as though my body wasn't mine.

Now it all made sense. I was sharing it.

Days ago, Claire had planted the seed in my brain with a passing comment. I was sure she had been teasing and she hadn't thought much about it, but it stuck with me. Enough that I'd surreptitiously visited the pharmacy and grabbed some tests, wanting to be certain. I'd told myself it was just paranoia, and all I was doing was putting it to rest. I thought there'd be no way I was actually pregnant.

Because if I was, it would ruin everything.

I swallowed a gulp of air, still trying not to retch, when a memory flashed through my mind from a couple of years ago.

Will and I had driven out to the lighthouse on a humid summer day. I'd brought my old Fujifilm with me and snapped dozens of photos, mostly of Will, until he'd protested and said that I needed to be in them too. Later, when the sun had gone down, we'd sat huddled on a picnic blanket, as close as possible.

"Do you ever think about having kids someday?" he'd asked.

"Not really," I'd said.

"Do you want to?"

There'd been a pause. I was afraid he wouldn't like my answer, but I was honest anyway. "I don't think I could do it."

Will had looked puzzled. "Why not? I think you'd make an amazing mother."

"I'm selfish," I'd admitted. "And scared. So many things could go wrong. . . I don't want that responsibility. Ever."

He was quiet, avoiding my eyes. Nausea had twisted in my stomach. Maybe this will be our downfall, I'd thought. It was certainly a big deal if we weren't on the same page.

"What about you?" I'd asked, when it seemed like he wasn't going to say anything else.

"Maybe," he murmured, still not looking at me. "I don't know. I guess I always imagined being a dad someday."

A wall had gone up in the tiny space between us, and I felt desperate to knock it down. I'd taken his hand in mine, squeezing it gently, relieved when he met my gaze.

"I just want to be with you," I'd told him. "Always."

He'd offered me a small smile, squeezing my hand back. "That's what I want, too."

I thought about that day every now and then, wondering if he'd just been trying to placate me with his final words. It was a subject we'd avoided since then, as if we knew it could ruin us to the point of no return. Ignorance was bliss, after all. But it couldn't be ignored any longer.

I was certain Will would want to keep it.

It wouldn't matter to him that he was still in school, that we had no money, that I was supposed to fly across the world in a few months for my dream photography internship. He'd drop out of school, get a job, give up everything he was working toward. He'd probably ask me to marry him.

I wanted to stay with Will. Of course I did. But I didn't want it to be because of this. I didn't want him to be with me out of obligation, even if this was what he wanted, too.

A gentle knock on the door made me jump out of my skin.

"Honey bee?" Pop called through the wood. He was the only one home. "Is everything all right in there?"

The cord of panic wound around my throat tightly. I turned on the tap, then grabbed the plastic bag from the pharmacy, beginning to shove all of the pregnancy tests inside.

"I'm fine!" I called, voice breaking.

Before I could hide the bag, or throw it in the trash, I was overtaken by nausea. I fell to my knees, dropping the bag, and vomiting into the toilet. My body ached, my face breaking out in a cold sweat, eyes watering. I retched again before I got a slight reprieve. I closed my eyes, slumping against the floor and resting my cheek on the cool tile, breathing hard.

"Vivienne?" Pop asked, concern tightening around my name. He rarely called me anything other than honey bee. "You don't sound fine. I'm coming in."

"No," I shouted hurriedly, springing upward and diving for the fallen bag of tests. But he didn't hear me over the sound of the still-running faucet.

As the door opened, all I could do was shove the bag in the corner by the toilet brush. I moved positions so I was blocking it from view, and Pop entered the bathroom, looking stricken.

"Oh, dear," he said, eyebrows creasing at the sight of me.

I shot him a weak smile, my heart racing. "I guess I'm not fine," I admitted.

After turning off the tap, he stepped forward, reaching out and placing a cool hand against my forehead. He hummed in disapproval.

"I must have caught a stomach bug," I said feebly. I couldn't even imagine telling him what it actually was. Morning sickness. The words made me feel like I was going to vomit all over again. "Hopefully it'll pass soon."

"Poor thing," he murmured, brushing a curl out of my face. "What can I get you?"

"I think I just need to sit here for a minute."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." I forced another smile. "Besides, you probably shouldn't spend too much time around me. I'd hate for you to get sick, too."

Despite my words, Pop grabbed a washcloth, turning on the water again briefly until it was soaked. He wrung it out, then crouched, pressing the damp cloth to my forehead, and I closed my eyes against the tears that were beginning to well.

"You can tell me anything, honey bee," he said quietly. "You know that, right?"

I stilled, keeping my eyes shut. Surely there was no possible way he knew the truth. Swallowing, I gave him a tiny nod. "I know." I took the cloth from him, clearing my throat. "Seriously, Pop. I don't want you to get sick."

With a sigh, he straightened out slowly. "Let me know if you need anything."

His footsteps retreated down the hallway, and I waited until I heard the television start up in the living room. I rose to my feet shakily, grabbing the bag of tests and shoving it under my sweater. The nausea had passed, and I washed my hands and face. I gargled some mouthwash before hurrying to my bedroom.

After Murphy had scurried inside, I shut the door firmly behind me. I buried the bag of tests at the bottom of my trash bin. My heart was still pounding. I paced back and forth restlessly while Murphy wriggled onto my bed. He watched me for a while, but eventually drifted off to sleep among the blankets.

I stopped my pacing and faced the full-length mirror. My complexion was pale, and there were bags beneath my eyes. I didn't recognize myself. Lifting the hem of my sweater, I brushed my trembling fingers across my stomach, unable to process that something was growing inside. Something I didn't want.

How far along was I?

I angled myself slightly, imagining what it would be like if I let it continue to grow, what I would look like as my stomach stretched and my organs shifted. I inhaled shakily, feeling light-headed, as two potential futures rolled out in front of me.

The first: telling Will, canceling my trip, going through with the pregnancy, getting married and raising a child.

The second: terminating the pregnancy, living my life the way I'd intended.

What would Will think? Could I keep this from him? What kind of person would I be if I did?

I felt like I had lost my mind, like it had left the moment I saw the first positive test, and wouldn't ever be coming back.

Voices carried from somewhere in the house, but it wasn't the TV. I froze when I realized Will was talking to my grandfather. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was the first time in our relationship that I didn't want to see him.

"It's been a while, William," Pop was saying warmly. Pop always called him William.

"It has," Will agreed. "Viv and I should treat you to dinner soon."

Pop laughed, and I crept closer to my bedroom door, pressing my ear against it. Maybe he'd tell Will I was too sick for visitors.

"That would be lovely."

"Speaking of, is Viv home?"

Please, I thought. Please send him away. Just this once. I immediately felt guilty.

"She is," Pop answered. "But she seems to have come down with the stomach flu."

"She has?" Will asked, his tone laced with worry. "I guess that's why I haven't heard from her today."

Another stab of guilt.

I sulked toward my bed, crawling under the covers, careful not to disturb Murphy, knowing it was only a matter of time before Will made his way to my room.

Their next exchange was muffled, followed by the sound of footsteps on the creaky hallway floor, then a gentle rap on my bedroom door.

"Viv?" Will called softly.

I hugged a pillow to my chest, nerves tingling in my fingertips. "Come in," I croaked. I didn't even have to try to sound unwell.

The door slid open and Will slipped inside, shutting it behind him. A frown of concern was already etched into his features, and he approached me quickly, crouching next to my bed.

"Hey," I murmured, trying for a smile.

"Hi," he returned, pushing a curl behind my ear. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know," I said, forcing some lightness into my voice. "Never been better."

He grazed my cheek with his thumb, and I swallowed. "I hate when you're sick."

"I'm sure it'll pass soon," I lied, squeezing the pillow tighter, as if having something to hold onto would keep me from falling apart.

In my mind, I pictured telling him the truth, imagined my lips forming the words, I'm pregnant.

But I couldn't do it.

Even the thought was enough to send me into a complete tailspin. Instead, I watched him, taking in the face that had grown so familiar over the past few years. The innocent, crystalline eyes that were trained on me, currently round with worry. The tousled brown hair, the angular facial features. He'd aged a little since we met, though not by much.

He was still boyish. Still young. Still just a kid.

So was I.

We weren't ready.

Internally, I felt a vice clamp around the truth, sealing it away. There was no way I could tell him. Not yet, anyway. Not like this. I could hardly even think straight. I just needed time to process everything, to decide what I wanted to do.

And what I was willing to sacrifice.

---

told you it might be sooner than tomorrow!! not gonna lie, i am really feeling like THAT bitch right now. y'all are eating good. i haven't written this much in forever, and it feels really nice.

please please let me know your thoughts on the chapter, i would love to hear them <3