in bed, the thoughts keep plaguing me, especially the way Lex ignored me. His face, tonight, the way he avoided looking at me, the way he couldn’t even say a word to me made my stomach queasy. The images, the memories of us standing in that gazebo saying ‘I do,’ he was my husband, and it hurt like fucking hell that he had forgotten that. Now what? Do we get a divorce? Annulment? Was it actually valid?
It’s the second night I have cried myself to sleep.
I’d spend the majority of the week with Will, taking him to school, picking him up from school, taking him to the park, museum, and library, practically visiting every part of Manhattan. Nikki encourages me to take the week off since my cases are quiet, and I gladly welcome the break looking for any distraction to get me through this tough time.
Despite a tiresome week seeing every sight possible, I can’t shake how ill I feel. I barely sleep and wake up in hot and cold sweats. I blame my binge drinking for my immune system taking a massive hit.
The vomiting hasn’t stopped, so I narrow it down to Will’s stomach bug. He caught it early last week, and I’ve been around him when he was contagious. Even in my sickly state, I try to get in some time at the office until Nikki sends me home, refusing for the rest of our staff to become infected. When I try to argue, she pulls out the health and safety policy of our team, which I can’t argue with.
By Tuesday, I’m told not to even step foot in the office. I hate being home alone. It gives me too much time to think. By Wednesday, I’m going insane, and I don’t feel any better.
Sitting on the couch certain I have some deadly disease, I decide to drag my sorry ass to the drug store. I’m out of Pepto-Bismol and Advil and need something stronger to battle whatever is wrong with me.
Dressed in my sweats with my purse in hand, I wait for the pharmacist who is busy talking to a lady who looks like she’s about to pop out an elephant. I half-smile at her as she rubs her belly, complaining to the pharmacist about the terrible heartburn she’s having.
I’m not really listening to the entire conversation, but something about her piques my interest. Despite her complaint, her face glows, her long red hair has that shine, the one they always say pregnant ladies have. Her loose dress hangs comfortably over her stomach, and her ankles are as swollen as tree trunks. I wince at the thought of being in so much pain.
However, she still looks beautiful, and then it hits me like a ton of bricks laced with acid.
My period.
In a panic, I scroll through my phone unable to locate my calendar. My hands shake as I fumble through the apps, finally locating it. I go back through the months. I get my period like I normally do but my shot. Shit. Unable to calm down, I search in panic, and there it is, the reminder to get my shot over a month ago.
“Miss, can I help you?”
Staring blankly into her face, I’d be lying if I smiled and said everything’s okay. I don’t need help, not when the weight of my mistake comes crashing down like a vicious storm.
Without warning, I fall to the cold floor, my chest heaving as vomit sprays out of my mouth hitting the area surrounding me. A scurry of assistants come to my assistance with a bucket and cold towel. The voices surround me, but my body continues to shake, the heaving persistent. Gasping for air, I struggle to breathe, another person handing me a paper bag. I take it from her, placing it on my mouth and sucking in the air.
In the midst of this breakdown, I motion for my phone. With trembling hands scrolling through the screen, my vision begins to blur, but I manage to find Nikki’s number. I dial it, passing the phone to the lady beside me. She talks, panicked, but I rest my head against the hard concrete desperate to shut my eyes.
I don’t know how long I lay on the floor, not until I hear a familiar voice yelling for everyone to back the fuck up.
“Charlie, Charlie… look at me?”
Nikki is kneeling beside me, her brows wrinkling as she stares at me waiting for a response.
“Nikki,” I croak, barely able to say