Hey what's up you guys? GiLaw the Sparky here, back with another chapter of The Backstory! Why am I becoming so obsessed with this fic? X'D

Just a few notes before we get started. In trying to keep this fic as realistic as possible, I have added some real life events to the story including the Alberta fires since I pretty much established in Chapter 1 that Zoey used to live there (oops?). Also if any Canadian readers here want to help me with Canadian geography, that would be great!

Also, this chapter is pretty long so feel free to take your time with it. But I will advise you to hold out until the end because that's where things gets exciting.

Anyways, hope you enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 6

Surprise

Wednesday, June 15th, 2016

12:14 PM

Summer. The season that was supposed to bring joy and warmth and freedom . . . and I felt none of those things.

I hoovered the floor. I did the dishes. I tidied bedrooms that didn't need to be tidied. I checked the TV for anything interesting that might be happening. How were fires being handled? I was so relieved that my parents had made it out okay. I had invited them to move over to our place, but my mother had insisted they were doing good, thank God. I considered asking them to at the very least sleep over, but they were practically on the other side of Canada, with nothing but ashen trees and rubble to drive through. I noted myself to take up driving lessons so I could get easier access to them. Or maybe ask Mike if he would be okay if I got a bus or a taxi ride down. Well, I knew he would be okay. I think I just didn't want to leave him on his own.

He had been out of the house a lot lately, having scheduled regular appointments with his psychiatrist. Even though we hadn't seen any of his other personalities since the honeymoon. I would have felt relieved except it had left Mike in a deeper state of depression than I thought was even possible. No wait, I think depressed was the wrong word. I think he felt . . . lost? Confused? Forlorn? Whatever, it was, I didn't like it. I missed the sweet, cheerful, upbeat guy who was so dedicated, so loving towards me. Now, he just felt detached. Part of me reminded myself that he wouldn't be like this forever, but it was kind of hard to stay positive when you were wandering around an empty house, searching for something to do. I wish I had some friends to invite over for a house party, a barbecue, something to bring a bit of life into this place. I wished I wasn't allergic to dog hair so I could adopt a little four legged friend (or two) to cuddle when Mike wasn't there.

But everything around me was so empty. It made me feel like an only child again.

The thought of it made me sigh. It was times like this when I got what my mother was saying when she warned me about rushing into marriage. I absentmindedly wandered into the kitchen, playing around with my ring. I knew for a fact that I still loved Mike. I always did . . . I just didn't love the loneliness this whole situation was bringing me, and possibly him.

I craved affection, physical and emotional. And without any of that, I found myself craving other things. Before I knew it, I had yanked open the deluxe silver freezer door and pulled out a carton of chocolate ice cream. Just a spoonful would do . . .

12:49 PM

I can't believe I'm three quarters through a carton of chocolate ice cream. And that I was going in for the last few spoonfuls. This early in the day. I felt like a pig. And each spoonful of ice cream made me feel less like a pig and more like a pig. Even when I ate it all with a large spoon, my fingers felt all sticky. It was kind of disgusting. I flopped around in the computer chair like a blob, letting my fingers do a little tap dance on the keyboard. I checked my emails for any response for my college applications, even though I knew that responses weren't due to come until at least August. I double checked that all my applications had made it through. I had applied for the obvious choices, medicine and nursing, but also found a social care course, something about Special Needs Assistants and even things in business studies and fine arts. Anything to float the boat, really. Especially now that I knew that my parents would be struggling to return home. I noted to myself that if they couldn't visit our home, I would have to find a way to keep in contact. I knew some people could find ways to chat online and see each other's faces. It was something I had never done before- I never had the friends to do it with.

I pushed myself away from the computer, letting the chair ride back as far as it would go. As I popped another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, my foot began pushing itself off the floor so that the chair spun around, taking me with it. I watched the cream coloured ceiling, spinning, spinning, sucking on the cold metal spoon, indulging myself in the taste of the chocolate ice cream as I spun some more. I felt like such a child and I didn't even care. It was some form of mental stimulation. For a moment, it felt like a glimpse of . . . happiness? I didn't know why, but I gave myself another push around, so I could spin and enjoy the feeling more. I kept spinning and spinning and spinning, scooping out the final traces of ice cream and shoving it into my mouth like ice cold mud.

And then I started to feel sick.

I hastily skidded my foot off the wooden floor, bringing myself to a sudden halt. My cheeks bulged. I swallowed back the feelings of nausea. The oozy heavy half melted chocolate ice cream didn't exactly help. I felt the need to take a few quick breaths. I made another mental note in my head not to combine spinning on furniture with rich chocolatey goodness.

Trying to refocus my dizzied mind (thinking how much I'd fancy a pizza tonight), I pulled myself back over to the computer, wondering if this was what went on in Mike's head every time he switched personalities. I wondered how he was doing with his psychiatrist. Maybe I should sign up for my own psychology course so I could understand his MPD more. It would certainly help me be a better wife.

Wait.

Shaking my head, I plopped the now empty ice cream carton on the desk and brought my hands to the keyboard. With all that had been going on lately, I kicked myself for not looking up the damn question when I had the chance. He would be home soon. I had to do it now before he got back. I don't know why but I almost felt like I was invading his privacy for asking the question.

But I wanted to know. I had to know. I finally got the search box up. It made me gulp. I felt a rush of nausea again. And my fingers were shaking.

Fight it, Zoey. Fight it for his sake.

Taking a deep breath, I began typing my question. It was so hard to do it. If my hands weren't trembling, they felt they so needlessly heavy. My fingers kept slipping and I constantly had to go back and fix a typo. Even though I knew the search box would answer the question for me, whether there were typos or not. I think I was just stalling. Every press of the key added to that sickly feeling in my stomach. Then, puffing out my cheeks, I entered the question:

What causes Multiple Personality Disorder?

The results popped up almost instantly. Almost too quickly. As if having the answers in front of me made me want to read it less. But if I was going to be a better wife to Mike, I had to do the research. I braced myself for the worst as I began to read . . .

"Dissociative Identity Disorder is thought to be a complex psychological condition-"

I paused for a moment. I had to read back over that first bit.

It's Dissociative Identity Disorder now?

Actually, it said on the page, it was formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder. Maybe that's what they called it back when Mike was diagnosed, and he was just used to using that term. I felt another blast of sickness in my stomach. And it felt much much stronger. It was the kind of deep seeded sickness that made my eyes water and my nose all sniffly.

I gritted my teeth, clutching onto my churning stomach as I urged myself to focus on the piece in front of me. It wasn't easy at all. The nausea was creeping up towards my throat. I forced myself to try and swallow it back, wiping my runny eyes as I attempted to read the page properly:

"Dissociative Identity Disorder is thought to be a complex psychological condition that is likely caused by many factors, including-"

I'm gonna puke.

I practically leapt off the chair, sprinting at full speed for the nearest bathroom, which was quite a distance to run in this large house. I gagged almost desperately. My hand grabbed my mouth, trying to keep it in as I shoved my way into the bathroom. I made it to the toilet just in time, flipping over the seat, my legs giving way on myself as I got into position.

And I shot it all out in one big retch.

My body allowed itself to take a breather before spewing out a second load. It made me cough and left behind that awful acidic taste that burned the back of my throat. I gasped for breath. I sat there for a while, dreading a third load. I spat out any traces, desperate to get rid of the taste. I sniffed and ran my fingers through my hair, pulling strands of red out of my puffy wet eyes.

And then a startling thought crossed my mind.

How long had it been since our first night on the honeymoon?

Four weeks?

In a boost of energy, I slammed the toilet seat down and scrambled on top. I tugged down my pants and underwear. Please don't tell me that I was- No, the sight below me was telling me that we had gotten away with our intimate night (thank God). I was in the cycle. A bit late, and a bit on the light side . . . but we had gotten away with it. It must have been all the stress and loneliness from the past few weeks. Probably why I was comfort eating too. I puffed out a big sigh of relief and reached across the room for my personal bag of belongings. Never thought I would feel relief on the day I had to use sanitary products . . .

1:07 PM

"How was your session?" I asked my husband, carrying two cups of tea down to the white leather sofa and resting them on the glass surface of the coffee table. I had sweetened mine a little more than usual, but I think I was just keen to wash down that acidic taste lingering in my mouth.

"Yeah, it was good," Mike replied softly, taking his cup up. "We were talking about things I can control, things I can't, things I can do for myself while I'm in control . . . stuff like that." He brought the cup to his lips and took a small drink. "That's nice tea. Thanks."

"No problem," I responded, sitting down next to him. I eyed the bright computer screen with the empty tub of ice cream sitting on the desk far behind him. I don't think he had noticed it . . . yet.

"Is counselling making you feel any better?"

Mike lowered his cup, taking a moment to think to himself. And then he looked up at me. His eyes looked the brightest I had seen them in a long time. "It is, actually. We were discussing what might have triggered them returning in the first place. Whether they reappear or not, at least I'll be prepared either way."

I was taking a sip of tea the moment he said that. I don't know if it was the warm sweetness, what he said, or the perkiness in his tone when he said it, or all of the above; but it washed down all the feelings of nausea and sickness. I felt myself smiling behind my cup. I considered asking him what he thought might have triggered them returning in the first place, but shook off the thought when I felt my smile dropping a little. I went to share my warm smile with him when I noticed him looking at me intently. As I lowered my cup, he brought a finger to my chin and tilted up my face so he could examine it closely.

"You okay?"

I blinked almost innocently. "Yeah, why?" Not that I minded him asking.

"You just-" He brought his finger to my cheek. I relished in him touching me and leaned into his hand. "You look kinda pale."

I was always a bit on the white side, so if I looked pale, something must have been up. Well I knew what was up- I'd literally just emptied my stomach contents into the toilet. So his comment probably made sense. At least I could shrug it off knowing I had no other major worries . . . or did I? The more I thought about it, the more the cravings and the puking began to feel like more than a coincidence . . .

No. I must have made myself sick with the ice cream and the spinning and the (attempted) research. It all had to be a coincidence . . . right?

"I'm just-" My head felt heavy, so I steered it towards his chest and let it drop onto his shoulder. I think I surprised him for a moment. Just for a moment. He instinctively wrapped his arms around me, lying back onto the sofa, bringing me down with him.

"You alright?" His voice was laden with worry. He was so adorable.

I let out a moan, rubbing my head across his chest almost sleepily. "I missed you."

I immediately felt his lips on my head, his hands taking me so he could pull me up more, my head landing on the sofa armrest, next to his head. My eyes landed on his. He brought a hand to my face, brushing my hair away from my eyes.

"I missed you too, Zoey." He sighed, a sad one. I took his hand in mine, pressing it against my face, soaking up the soft warmth of his skin.

"And I know I've been making things hard for you lately. I'm sorry I-"

I shushed him softly, bringing my other hand to his one on my face so I could squeeze all of my love into it. I then raised it to my lips, kissing each one of his fingertips. In between kisses, I whispered to him "it's not your fault."

He sighed, relaxing into the sofa a bit more. I think my kisses were soothing him, and I enjoyed it that way.

"So don't apologize . . . that's my job," I added with a smirk.

Mike snorted. "Am I not allowed give a few?"

I chuckled, wanting to answer that question, but finding myself unable to come up with a clever enough answer quick enough. So I just pulled a funny face and flopped my head on his shoulder. I think we had only just settled when Mike raised his head.

"Hey, Zoey?"

"Mm?" I looked up at him. He genuinely sounded better. And it kind of excited me.

"Do you wanna go out today? I know you've been kinda cooped up lately."

I cocked my head. My first question was where would we go to? A walk through the forest? A trip to the beach? Was he offering me a trip to see my parents? But that was such a long drive away too late in the day if we were going back and forth. The first answer that came to mind was a no- I was comfortable just relaxing here with him. But then I felt a mini wave of nausea. A question crossed my mind. And I knew that the only way I was going to get a definite answer was with . . .

"A shopping trip would be nice."

3:54 PM

I tilted my head back, allowing my face to soak up the golden sun for a moment before lifting it back down and taking a sip of orange fizz. The town was buzzing with life. The blue sky and beaming sun almost brought me back to our honeymoon hut, just with more people. I grinned down at the four shopping bags at my feet, full to the brim with sewing fabrics. I think I had gotten at least five dresses worth, all for a bargain. Certainly cheaper than all the designer brands. I could do with some more dresses, I thought, as I patted down my white summer dress (homemade of course) scattered with red polka dots to match my hair and lipstick. Sitting outside this little cafe with my husband with my hair up in a dainty little mini bun . . . orange fizz, jam swiss-roll and creamy foamy cappuccino, swirled in dainty little teacups . . . I was really feeling the retro lifestyle.

Opposite me, Mike was also taking in the fresh summer air, along with a swig of cappuccino, leaving behind a white foam moustache on his upper lip. His face dropped into the cutest little dumbstruck look for a moment before he hastily wiped it off with a bashful chuckle.

"Aww, it suits you," I teased, swirling the orange fizz around in my glass like a fancy glass of wine. Jokes aside, he had gone for an open burgundy shirt, a white T-shirt underneath, beige shorts and simple grey loafers. A simple outfit but man did burgundy look good on him.

He laughed back, almost flicking his cappuccino at me. "You wanna try?" he joked, making me nearly choke on my fizz.

"Stop!" I laughed, though deep down I wanted him to do anything but. I loved to see him laughing and joking. It felt like I finally had my Mike back.

"Oh, Zoey?"

I raised my eyebrows, putting down the glass of orange just so I could have a forkful of cake and cream. "Yeah?"

"If you ever want to return to that hut from our honeymoon, or if you want to do something like that, I can arrange something. If I can't do it this year, then we can definitely do it next summer. I know there were some things there you wanted to do, but couldn't because of . . ." Mike trailed off, glancing down at the food and beverages in front of him. Though he remained silent for a while, I knew exactly what he was saying in his head.

I couldn't do what I wanted to do because of him.

I took a moment to consider his words. On one hand, it was so adorable that he wanted to make up for our lost honeymoon. But at the same time, I didn't want to be selfish. We had to set more realistic goals for ourselves and-

"Actually-" I took a sip of the fizz, which allowed me some time to think of what I was going to say. "I was thinking of my parents."

"Oh yeah." Mike straightened in his seat. "Are they okay? D- do you want to take a trip over to them, spend a day or two with them? I won't mind."

"Yeah, yeah, they're fine," I said quickly. I liked him worrying over me, but not to the point where it became stressful for both of us. "I was just thinking . . . if that's okay with you . . . would you mind if I put some of the million towards rehoming them?"

Mike blinked for a moment before taking my hand and encasing it in both of his. "Yeah, of course you can do that! They're your parents. They need your help."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Because you're the one who won it-"

Mike squeezed my hand with both of his. "Zoey, you're the one who brought me to the finale. I wouldn't have won it without you. We agreed that the million was ours."

I felt my face blushing under my makeup. I knew deep down in my heart, he would probably understand and say yes, but hearing him actually say it, feeling his grip on my hand like he was making some sort of promise . . . I loved him so much.

I had to lean in for a quick but grateful kiss. "Thanks, Mike. You're the best."

4:08 PM

I clasped onto my husband's hand, nearly swinging it back and forth like a child. I considered resting my head on his shoulder as we strolled down the square, heading for home. I ignored the looks from some of the girls my age with their crop tops and short shorts and fake tan that looked like orange paint. As long as they could see that I was happy with my husband, I didn't care. It was little moments like these that confirmed for me that marrying him was definitely worth it.

"So," I heard Mike's cheery voice above me. "Whatcha wanna do when we get home?"

I responded with a nonchalant shrug. I didn't really mind as long as we were together. I don't know, maybe we could put on a good action movie, or cook dinner together. I didn't really fancy pizza anymore. An Indian on the other hand . . .

I was so engaged in my romantic thoughts, so busy enjoying myself that I nearly forgot why we had come down here in the first place. Why I had wanted to come here. The corner of my eye caught the green plus sign passing by us. The pharmacy. I stopped in my tracks, nearly tugging Mike to stop with me.

"Sorry, Mike . . . I just need to go in there for a sec."

"Huh?"

I glanced over my shoulder at the pharmacy behind me and his eyes followed where I was looking. He raised his eyebrows. The cheerful smile on his face dropped a little.

"What do you need?"

"No- nothing major!" I said quickly. I didn't want to ruin this day. He had looked so happy. I had felt so happy. "I just need . . . girl stuff. C- can you hold these?" I nearly shoved my shopping bags at him for him to instinctively take, making him stumble back a bit. "Sorry."

"Are you okay, Zoey?" I heard that concern in his voice again.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" I laughed, and gave him a hasty peck on the cheek, hoping that would settle him a little. "It's nothing, really. I'll be back before you know it!" I was walking backwards towards the pharmacy before I even knew it.

I rushed in, my wedge sandals making loud clomping noises on the white tile floor. I checked back to see if Mike was watching. He was, of course, but as I made my way towards the women's care shelf, I think I faded from his sight . . . I hoped. I didn't want to startle him.

I browsed through the women's care section and found exactly what I was looking for. I grabbed the first box I saw. One look at it gave me another wave of nausea. And then I decided to grab a second box of a different brand, just in case. It was then I realized that I needed to pee.

I hurried over to the counter, glancing behind me again to check that Mike hadn't come in to check on me or assist me. Thankfully he hadn't. I think the "girl stuff" excuse and the kiss had gotten him to stay. I turned my focus to the young woman behind the counter. She probably would have looked really pretty if her face wasn't painted orange and if her lips weren't all pink and puffed. Her eyes were dusted dark purple, topped with thick black eyeliner and long fake eyelashes, and her shiny black hair was scraped up into a top bun. She glared at me with the two boxes in my arms. I think she may have been chewing gum.

"Well . . . how can I help ya?"

I dropped the two boxes on the counter in front of her, my shaky hand fishing out the dollar notes from my purse. The woman gave me a judgemental look as she scanned the boxes. As I handed her over the money, I braved one more glance behind me. No Mike. I gave the woman a feeble smile and asked as quietly and politely as I could:

"Do you have a bathroom?"

6:12 PM

"Oh, Zoey! Did you get what you need at the pharmacy?" I heard Mike call all the way from the kitchen.

"Yeah I did! Thanks!" I called back, gulping down what had to be my third large glass of water. I checked to see that Mike wasn't coming before tugging up my black tank over my stomach. I examined it in the bedroom mirror. Had I put on weight? My stomach didn't seem quite as flat as it could be . . .

Well I'd had a whole carton of ice cream, sweet tea, cake, cappuccino, orange fizz and all this water. Of course I was going to look a bit bloated.

But I still had so many questions, none of which I knew the answer to. Was this really happening? What was I going to do about it? How was I going to tell my parents? How was I going to tell Mike?

And what the hell was spotting? Was that what I had seen in the bathroom earlier, before we left for town? I kind of wished the woman at the pharmacy hadn't told me about it. The symptoms were all beginning to pile up and I didn't like where it was going.

I pulled a dark blue hoodie over myself, large and baggy enough so Mike hopefully wouldn't see the small but noticeable bulge on my stomach. I padded out of the bedroom, taking the large water glass with me, hiding the contents of the second pharmacy box in my pocket. I spotted him standing by the computer desk, holding the empty carton of ice cream. He raised it at me, along with a mischievous eyebrow.

"Any left for me?"

I froze on the spot. I knew he was only joking, but I felt a need to explain myself. And I didn't know how. All I could do was force a toothy smile at him as I walked towards the kitchen, my eyes on the sink. I could sense Mike watching me, and I think he knew what I was doing.

"More water?" he laughed.

"Why not?" was the best reply I could come up with. "I'm thirsty. It's a hot day."

And you're wearing an oversized hoodie.

I kept my eyes on the glass as I started to fill it all the way up to the top. I wondered how many more of these I could go through without making him suspicious . . . or more suspicious than he might already be. He was standing at the kitchen entrance, watching carefully as I waited for the water to rise right to the rim of the glass before I eventually turned it off. Trying to act like there was nothing wrong, I took the glass and took a nice big swig of it. It wasn't until I pulled it away from my lips when I realized I had gone through a quarter of it in one gulp.

"So." I nodded at my husband, trying to sound cheerful, but gasping for breath. "Whatcha want for dinner?"

Mike was frowning a little. "Are you sure you're okay, Zoey?"

"Yeah." I cocked my head at him. "Why?"

You know why, Zoey. And deep down, I think you know he might know it too.

Mike approached me and took me by the shoulders. He brought a long finger to my face, gingerly brushing my hair away from my eyes. I felt a hesitation about him. I waited for what he might have to say, wrapping my hands protectively around the pocket area of my hoodie so he wouldn't feel what I was hiding inside.

"You just don't seem like yourself today."

"Well what would be myself?" It sounded like such a cheeky question from me. I couldn't believe I was playing him for a fool too. He knew something was up. I blinked up at him, trying to look innocent as I reached over for my glass to take another "small sip" of water.

"I don't know," Mike murmured. It looked like he was trying to think of something to say that wouldn't offend me (which was impossible, but still). I waited for him as I reached the halfway point in my glass. "You seem . . ." He sighed, as he struggled to come up with exactly the right word. "Needy?"

"Needy," I repeated. I kind of got where he was going. I didn't know if grazing on sweet stuff and drinking half my weight in water counted as needy, but my behaviour all day today had probably come across as . . . odd. And Mike had noticed.

He had shut his eyes, digging his nose into my hair, his hands on my face, his thumbs tenderly brushing my cheeks. He was trying to pry it out of me.

"Is there something on your mind?"

Yes. Yes there is.

"I'm just . . ." I heaved a heavy sigh of my own. I gazed down at my feet so I didn't have to make eye contact with him. "I'm just stressed."

"Stressed?" His thumbs stroking my cheeks paused.

"From my parents," I muttered quickly. "I'm just stressed about my parents. That they're okay, you know?" It was definitely adding to my list of worries so I wasn't totally lying to him.

"Is that it?" I didn't know if Mike believed me or if I had only made him more suspicious. But he was so eager to fix it either way. "Would you like to call them or something? I know how to set up video chat."

I felt myself perking up a little, but only a little. "You do?"

"Yeah!" Mike nodded. "It's useful to have for long distance counselling sessions." He seemed much happier now, happier than me. He thought he had worked out what was bothering me and that he could help. I felt so sorry for him . . .

And I felt I needed to pee again. I felt thoughts of "finally" and "oh God" at the same time.

"That's great!" I cried, circling around my husband, aiming towards the bathroom. "I'll text them, tell them that we can do that!" I pulled away from him as gently as I could, trying to think of something that would shift his attention away from me. "Uh, shall I cook dinner tonight or-?"

"I'll do it!" Mike said quickly. Before I could protest, he added "You've been doing it for the past few days. It's only fair I do it. Anything you want or-?"

"Uh . . . Surprise me!" I called. I was practically in the bathroom and slammed the door shut with both hands. I made sure to lock it. I was bursting with anticipation, and not the good kind. I rattled the door just to double check the lock was strong enough. Through the walls, I could hear Mike opening and shutting cupboards, getting dinner on the go. A clatter of pots and pans, that suction noise of the fridge door being yanked open . . . He sounded so excited to cook for me.

How was I going to tell him?

My insides began to wobble as I pulled the second pregnancy test out from my pocket. Just the sight of it freaked me out, and made me want to go even more. Shaking my head, I dropped myself down on the toilet seat, pulling down my black shorts and underwear. I placed the pregnancy test underneath myself and let myself go.

Please don't be a plus, please don't be a plus . . .

I shut my eyes, waiting until I was finished. I think I sat there for a minute . . . maybe more. I tried to sniff back my emotion, but my eyes began to feel watery and I felt a lump in my throat. Please GOD, don't let this one come up positive . . .

I dragged myself up from the toilet seat, trying to keep my breathing steady as I placed the cap back on. The instructions said it would take five minutes to give a result. To "season," the woman at the pharmacy had told me in a real narky patronizing tone. It made me feel like such a child. But I wasn't a child. I was eighteen. But I wasn't an adult either. I didn't feel like one . . .

I hastily flushed the evidence and dropped the tester on the marble counter. I took some of the five minutes to wash my hands thoroughly with clear blue soap that looked like that gel they used for ultrasounds. It made me wince, even when my hands foamed up all white, with no traces of blue. I held my hands under the warm tap, letting it rinse down all the soap, wishing that it could wash away all my troubles. And then I turned on the cold tap and frantically splashed some of the water over my face, hoping it would wake me up in some sort of alternate universe where this wasn't all happening. But all I got was cold water on my face and some in my hairm

I eyed myself in the mirror. And then I slowly pulled my hoodie up over my stomach. It looked no smaller than the last time I had looked. I rubbed a wet hand over it and it felt kind of firm. Was that a sign? Or was that from all the snacking? I didn't even know anymore.

I grabbed a snowy white towel and rubbed my hands with it before patting my face dry. And then I remembered that I still had my makeup on. I pulled the towel away from my face, but it was too late- I had left behind traces of black eyeliner, peach foundation and red lipstick.

Crap. As if I didn't have enough stressors in my life.

I chucked the towel on the rack, only for it to slip off and fall to the ground. I tutted and ran my fingers through my damp hair. I think I should have those test results by now. Do I dare look? I clawed at my scalp, scrunching my eyes shut. I tilted my head towards the counter, refusing to open my eyes. I felt like I knew what I was going to see and I dreaded it.

I gulped. I scraped my scalp, nearly tearing my hair out. My legs nearly collapsed on me, they were wobbling so much. My breath was even shakier. My heart threatened to burst out of my chest, if not out my mouth.

Just do it.

I slowly opened my eyes. My vision remained blurred as I held myself back. My eyes steered towards the test on the table. I squinted my eyes, wanting to look and shut them tight at the same time. I blinked. And even with my eyes barely open, I could see the little pink mark on the test.

What was it?

I slowly leaned towards it to get a closer look.

. . . it was a plus sign.

FUCK!

I mean I knew it! After the first one turned up positive, I don't know why I expected any less from this one. It all made too much sense. I cursed myself for cursing, even if it was just in my head. And then I cursed myself for . . . oh my GOD, how was I going to tell Mike? I grabbed the test and nearly chucked it across the bathroom, but held myself back out of fear of causing more commotion, or even breaking the mirror opposite me. Like I needed any more bad luck.

Okay, calm down Zoey. This is your husband we're talking about here. He'll probably get a fright, but it's probably better to tell him now rather than throw it on him when he's least expecting it. He already knows something's up. Might as well put him out of his misery.

I took a deep breath, rubbing my eyes as I placed the test carefully in my hoodie pocket and edged my way out of the bathroom. Through my stuffy nose, I caught a whiff of something delicious: something warm and savoury and slightly spicy . . . My mouth would probably be watering if it wasn't for the massive lump in the back of my throat.

Who knows? He might take it well, like he did with your parents. These things happen, right? And he's always been supportive of you through everything we've been through together. Maybe he might like the idea. Would definitely liven up the house a little.

I caught myself letting out a faint little laugh as I cautiously approached the kitchen, my hands buried in my hoodie pocket. I spotted him hovering over the stove and shied away. But Mike must have been waiting for me because he noticed me from the corner of his eye and rushed over to tend to me.

"Hey, how are you doing?"

I turned away from him, but he wrapped his arms around me in a loving embrace. I helplessly wrapped my own arms around him, clinging onto him for some support. I felt my body start to tremble, my face start to crumple and my eyes start to tear up. And I think he felt it too. He pulled himself away from me, concern plastered all over his face.

"Zoey, what's wrong?" he asked nervously as I clasped my hand over my mouth, the tears beginning to pour down my face. He instinctively took my free hand and led me towards the sofa. "Sit down." It was supposed to be an order, but with Mike, it sounded like he was pleading.

I couldn't stop myself as I landed on the sofa. My stomach agonized from trying to control all the emotion. I hunched over, my knees caving in and grinding against each other. My husband was straight down next to me, pulling my body into his and I didn't have it in me to even react, whether it was soaking up the affection or steering away from it. My fingers grasped tight around the test in my pocket.

I heard the shaky voice above me frantically whispering "it's okay." I felt his body rocking me back and forth, his hands running up and down my body. It was only then I realized he had pulled me onto his lap. He was trying everything he could think of to soothe me from what I was about to tell him, the thing he didn't know about yet. All of the sweet things he did for me made it all the more harder for me to tell him.

"It's okay, Zoey . . ."

"No!" I blurted out, freeing myself from his arms, shuffling back onto the opposite end of the sofa. "I'm sorry but-" I felt fresh tears coming to my eyes and patted them down with my long flabby sleeve. "Things aren't okay."

Mike's brown eyes were shimmering with worry. He grabbed my free hand in both his hands, the way he did when I had gone to ask him about putting some of our money towards my parents. When he had said yes . . .

"Mike, you know when we went to town, and I stopped you to go into the pharmacy?"

He gave me a nervous little nod. I felt his grip on my hand tighten a little. He remained silent and patient, but I could tell he was anticipating the worst.

"Well-" I spluttered. "I went into the pharmacy . . ." I felt my breath getting shorter, the tears falling faster. Simply speaking itself became a nightmare for me. "I- I bought two b- because I wasn't sure . . . But-" I gasped for breath as my hand slid out of my pocket, slowly revealing the pregnancy test. "They both came out positive."

I raised it towards him, but it was so hard to hold it in place so it waved around in my shaky hand. Even then, Mike's face dropped, and so did his hands, slipping away from mine. It made me sob harder as I squeaked out the final words.

"I think I'm pregnant."

I burst into tears, more tears than I was already in. I dropped the test and grabbed my husband's T-shirt as if begging him for his forgiveness. "I'm so sorry, Mike!"

He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just sat there, motionless, his eyes widened, white and lost. I thought I hated the thought of him freaking out or yelling furiously at me. But this . . . this shutdown was even worse.

"Mike?" I tugged at his shirt. I got no response. I tugged at the shirt harder, nearly tearing it off as tried to get something out of him. "Please say something."

He suddenly yanked himself away from me, grabbing onto his chest, his fingers clawed. I backed away from him. He scrunched up his eyes. He gritted his teeth. He let out a gasp. It looked like he was having a heart attack.

What had I done?

I watched on in horror as he sat back up, but only barely. His back arched. He opened only one of his eyes. His lips were pursed. It was a look I immediately recognized.

"Chester?"

"Darn kids!" he snapped at me. "You think you can act recklessly like that and get away with it! Back in my day, we took responsibility for our actions!"

"I- I'm sorry," I whimpered, curling up into the sofa. "I thought-"

His arms suddenly sprawled out. He let out another gasp. And then he sat up more straight. He blinked. I found myself straightening a little too. Was it Mike? No, there was something about the look in his eyes. The way he was sitting . . . It was more feminine.

"Svetlana . . ."

He (or was it she?) stood to his feet, tall and proud, hands on hips. "Chin up now! I think the relationship between you two is beautiful! You must stand up and embrace the challenge of parenthood!"

"What?"

I barely had enough time to process what was happening before Svetlana suddenly buckled over, letting out yet another gasp and then taking up a more masculine aggressive stance. He ran a finger through his hair until it stuck back. I stiffened in my spot. The tears stopped falling.

"Vito?!"

But how? He still had his shirt and T-shirt on. I felt a fresh onset of tears approaching. What was going on?

"Ay-yo! You two were fuckin'?" He smirked at me. "Where can I get some?"

And then he bent over and gasped again. I buried my head into my knees, throwing my sleeved hands over my ears.

"No, no, no, no . . ."

I hoped saying it enough would stop what I was seeing, what I was hearing. But the brash Australian accent above me confirmed otherwise. Manitoba too? He wasn't even wearing any hats!

"Well, what do ya know? The shrimp had it in him! Thought he'd be a bit more responsible though. Even I know not to rush into it with a Sheila . . ."

"STOP!" I screeched, pressing my hands over my ears. I expected a reaction. I didn't expect . . . this. I gazed up at him, watching as Manitoba let out another gasp. Oh God. Who was he going to turn into now? I bit my lip, my eyes burning from all the tears. I soon got my answer when the guy in front of me blinked, innocent and confused. His hair sprung back up.

"Mike?" I whispered, staying where I was. I had practically cornered myself into the sofa.

He blinked again. He took a moment to observe his surroundings. His eyes swiveled around until they spotted the pregnancy test on the ground. It had landed in a way that allowed him to see the pink plus sign. And then he glanced at me.

"You're pregnant?"

I nodded shakily. "I'm sorry, Mike . . ."

He froze again and I prepared for myself for another onslaught of personalities. He had that blank look in his eyes again. It looked like he was about to have another round of what I could only describe as some sort of MPD or DID meltdown.

I watched him carefully. I prepared myself for what I might do or say. He seemed to look up at something. Was he trying to come up with something to say too? No, his eyes were rolling back. His face dropped. I was up from the sofa before I even knew myself was happening.

He fainted. Right there on the spot, he just collapsed into my arms that were there to catch him just in time. I nearly collapsed myself from the impact and the weight as I lowered and myself back down onto the sofa.

"Mike!" I cried, resting his head on my lap, watching as fat new tears spilled from my face onto his. I hoped that maybe they would wake him up, like one of those fairytale films, and he would sit up and be okay again. But his eyes remained shut. His body didn't budge.

My eyes gazed back over to the positive pregnancy test sitting on the floor. I was never prepared for a new life, and I don't think he was either.

But I think he was less prepared for the return of so many personalities, all at once.

AAAAAAAND there's a cliffhanger to leave you hanging on! If that doesn't add drama to the story, I don't know what will!

And I'll probably end up leaving it like that for a long time while I try to adult and think of an actual backstory.

Anyways, please Read and Review and check out my other stories and follow me on other sites where I am more active. And until next time, GiLaw the Sparky loves you all.