Author's Note: I never intended for this story to go beyond the first part. And I definitely never thought I'd be working on it again. But sometimes, inspiration strikes at the oddest times. I'm not sure if this is a fitting part for the series, but I'm putting it out there anyway. And I'm not sure if this is the last part or if it will go on. Unpredictability is the spawn of ingenuity. ( I have no idea what that means, but it sounded really poetic for a moment.) If you notice the pattern, I'm trying to keep this dialogue free and I hope that doesn't get too confusing for any of you.
Part 3
The thin ledge of the bathtub supported her shaky figure, cold porcelain tingling the back of her legs. Something about the smooth, familiar surface was comforting in such a stressful moment. And only she could know the stress she was feeling right then. She resisted the urge to rearrange the bottles of shampoo and bodywash on the ledge. She figured that doing it once was ok, twice was indecisive, but three times was bordering on obsessive. Instead she began picking imaginary lint spots off of her shirt. Anything to bide the time.
The shrill chirping of the timer sent her to her feet, her nervousness causing her to stumble and whack her left shin on the nearby toilet. She bent slightly at the waist and brushed off her leg out of habit. But she didn't notice the pain. Her eyes never left the small object not three feet away that would either calm her nerves or send her down a spiral of anxiety even she had never achieved. Five minutes had never seemed like an eternity before, and she longingly desired to return to the days when five minutes was five minutes. She slowly walked towards the counter, previous jumpiness turning to slow caution. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the small white stick laying on the vanity and pulled it into her eye line.
The double line wasn't there.
She breathed a long sigh of relief, releasing the pent up nerves and exhaustion. Freeing herself from that last little gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was negative, just as the previous six tests had been. She began taking a test every three days after that night, and was oddly not comforted each time the results came in. She refused to believe she could have been that stupid, that careless and gotten away without consequences. Perhaps her unwillingness to accept her fate resulted from her belief that she needed to be punished. Deserved to be punished for letting nature take its course. Punished for giving into something she could not control. Because caving in to her human desires was not justification for what she did.
Most girls at least waited until they were late before they worried. They didn't think twice about the consequences that may come until they were upon them. But she started worrying the minute she walked out his door. Worrying from the moment she realized she couldn't remember if they had been safe. But seven negative tests, an emergency contraceptive pill, and hundreds of prayers later, her fears were laid to rest.
Tossing the stick and the empty box into the trash can on her way out, she silently closed the door behind her. Closing the door on her fears and her anxiety. Closing it on her stupidity and naivety. But never on the memory.
She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the waves that always hit her when she thought of that night. Denying the same mixture of emotions that attacked her senses. His movements were engrained on her thoughts, memories that did not die or fade with time. Her ears tingled with every sound uttered between them as they tangled in his bed. Her skin still burnt in the places where lips met flesh and resistance met persuasion.
Willing herself to let it go, demanding that her senses comply, she opened her eyes cautiously. She stared blankly around her apartment, her mind free from any thought. She was glad her mother had convinced her to live on her own for a year, because it was times like these she was glad she didn't have anyone to make fake conversation with.
She looked quietly at the room before her. It was the same, yet different somehow. The books were still neatly lined on the bookshelf, arranged perfectly in order of descending height. The throw pillows still adorned both sides of the sofa against the wall. A pile of clean laundry sat in the middle of the room, as it always did the day after laundry day. It looked like it did every other day she had lived there. But it wasn't the same. This was no longer just the apartment of a studious, yet eccentric college sophomore. A sophomore with a niche for strong coffee and indie music. It wasn't just the apartment of a brunette who strongly resembled her mother in both word and action. It was also the apartment of a flitty college coed who had one night stands.
She used the plural of the word, even though she knew that the event had only happened once. But she couldn't entirely convince herself that it would always be a one time thing. For if put back in the same situation, she wasn't sure what the end result would be. Everything she had thought she knew about herself vanished in that short span of hours, and she wasn't certain of anything anymore.
And that uncertainty was killing her.
She had prided herself in always being in control. Always knowing what move someone else was going to make, even before he knew what move he was making. She was never taken by surprise, never blindsided by an unforeseen event. She was always prepared. Heck, the boy scouts would even be jealous of her readiness.
But not that day. That day, something was different. Something had snapped and she was caught off guard. She wasn't expecting to see him. Wasn't expecting to fall back into that familiar banter that left her scrambling for something witty to say. Wasn't expecting to be so nervous around him that she kept drinking. And definitely wasn't expecting to follow him home and sleep with him.
But she had. And she would forever have that black cloud hanging over her head.
She jumped when she heard the knocking on the door, frantically looking around the room as if she needed to hide what she was doing Belatedly she realized that her thoughts were not etched on her face, nor were her clothes emblazoned with a bright red letter indicating her sins. Her hand went automatically to smooth down her hair, the other straightening her shirt to appear as normal as possible.
She started towards the door and was halfway there when she was met by the sight of her mother. It was customary for the older woman to use her own key to get in, after all, she had nothing to hide from the woman who knew her inside and out. Even though they lived hours apart, it gave her mother some security knowing that she held a key. Assuring herself that if she could come and go as she pleased, nothing ever would happen there that she disapproved of.
They exchanged greetings like two old friends, followed shortly by a series of hugs and laughter. It didn't matter how often they saw each other, it was never often enough for either. A lifetime of sharing a house with only the other could not be overcome with the occasional meeting when both had time. She had almost forgotten that her mother was coming up for the day, but still experienced the same feeling of warmth when she realized she had all day with her mother. They would probably do something less than exotic, like run to the grocery store and video place to make sure they had enough of a stash to last. But regardless of the lack of spontaneity, every minute with her was worth it.
She headed instinctively for the coffee pot, knowing that she needed to get a pot started soon to accommodate two addicts in the house. Had she remembered her mother was visiting she would have had it already made, poured, and waiting for her to waltz through the door. As it was, she apologized for the lapse in judgment, only to suffer a teasing "tsk" from her mother. Her mother then began rambling about the dozen or so cups she had had on the drive and her refusal to make a stop at the rest area because that added time onto when she would at last see her daughter. While she relayed the story, one leg was crossed over the other and she was hopping around the kitchen in an effort to prolong the inevitable. With a stern glance and instruction from her daughter, she readily excused herself and dashed toward the bathroom.
She heard the clicking of the door from the kitchen, shaking her head at her mother's stubbornness and refusal to give in to human need. She remembered a time when she was just like her. Remembered when she was able to deny every want and need of the human condition. But lately, she found herself giving in more often than she fought back.
All of the sudden, a thought came flooding back to her. Her head snapped up, and her eyes darted across the small apartment to the bathroom door. She wished at that moment that she had been blessed with the extrasensory gift of x-ray vision. For she needed to know what exactly was transpiring. Her mother was inside. And so was the test. And the one thing she wanted more than anything at the moment was that one would not find the other.
She forgot what she was doing at the moment, her attention focused on the door across the apartment. Freshly made coffee poured out of the machine onto the potless burner, sizzling as the liquid met the hotplate. She stared blankly at the door, holding the empty pot in one hand, unable to think or move. She was oblivious to the coffee pool now forming on the counter and running down the cabinets. The liquid continued to leak, now dripping off of the counter and splashing in the pool on the floor.
And as quickly as she had been snapped into the trance, she was out of it. The scalding coffee burned her toes as it dripped and splashed on the floor. Practically throwing the pot down, she unplugged the machine and reached for the stash of paper towels under the sink. She frantically tore off sheets and started wiping up the liquid. She began to do some damage control on the mess she had made, cursing herself for not following her mother's advice to buy a machine with an automatic shutoff.
The mass of wet paper towels on the floor grew and soon she was surrounded by them. She was nearing the end of the roll and thankfully the mess was almost taken care of. She took the last few sheets and dried up the remaining coffee from the front of the cabinets. She was kneeling in the midst of it all when her mother re-entered the room and calmly called her name.