Shatter (True Believers #4)(42)
Author: Erin McCarthy

As I walked to class, I wished I had a vice. Heavy drinking. Smoking. A drawer with a secret stash of marijuana.

But my only vices were science and self-absorption.

So I went to the lab, where I felt in control, and where the numbers always added up.

Where the equation could always be solved.

* * *

Waking up came slowly, a groggy sensation of wanting to focus, but being unable to keep my eyes open. When I did manage to push off the need to slide back into unconsciousness, I wasn’t sure where I was. It was a bedroom I’d never seen before, and for a second, given how sluggish I felt I wondered if I were hungover, if I’d passed out in some random dude’s bed.

But then I realized that I wasn’t partying the night before, that it wasn’t last year. That I had been with Jonathon and I’d woken up bleeding. He’d taken me to the hospital. Then to his place.

I was in his bed, alone, and I was no longer pregnant.

Tears stung the back of my eyelids and I squeezed my nose, which felt swollen. Then I ran my hands down over my flat stomach, unable to comprehend that what had been there no longer was. I’d gotten used to thinking of it as a little seed inside me, growing, and while I hadn’t felt anything, obviously, I had mentally imagined it there. Now . . . nothing.

I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted Jonathon. Pushing the blankets back, I sat up and swung my legs around. I felt a little cramping, but nothing bad. Nothing like what I imagined I should feel. I could feel the sticky trickle of blood, though, down onto the pad I was wearing, and it skeeved me out. I would never take tampons for granted again. Yanking the blanket around me and tucking it under my armpits so I was wearing it like a dress I went into the other room.

And found Jessica, not Jonathon. “Jess? What are you doing here?”

She was sitting at the kitchen table, books spread out in front of her, though she was playing with her phone. “Oh, hey.” She stood up and came over, wrapping her arms around me. “I’m sorry, Kylie bug. I’m so sorry.”

I nodded, throat tight. “Where’s Jonathon?”

“He had some nerd alert uber urgent lab thing to do so he called me. He didn’t think you should be here by yourself in case the bleeding got worse.”

“He left?” I pulled out the chair next to her and sat down, surprised, then annoyed with myself for being surprised. “What time is it?”

“It’s after eleven.”

“Oh.” My stomach growled. I was hungry. Seriously, ravenously hungry. It seemed so absolutely cruel and wrong that eight hours after a trauma and suddenly my body was all over it. Almost like the baby had never happened. I wasn’t over it. Not even close. “I’m hungry.”

Jessica looked surprised. “We can either go back to my house or we can go out to eat. I don’t want to go digging through Jonathon’s fridge. Unless you’re comfortable with that.”

“No. Not really. He has a roommate. I don’t know whose food is whose.” In fact, this was my first time at his apartment. It was small, but it was definitely a notch up from an average undergrad guy place. He had real furniture, a stylish white table with trendy red chairs. The sofa was low and modern, a charcoal gray, and there was a graphic print hanging on the wall over it.

“Are you up for eating out? That doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

But I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I feel . . . fine.” Which was a lie. I felt empty. My stomach empty. Uterus empty. Heart empty.

But my stomach I could fill. “I’m starving. I want waffles and eggs. Let’s go to the pancake house.”

Jessica looked dubious, but she nodded. “Okay, sure. If that’s what you want.”

“Just let me go to the bathroom. Oh, and I don’t have my purse. Can I pay you back?”

“I’ll just treat you. Think of it as a birthday gift.”

I paused, standing up, pain slicing through the numbness I’d been feeling. “I’d forgotten it was my birthday. Well, I guess I’ll always remember my twenty-first. Unlike most people who will only have pictures but no memory of what happened. Mine is burned into my brain.” I gave a little laugh that sounded hollow and bitter. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Oh, honey. This sucks.”

Jessica clearly didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? “Yes. It does.” I went into the bathroom and used the toilet, surprised at how little bleeding there actually was now. Washing my hands, I stared at myself in the mirror.

A year ago I was in love with Nathan, giddy, confident that life would always offer me what I needed and wanted. I believed in happy endings and that kindness was always rewarded. Now, seeing my face pale, skin bruised under my eyes, mouth downturned, I wasn’t sure what I believed in any more. Why did I keep getting kicked in the gut? It was like every time I got back on my bike and started pedaling again, a car hit me.

This time I wasn’t sure I could get back on.

* * *

I sucked down the coffee greedily while I waited for the breakfast I had ordered. Waffles, eggs, bacon, orange juice, and hash browns was probably overkill but my mouth had watered as I studied the menu so I went for it.

“We had sex twice last night,” I told Jessica. “I know they say it doesn’t matter, but I feel guilty.”

Jessica was dumping sugar into her coffee. “That can’t have anything to do with it. Thousands of babies are born every day healthy and I seriously doubt all of those parents are remaining celibate. I seriously doubt any of them are. You can’t do this to yourself.”

Oh, I could. And I was. I knew Jessica was right, but I couldn’t help it. I just felt guilty, like I shouldn’t have had those cups of coffee, like I should have eaten more, shouldn’t have had sex, especially not again after that spotting. Maybe I wasn’t qualified to be a mother. Maybe I wasn’t qualified to be with Jonathon, who was smart enough to know I shouldn’t drink coffee.

“I just feel like there aren’t a lot of things I’m good at, you know? But kids I’m good with. I’ve always felt confident that I’ll be a good teacher, and a good mother. But now it’s like I’ve failed at the one thing I should be able to do.”

“You’re lucky that you just got out of the ER or I would kick your ass for saying something like that. You did not fail. And there are a lot of things you’re good at. Jesus Christ.” She threw her balled-up empty sugar packet on the table. “You will be an amaze balls mother when the time comes. If Mother Teresa had a miscarriage would you say she was a bad mother?”