Two Lines and a Breakdown
1571 Words
Aurelia’s pov
I know something is wrong the moment I start crying over bread.
Not just any bread. Garlic bread. The kind that is perfectly toasted, golden at the edges, crisp on the outside and soft enough to melt the second it touches your tongue. That kind of bread.
And yet I’m staring at it like it was the most disgusting thing on earth. This is two months after that night. Jolene and i had decided that the purse wasn’t worth going back there for. Even if it literally had my I.D and my favorite lip gloss.
“There’s too much butter,” I say quietly, my voice wobbling in a way that is completely unlike me.
Across the table, Jolene blinks slowly, like she’s trying to process a foreign language. “…You ordered extra butter.”
“I know,” I sniff. “And now I regret it.”
She continues staring, clearly waiting for the “I’m joking” line that never comes.
“You don’t understand,” I add. “It’s sad.”
“Aurelia,” she says carefully, leaning back, “it’s bread.”
I look at her, deeply offended.
“Exactly.”
That seems to be the final straw for her patience, because she exhales sharply and straightens, her eyes narrowing as she studies me properly for the first time.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “We need to talk.”
“About what?” I ask immediately.
“About why you’ve been acting like a mentally deranged dragon for the past week.”
I scoff. “I have not.”
“You cried because your tea was too hot.”
“It was.”
“And then you cried because it got cold.”
“That was a different issue.”
She points at me. “You’ve been emotional, dramatic, and irrational.”
“I have always been dramatic,” I counter.
“Not like this,” she says, quieter now.
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out, because when I think about it… she’s not entirely wrong. The past few days have been off.
Food tastes different, stronger somehow, smells linger longer than they should,and my body feels … different. Even the nausea has been unpredictable, showing up at random moments and leaving just as suddenly.
“I’m probably just stressed,” I say weakly.
“From what?” she asks instantly.
“Life.”
“That’s not specific.”
“Life is not specific,” I mutter.
She exhales, then leans forward slightly.
“Aurelia,” she says slowly, “when last did you…”
She stops mid sentence, and my stomach tightens.
“…What?” I ask carefully.
“When last did you get your period?”
Everything in me freezes.
“I don’t like that question.”
“Answer it.”
I let out a short laugh. “That is a very personal question.”
She doesn’t blink.
“Answer it.”
I shift uncomfortably. “I don’t track these things.”
“You do.”
“I used to.”
“When last?”
I wave a hand dismissively, trying to brush it off. “It’s probably just late.”
“How late?” She asks with concern written all over her face.
“…Define late.”
“Aurelia.” She snaps
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, even as something in my chest tightens.
“It’s not fine.”
“It’s probably stress.”
“It’s not stress.”
“Or maybe I’m dying,” I add weakly.
“You slept with him,” she says plainly.
“That was one time,” I argue.
“That’s all it takes.”
I let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, dying sounds like the better option.”
Before she can respond, I push my chair back and stand abruptly, the movement a little too fast.
“Okay,” I say, forcing steadiness into my voice.
“We’re not panicking.”
“I’m already panicking,” she replies, rising as well.
“Well, stop.”
“You stop.”
“I am calm.” I say with a constipated grin on my face.
“You are not calm.”
“I am calm on the inside,” I insist, even as my heart starts racing.
“You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I am not about to….”
The room tilts slightly, the edges of my vision blurring to the point that i grab the table for balance.
“…Okay,” I mutter.
“Maybe a little.”
Jolene is already moving.
“That’s it,” she says firmly.
“We’re getting a test.”
“No.” I say while shaking my head.
“Yes.” She says while nodding hers.
“No.” I say while shaking mine more viciously.
“Yes.” She says while nodding hers more viciously than mine.
“I refuse.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“This is illegal.” I say in disbelief.
“Move.”
By the time we get home, I’m standing in the bathroom staring at the pregnancy test like it’s a loaded weapon.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter.
Behind me, Jolene leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“You’re stalling.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’ve been thinking for ten minutes.”
“This requires a lot of thinking.”
“It requires you to pee on the stick.”
“Don’t say it like that.” I say while closing my eyes.
“That is what it is.”
I sigh. “This is how it ends.”
“You’re not dying.”
“My freedom is.” I say dramatically.
“Go.”
I point at her “If this is negative, I’m suing you for emotional distress.”
“Go.”
“If it’s positive, I’m suing you for everything.”
“Aurelia.” She snaps.
“Okay, i’m going.” I say as i snatch the test and walk into the bathroom like i’m heading into war, except i’m unprepared and already losing.
Three minutes. That’s all it takes. Three minutes for everything to change. I pace, overthink and regret every decision that Lef me here. The test sits on the sink, quiet and peaceful like it doesn’t to ruin or rewrite my entire life.
“…Maybe it’s broken,” I whisper.
From outside, Jolene replies immediately. “It’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You’re not a scientist.” I say in an obvious tone.
“Neither are you.” She says in the same tone.
“Exactly.”
Silence settles.
“Are you looking?” she asks.
“No.” I say quickly.
“Look.” She snaps
“I don’t want to.” I say in a “duh” tone
“Look.”
“I’m not emotionally prepared.” I say while pouting my lips.
“Aurelia.” She snaps while throwing her arms up in the air.
I inhale slowly, then exhale, forcing myself to turn… I look. At first, my braindoesn’t process it, just lines, shapes. Nothing important. And then, it clicks.
Two lines, not one. Two. I blink, once, twice.
“…That’s new,” I say faintly.
Jolene doesn’t respond. I don’t look at her, because if i do, it becomes real.
“…Maybe i did it wrong,” I say quickly.
“You didn’t.”
“Maybe it’s expired.”
“It’s not.”
“Maybe…” i said as i begin pacing.
“You’re pregnant.” She cuts me off.
The words land heavily, settling into the space between us with a finality i can’tignore.
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Okay… okay, that’s funny.”
“It’s not funny.”
“No, it is,” I insist, shaking my head.
“Because that’s not possible.”
“You slept with him.”
“One time.”
“That’s enough.”
“No,” I say, my voice tightening.
“No, this doesn’t make sense.”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t.”
And just like that. I’m not laughing anymore.
“I don’t even know him,” I say quietly.
Jolene’s expression softens.
“I know.”
“I don’t even know his name,” I continue, my voice unsteady now.
Silence.
“I don’t know where he lives.”
More silence.
“I don’t know anything,” I whisper, my chest tightening as the weight of itcrashes down on me all at once. My hands start to tremble.
“This can’t be happening.” But it is, already has, and there’s no undoing it. I sink down onto the edge of the bathtub, my gaze locked on the test, on those two small lines that somehow carry more weight than anything I’ve ever faced.
“…What am I going to do?” I ask quietly.
Jolene kneels in front of me, her voice softer now.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“We?” I repeat.
“Yes,” she says firmly.
“You’re not alone.”
I swallow hard, because that helps. Just a little. But not enough to quiet thestorm in my head.
I let out a shaky breath, staring at the test.
“…Well,” I say weakly, “at least i’m not dying.”
- Writer
