Ex-change

Chapter Nine: Burden Of Secrets

"What did the doctor say?" "Is she going to be alright?" "They're still running some tests."

The voices swirled around me, muffled and distant. I couldn’t tell who was speaking or where I was. My eyelids felt like they were weighed down with lead, and trying to open them was like pushing against a wall. I wanted to move, but my limbs wouldn’t respond. Panic crept in—was this what being paralyzed felt like? My fingers tingled faintly, giving me a flicker of hope.

"I'm going to give her a shot," someone said, their voice clinical and detached. My heart pounded. I hated injections—wanted to scream and push them away—but my mouth wouldn’t open, and I felt trapped in my own body. The world around me started to blur even more, voices turning into whispers that faded into silence. Darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke up again, I wasn’t lying down. I was somewhere else—a room that felt both strange and familiar. A warmth lingered in the air, the kind that reminded me of old memories I couldn’t quite grasp. The door creaked open, and my mother walked in, her face soft and peaceful.

"James, we're home," she called, her voice light and sweet—like I’d never heard before.

Confusion twisted in my gut. James? I didn’t know any James. My mom moved through the house, calling the name again, and I followed her into a dim room with a peculiar, coppery smell. My foot hit something wet. Panic shot through me as she reached for the switch and flicked it on.

Light spilled into the room, and I froze. A man lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling beneath him, soaking into the carpet. His face was pale, eyes glassy, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, struggling breaths. My mother rushed to his side, hands trembling.

"Emily," he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. "T-take Anna and go."

My mother hesitated, horror etched on her face.

"Go," he forced out, coughing up more blood. "He's coming..."

My mom finally snapped out of it, grabbing my hand. We ran, but I couldn’t leave him. I twisted back, screaming, "Mom! No!" My voice was tiny and strained, but I kept screaming as my eyes flew open, yanking me back to reality.

Bright white light flooded my vision. My breathing was ragged, and I felt sweat beading on my forehead. Two familiar faces hovered above me—Jenna and my mom.

"What happened?" my mom asked, worry etched into her features.

I wiped my damp forehead, trying to make sense of the dream. "I... had a nightmare," I muttered.

"What was it about?" she pressed.

I wanted to explain, but the more I tried to remember, the more it slipped away, like sand through my fingers. My head pounded, and I winced, pressing my palms against my temples. Sensing my discomfort, Mom gave me a soft smile.

"Don’t worry, honey," she said. "Dreams are just dreams."

I wanted to believe her, but the vividness of it wouldn’t leave me. It felt real—like I’d actually been there. Just then, Jenna came back in, looking tense.

"The test results are out," she said, avoiding my gaze. My heart slammed against my ribs. I tried to catch her eye, silently pleading with her not to say anything about the pregnancy. Mom couldn’t know—not yet. Jenna kept her face neutral.

"What’s the result?" my mom asked.

Jenna didn’t hesitate. "Nothing serious. Just stress."

Mom frowned. "She’s never fainted because of stress before."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, grateful Jenna didn’t spill the truth. But I knew this wasn’t over. Jenna’s silence wasn’t forgiveness—it was just a delay. My secret was safe for now, but the weight of it didn’t feel any lighter.

"Emily, she will need food to recover. Can you go home and cook for her?" Jenna coaxed.

"Okay," Mom replied and left without another word, worry still plain on her face.

As soon as she was gone, Jenna didn’t waste a second—she bolted too. I didn’t know what to do, so I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, bracing myself in case Jenna came back to interrogate me.

The door creaked open again. I held my breath, refusing to move.

"You sure look like a ghost," Damien said, stepping inside. I didn’t respond, keeping my eyes shut, willing him to leave.

"Open your eyes. I know you’re not sleeping," he insisted. A hint of humor laced his voice, but I stayed still, stubbornly clinging to the illusion of sleep.

He sighed, footsteps nearing the bed. "You can’t hide forever, you know."

"Here to keep score of your wins over me?" I asked.

He clutched his chest dramatically. "Why do you have to say it like that? I am capable of empathy too."

"I don't need your sympathy or empathy," I shot back.

"I’m serious," he said, but I pretended not to hear him.

"I know how you feel. You can't just watch him with another woman and be fine."

My resolve crumbled. "And that's the problem—I shouldn't feel that way."

"Why shouldn't you? You’re only human," he said, confused.

"It was just a fling. I never actually dated him. This shouldn’t hurt," I said, angry tears slipping out.

I thought I could handle something casual when I met Eric. I didn’t expect to get attached—or worse, pregnant. I could detach from him, but I couldn’t get rid of the pregnancy—not when I didn’t want to. I already loved the tiny life growing inside me. The thought of abortion tore at me.

"Everything just sucks," I said out loud. For the first time, Damien didn’t respond with a snide remark or humor. He just stared at me, stepping closer. Vulnerability softened his face, and he reached out, wiping away my tears.

A strange feeling of déjà vu hit me, like I'd been in this exact moment before. A piercing headache followed, and I screamed, pushing his hand away.

He took a step back, forcing a smirk. "You're right. You don’t need my sympathy because you’re clearly allergic to it."

With that he left leaving me with a thickened silence of what he just said.

As if they are switching turns the door bursts open, and Jenna strode in, eyes blazing.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" she hissed.

I froze. "Tell you what?"

"About the pregnancy! You can’t just keep that from me!"

Before I could respond, Mom returned, holding a plastic bag. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes widening.

"Pregnancy?" she whispered.

Silence fell. Jenna looked at me, then back at Mom.

"Mom..." I began, but she cut me off, her face pale.

"How could you let this happen?" she whispered. Her shock turned to anger. "You’re too young. You can’t—" She stopped, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. Then she straightened up, taking a deep breath.

"You need to end it," she said firmly, her eyes hardening. "You’re not ready to be a mother. We can’t do this."

Her words hung heavy in the air, leaving me frozen, my world collapsing around me.