After I’m done, I go to the sink and rinse out my mouth, before grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with cold water. I press it to my neck, seeking relief, and then I let myself slide down the wall and sit on the floor, panting and exhausted.
It takes a few more minutes for my stomach to stop roiling, and for me to cool off a bit. But the strangest part is that as soon as the nausea disappears, the hunger returns and my stomach starts growling like I didn’t just spend ten minutes in the bathroom vomiting my guts out. Groaning, I get myself up from the floor and make my way to the laundry to toss the washcloth into the hamper. I don’t want to leave anything lying around to attract Denise’s unwanted attention.
I head back to the kitchen to clean up my mess. One thing’s for certain: I’m not eating any sausage right now or in the near future. So I toss the sausage I started cooking in the trash, and put the rest of my ingredients away. Then, I rinse out the skillet and then put it in the drying rack. I’m sure I’ll be able to drink juice at least.
But something’s not right because after I pour myself a glass of OJ, as soon as the acidic pulp hits my stomach, it flip-flops again, and I have to rush to the bathroom for a second time. What is going on? Bile comes out, and I’m left panting and exhausted once more. My face looks pale, and my mouth tastes awful.
Still retching a bit, I grab a washcloth and douse my face and neck with cool water to help myself settle down and feel better. At least I have the day off at the Red Bean because there’s no way I could make it through a shift like this. I just need some rest, so I decide to get some sleep in an attempt to rid myself of this weird stomach bug. Because that’s all it is, right? It’s just a virus that’s going around. I’ll be fine after a bit of rest and relaxation.
Unfortunately, when I wake, I’m not feeling much better. I stretch and open one eye to see what time it is, and to my shock, the alarm clock says that it’s one in the afternoon. I jump out of bed hastily, reaching for my clothes. Oh shit, I’ve got a term paper to finish and a project to work on for school.
But I still feel exhausted. Wow, this bug has really done a number on me, and maybe a shower will help me wake up so I can get into a more productive mood. Heading into the bathroom, I blast the water in the stall to let it heat up, and then open the cabinets under my sink to grab a towel. The first thing that catches my eye when I open the cabinet are my tampons, and I stop for a moment, a thought crossing my mind. Wait. This is the same box of tampons I bought more than two months ago, when they were on sale at Quickie Mart. The same unopened box of tampons that I haven’t used for months, ever since I started dating Jack.
A cold chill runs down my spine and when I stand and look at myself in the mirror, my face is ghostly white. This cannot be happening. Not when I’ve finally found a man who seems to truly enjoy being with me. A man who already has a grown child and a bitter divorce under his belt. A man who very likely, does not have any interest in starting a new family as an older parent. No. This can’t happen.
I turn off the shower and rush back into my bedroom to grab my cell off my nightstand. I pull up Libby’s name, and shoot her a text message.
I need to talk to you 9-1-1. I know you’re working today, but it’s an emergency.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I hold my phone in my hands, bouncing my legs up and down while staring at the screen, willing my friend to reach out. When my phone starts to ring, I jump and nearly toss it on the floor. It takes a second for my hands to stop shaking so I can answer Libby’s call.
“What’s wrong?” Libby says as soon as I answer. “I decided to call and not text because talking is faster.”
“I’m not sure, but, oh god, Libby. I think I’ve really screwed up.”
Tears start rolling down my face and I try to take deep breaths to calm myself down, but it isn’t working.
“Dakota, you’re scaring me,” Libby says. “I need you to try to tell me what’s happening. Otherwise, I’m going to assume the worst.”