Positive.
No. No. No. I rip open the second box, repeat the process. Pee, close my eyes, wait.
Positive.
The third. Same thing.
Positive.
What the actual fuck? Why? Why is this happening to me? The universe has thrown some of the worst crap at me and instead of picking on someone else, it chooses to deal me another shit hand at life. I sink to the floor and bury my face in my hands and cry. I don’t know what to do or who to turn to.
I just want my mom.
I need my mom.
I want to go home. To my real home.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, crying until there are no more tears left. I feel numb, like I’m in a dream of a dream. Eventually, I make myself get up.
I wipe my eyes and throw the tests into the trash can. After washing my hands and straightening my hair, I head up to the third floor and sit at one of the empty computers. Pulling up one of the discount travel websites, I book a flight home. I definitely need my mom. She’ll know what to do.
Luckily, there’s a flight for later today. I pull my credit card from my wallet and pay for my ticket, wincing when I get the confirmation email notification on my phone. Looks like grading more tests is in my future, because that bill is going to hurt.
I forward the flight info to my mom and tell her I’m making a surprise trip home for a few days.
<Everything all right, baby?>
<Ya. Just need some mom love. I miss u.>
<Ok hun. I’ll make chicken parm tonight. Ur fave. See u soon! Love u.>
<I love u too, mom.>
No need to let her know about the pregnancy via text. That information requires a face-to-face conversation, and a stiff drink before, during, and afterwards.
I log out, gather my things, and head home. My eyes are swollen and red-rimmed from crying. I brace as I open the door to the apartment, wondering what Jenna and Wendy are going to say and how I can weasel my way out of that conversation.
But to my surprise the apartment is empty. Thank God for small favors amidst this shitstorm of bad luck. I hurry to my room and pull my suitcase from the closet. As soon as I’m done packing, I pull a check from my purse and fill it out so that my roommates have my part of this month’s rent. I leave it on the counter in the kitchen along with a note saying I needed to go home and that I’ll give them a call tomorrow.
Then I head back into my room, grab my suitcase, and lock up before I head downstairs. Checking the clock on my phone, I realize the train won’t get me to the airport in time, which means I’m going to have to hail a cab. Great, another bill to add to my growing collection.
The best place to get a taxi is a few west. At least the weather is nice enough that I don’t have to worry about standing and waiting in the rain. I really don’t need any more obstacles thrown at me right now. What I can use is actually a one-way ticket to an endless spa vacation.
But lugging a suitcase four blocks is no fun, especially when the pavement is all cracked and overgrown. I kick a twig in front of me and launch it into the street.
A few taxis drive down the street. Lights are off, though, so they must already have customers. But I only have one more block to go. I hope the traffic isn’t bad, otherwise I’ll really be cutting it close. At least my suitcase is small enough to carry on so I can just go right to the security line.
I huff and blow a strand of hair from my eyes just as I hear tires skid. I whip my head around, expecting to see a near accident. But what I find is a sickeningly familiar face exiting the passenger side of the car.
He’s got dark hair slicked back, olive skin, and gold jewelry dripping from every possible place —rings, necklaces, an extremely expensive-looking watch. His cheesy shirt is two buttons undone, revealing a broad chest full of curly hair. He looks every bit the part of the Italian gangster.
Which he is.
“Hello, dolce,” Gino snarls. “Been lookin’ for ya.”
I drop my suitcase and start running. But a hulking brute in a designer suit rounds the corner and grabs me in a bear hug. Two more come and take hold of my arms and legs.
I start screaming. And screaming.
But no one comes out of their houses. No one steps up to protect me. No one grabs my hand and leads me to safety. Nikita isn’t here this time. I’m alone. Where is he? I wonder crazily as the men toss me into the trunk of the luxury sedan. I land with a painful thud.
When I look up. Gino flashes me a cruel, toothy grin.
Then he slams the trunk shut, and all I can see is darkness.
Chapter Twenty-One
Nikita
I know it’s early morning because my heart is pounding right out of my chest. That’s how I wake up every day now, like someone just fired a gun next to my eardrum. Only, there is no gun. At least, not yet.
I open my eyes and look at the ceiling over my cot. Cracks spiderweb through every inch of the plaster, and water stains
