It’s 2 a.m. and I’m staring at an empty test box on my bathroom floor.
I’m 20, I’m a junior in college, I have a midterm next week that I haven’t studied for that’s worth 40% of my grade, and my period is seven days late. My roommate bailed to stay at her boyfriend’s place tonight, said she’d bring me back a breakfast burrito tomorrow if I wanted, didn’t push when I said I didn’t feel like going to the party with them. I think she knows something’s up. I’ve been weird all week, jumping every time my phone buzzes, picking at the skin around my thumb until it’s raw and it stings when I wash my hands.
Bought the test three days ago. Walked all the way to the drugstore off campus instead of the one by the dorms because the cashier at the campus one is my bio TA’s little sister, and I didn’t want her to text him that some girl in his 101 section bought a pregnancy test. Counted out crumpled one and five dollar bills from my coffee fund, stuffed the box in my hoodie pocket, and the hard corner poked me in the ribs the whole walk home. I didn’t even tell the guy. The guy, you know. We hooked up once, after the first lab midterm, we got drunk at that dive bar on 5th that does $2 wells, the condom slipped. We both panicked, he ran out to get plan b like 20 minutes later, I took it the second he got back. We said it’d be fine. He texted me a couple days after, asked if everything was okay, I said yeah, everything’s fine. Haven’t heard from him since, and I haven’t texted him either. I don’t want to be the girl that’s clinging or dramatic, even if I’m freaking out so bad I can barely sleep.
I know all the stats. I’m a bio major, for god’s sake. I know that plan b can mess up your cycle and make your period up to two weeks late. I know that stress from midterms and my stupid part-time job at the campus coffee shop, where the manager yells at me for forgetting to put oat milk in lattes, can make your period late. I’ve been late before, last semester when I had that horrible flu that landed me in the campus clinic, I was ten days late. I know all that. But that doesn’t stop me from scrolling through old reddit threads at 1 a.m., reading every story that starts with “condom slipped, plan b taken, still positive” until my eyes burn and my phone slips out of my hand onto my chest. Ate an entire jar of dill pickles last night, straight from the fridge, and my first thought was oh my god that’s a pregnancy craving, then I remembered I eat an entire jar of pickles every time I’m stressed about anything. That’s just my thing. Doesn’t mean anything. Still. My stomach’s been twisted into a knot for a week anyway.
I worked up the nerve to take the test an hour ago. Peeed on the stick, laid it face down on a clean towel on the back of the toilet, and I’ve just been sitting here on the closed toilet lid ever since. The linoleum floor is cold through my old sweatpants. There’s a neon pink hair tie coiled on the drain that’s been there for a week, my roommate keeps saying she’ll grab it, never does. The harsh overhead fluorescent makes every pimple on my face look like a giant red mountain when I glance up at the mirror. I keep staring at the edge of the test, the white plastic sticking up over the edge of the towel, and I can’t make myself reach out and flip it over. Bought two tests, actually, the cheap 99 cent one and the fancy digital one that spells out “pregnant” or “not pregnant” clear as day, no squinting at faint lines. The fancy one’s still in its sealed box in the closet under my sink, I can’t even bring myself to touch it.
What would I do if it says pregnant? I can’t tell my mom. My mom’s a nurse, she’s always telling me how important it is to be responsible, but when my cousin got pregnant at 19 she didn’t talk to her for six months, called her “reckless” over Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t have the money for anything, not even the copay, not if I have to travel out of state for care, not the time off work that’ll make me lose my shift. I can’t take a semester off, I’m already behind because I switched majors from chemistry to biology last year. The guy would probably pay for half, I think he’s nice enough, but he’s also 20, he works at the campus gym, he’s got his own tuition to pay that his parents barely cover. I don’t want to owe him anything. I don’t want this to be our big thing, when we barely even know each other’s favorite movies.
I’m pro-choice. I’ve marched, I’ve volunteered at the local clinic on weekends, I know it’s my right, I know what I’d choose. But knowing that doesn’t make it not scary. It doesn’t make the knot in my stomach go away. Everyone always acts like if you know what you’d do, you don’t have to be scared. That’s bullshit. I’m still 20. I still have to ask my dad for extra money when my textbooks cost more than I expected. I still cry when I burn my toast and I’m already late for class. Why wouldn’t I be scared?
No one talks about this part, right? The waiting. Everyone posts TikToks about flipping the test immediately, crying happy or crying sad, and it’s all wrapped up in two minutes, cut and dry. No one talks about sitting on your bathroom floor for an hour, too scared to look. No one talks about hiding the empty test box under a pile of old lotion bottles and makeup wipes in the trash so the roommate doesn’t accidentally see it, about avoiding the full-length mirror because you’re already convinced your stomach looks different. I kept changing my clothes today, kept turning side to side checking my stomach, which is stupid, I know, even if it was positive it wouldn’t show for months. I still did it.
My phone just buzzed on the edge of the sink. It’s the guy. Text says “I saw your story last night about being stressed over midterms, you okay?”. I haven’t replied. The clock just ticked to 2:17 a.m. I’m still sitting here. I still haven’t flipped the test over. I don’t know what I’m gonna do next. I don’t have a neat little ending for this, no big lesson learned, no inspirational wrap up. I’m just scared. That’s all. (1182 words)
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