I can't believe seeing two pink lines on a stick is one of the scariest things I've ever seen in my life. My heart pounds heavily inside my chest as I stare at the two sticks—in horror—on top of the toilet tank while I press myself flush against the door of the cubicle as if staying as far away from it as possible will make it not real.
The small privacy in this stall is not doing me any favors. Every time I hear the door swing open, the toilets from other cubicles flushing, the faucets running, and the footsteps sounding on the other side makes the thing in my chest jolt.
Ohmigod. I'm pregnant.
I'm nineteen and I'm pregnant!
I wheeze. I can't breathe. I'm hyperventilating and my heartbeat starts hounding in my ears. I don't smell anything, or see anything but two red lines marring my vision. I feel disoriented.
"Are you okay in there?" someone asks outside of my stall, making me flinch.
