As soon as you finished throwing up, you flushed the toilet and quickly rinsed your mouth, trying as much as possible to hide all that, even though you were sure you were alone in the toilet. When you stepped out, you met Philip. You were dazed because of the way he stood in front of you, almost blocking your way.
"Patience!" The way he said your name reminded you of Collins.
Instantaneously, you felt nostalgic as you became overwhelmed by multiple emotions, and you found it difficult to choose the right one to express physically.
You wanted to cry at the same time you wanted to scream, laugh, and punch someone. However, you managed to stay strong.
"Hesi" (Hi), that's all you managed to say. You could not look him in the eyes. In fact, you had never been able to make eye contact with him ever since that explicit incident, which he didn't seem to care about.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
That seemed to be his favorite question those days, only that it was rephrased each and every moment.
You answered with a dragged "yes" accompanied by a slight nod and an assuring smile.
"Sorry to pry, but I've been noticing that you're vomiting a lot and having mood swings."
You swallowed, not sure if you had to answer or do what exactly. It was not a question, was it?
"Can I ask you a question?" He said, worry wrinkles forming on his forehead.
"No!" You wanted to blurt out immediately, but somehow your tongue was numb. It was tied. It felt numb. So you started crying again. Fresh tears were now replacing the almost dried ones on your cheeks. He embraced you again. That time, your back was against the wall, and you hugged back. Your entire body was shaking as you released a loud cry filled with anguish. But his arms clasped around you with assurance that everything was going to be alright. Will it?
***********************************************
"You know you can't stay inside there forever, right." His voice brought you back to life after you had spent several minutes deliberating on your deluging thoughts.
You sat on the toilet seat trembling as you glared at the pregnancy stick in your hands. You examined the two-colored lines as you silently prayed for the second one to fade. But five minutes had already passed, and the more you stared at it, the brighter and more elaborate it seemed.
You stood up and placed the stick in the sink and sighed as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Deep down, you knew you were a disappointment. You could already see yourself back in your home village wearing oversized clothes as you stood in the scorching sun serving your mother's customers with their desired vegetables or even in the field tilling the land until the owner was satisfied. You could clearly visualize your face becoming more darker and more uglier due to the pregnancy, basing on the pictures you had once seen of when your mother was pregnant with you.
You were sure that pregnancy had no mercy on your descendant's people.
Pregnancy for you meant weight gain, not the kind that was good-looking but the one that would make you look like a mound of bread dough, which has been left overnight to rise.
It meant a wide nose, one that would almost shake every time you exhaled or one that seemed to be capable of inhaling and vacuuming all the troubles of the people in close proximity.
It meant dark skin, darker than the bottom of a fire-scorched clay pot and nightfall combined.
Not to mention the pimples which would erupt on the face, sized approximately as mustard seeds but even more irritating than boils.
"Patience, open the door!"
"Wait, I need to take another test. Just to be sure!"
After five minutes, you unlocked the door, and he immediately popped into the toilet and inquired about the results. You handed both sticks to him, but he was acting all confused, so you interpreted them for him. He sighed.
"So, what's the plan?" He asked his favorite question, but you didn't have a solid answer. All you wanted to do was cry yourself to death.
In a split second, you were already running towards the main door, aiming for the main road, which was a few feet from your house. You needed to be in front of the honking truck before it passed your house. You needed to be under its wheels and already meeting your maker in the next minutes. Philip was running behind you like an enraged dog after a thief. He was shouting for you to stop. But you kept running as fast as your feet could carry you under the dark sky and the dim stars.
But before you could finish struggling to open the gate, Philip's arm was already around your stomach. He had carried you, and he was speedily rushing back into the house. You were in the air, wailing and shouting for him to put you down. You even went a step further by biting his neck, something you should have tried to do to the guy who put you in that situation.
But it was a moment of weakness as opposed to this one, which was a moment of survival. The moment he entered your room, he locked the door and hid the keys somewhere in his shorts. You banged on the door for him to let you out, but he sat there, eyeing you and ignoring you as if you were nonexistent.
As soon as you heard the honking of the truck as it passed, you silenced your miserable wails, activating the whimpering mode, because you knew that you had missed your ride to death. In defeat, you slid your back down the door, pondering on each and every thought that erupted during that moment in your mind.
"Suicide is not the answer, Patience," he said, as he strode towards you and sat next to your miserable self.
Involuntarily, your heavy head rested on his shoulder, as his hand caressed you, bringing you closer to him.
You just needed to die.