༺ FORTY - SIX ༻

Never thought a breakup could hit this hard.

Cried all night, then lay hopelessly in Newt's arms, unable to fall asleep as my mind repeated his words and the test I have to buy and everything at once, driving me bloody crazy.

Right now, I probably look the worst I have in my life. Dark circles, messy hair, duff eyes. And then there's a plate full of food in front of me, and Newt's quietly telling Mom and Dad what happened as Sonya attempts to hear it, too.

I've lost my appetite. For once, it's genuinely not the need to lose weight. I just lost my appetite.

I just don't love you anymore. I shake my head to get his words away.

"Love?" It comes from a bit distance, but I can smell and hear it's Mom. Her arms wrap around me for a few seconds. I'm frozen in my seat, unable to hug back. "It's alright if you don't finish your whole meal today," she says softly. "Is there anything I can do?"

I shake my head.

She tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, pressing her hand against my cheek as she does so. "Any plans for today or should I just get you some blankets? A bath, perhaps? Sleeping might be nice."

I shake my head again. "Gotta run to the store," I mutter. "And ballet and work."

"You really don't have to do all of that if you don't feel like it." Newt crouches besides us, too. "You can skip work for sure. I'll go to the store for you."

"No," my voice is hollow from crying. "I'll go. Fresh air."

It takes at least thirty minutes for me to get up the stairs, choose clothes, wash my face, and then turn the shower on, in which I stand for like an hour.

Literally just stand. Let the water pour onto me, running down my body, following the right curves in a way clothes can't at this point. I stare at my feet the whole time, attempting not to think of him, but one of my core memories happens to be in a shower.

I eventually get out, dress, take my money and walk, very slowly, to the story. My hoodie cap is over my head to cover half of my horrible looks. My hands have disappeared in my sleeves once again.

It feels awful to buy a pregnancy test, knowing that if it happens to be positive, the kid won't have married parents or anything. Knowing I'd have to go through those nine months without Thomas and knowing what kind of changes that would make.

No Nutcracker, no laxatives for sure, gaining weight... things that sound like hell to me.

I take one box, not really caring which one, and walk through the store to maybe get some extra laxatives. Then I stop myself, and only get ready to pay for the rest.

There's a gasp beside me and I freeze at the words of a kid, who looks like she's ten. I look away once she finishes speaking, "Mom, do you think she'll get to be a mommy, too?"

"No."

"Oh. Why won't she? It would've been exciting."

I pretend I don't hear that as I stand in line to pay. Just keep my head down.

"Lone, unhealthy people can't deal with that, honey."

"Unhealthy?"

"Just don't look, honey."

Lovely.

Thanks, Miss.

✵

I wonder if Thomas would take me back if that test happens to be positive. Even with his very hurtful words last night, I don't think he'd leave if I carry a kid from him. Or maybe he just needs time and then come back, no matter what comes out of the test.

I barely dare to look. It's on my desk and I've waited the amount of time the package said. Just one look and I'll know if my life is ruined. I can't see this on the positive side. Not even a little bit.

If Thomas would've been bloody here, then maybe I could.

"One two three," I say the words as fast as I grab the test and look.

Then a relieved sigh leaves my mouth. It's negative. My eating caused the problem. No baby. Luckily.

It feels like half of the weight on my shoulders is off now. I stare at the words for a while, let it get through me that that problem is solved, and then flinch when the doorbell rings.

It's not Thomas. Thomas rings one long time and then adds a short ring. Always does.

I nearly slam my head on the desk. I need to stop thinking about him.

Then there's footsteps on the stairs that I can't recognize. I always recognize footsteps. Newt's are uneven, Dad's are loud, Sonya's are fast, and Mom's are just simple. Thomas's are a mix of everything. He always goes up a different way, yet I always recognize them, and this isn't him.

Does that disappoint me? Yes, a little bit.

The door opens, and I almost gasp in surprise. "Chuck!"

He stands there, in a brown sweater and big pants, a paper in his hands. His eyes are big, and he smiles. "Hi, Rose."

I perk up by seeing him. Connected to Thomas or not, Chuck is awesome. "Hey. What's up?"

He looks around. My room's a mess, I know. But then he just walks up to me with the same smile. "I had to make something for French at school. About my family," he starts.

"Oh?" I force the empty feeling inside of me away. Can't bother Chuck with all these problems, so I force a smile, though it's partly real.

"But I hate French," he continues. "It's so hard and just... ew. So I don't want to keep this, but Mom says I shouldn't throw it away. Except Thomas wouldn't take it either."

"He wouldn't?"

Chuck shakes his head. "He got angry."

"Oh." I frown. "What'd he do?"

"Yell at me to leave him alone. He almost ripped the paper." The hurt and disappointment in his eyes hurt me, too. "So I figured giving it to you. Thomas once told me you were planning to go to a ballet school in France, so I guess it fits."

Of course he told Chuck that. Chuck might know almost as much about me as Thomas does.

"So... here." He's slightly nervous while he hands me the paper.

I take it, and start trailing my eyes over it. It's a drawing of a few stickmen together. Each one has their own line, which connects to at least three sentences each.

C'est Thomas. Il est mon cousin. Il est très marrant.

Next to Thomas, there's a stickman with blonde hair and a tutu, who I assume is me.

C'est la chérie de Thomas. Elle est super gentille. Et Thomas dit qu'elle est très bonne en ballet!

"It means your Thomas's love and that you're super kind. And Thomas says you're very good at ballet," Chuck translates. "I added you because Thomas once said—yes he always says things—that he's going to marry you. In a few years. So you're gonna be family in the future."

A lump forms in my throat. I try to swallow it away, but it only causes tears in my eyes. "It's awesome, Chuck. I'm sure you'll get an A," I whisper.

He smiles. "I hope. And look, I made this during art."

It's a wooden figure. After looking at it for a while, I notice it's him. He cut himself out of wood. "Wow. This is really good, Chuck." Genuinely amazed, I twist the thing in my hands. "I guess you're gonna get an A for this, too."

The kid chuckles. "Maybe. That'd be nice. And perhaps Thomas does accept this one, because I don't want to have a figure of myself either."

"I'm sure he will," I say. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thanks. I can't stay for very long. Got things to help Mom with." He sits down at my desk.

My eyes widen once I realize the test is still on there. Chuck notices and turns around, his eyes immediately falling on the thing.

And then he turns around. "Don't worry. I'm not touching a stick you peed on."

That's one way to reassure me.

"Good."

But he does lean closer. "It's negative," he says casually.

"Yes."

"Is that good? Or is it supposed to be positive? Ohh! Are you and Thomas getting a kid? I'll get another cousin!"

"No, we won't- we're not getting a kid," I stammer a bit, suddenly nervous. "Not planning on, either."

"Ah." He almost sounds disappointed. "You will in the future, right? Thomas is getting older and is slowly losing interest in pranking people with me. Especially the last week."

Guess he was debating if he still loved me that week.

"No." I look down at my sweaty palms. "We're not gonna get a kid. Ever."

"Hm." Chuck crosses his arms. "Well, alright. I'll forgive you if I can be the best man at the wedding."

I blink away more tears at the realization Chuck thinks all of this will happen. The imagination of this happening. "I don't— I'm not sure that's going to happen either, Chuck."

"What?" He pulls a face. "What's going on? You're acting off."

"Thomas and I..." just say it. "...we kind of broke up."

Chuck stares at me for such a long time that I get impatient for his reaction. Then, his mouth slowly opens. "You're kidding."

I shake my head. "I wish I were."

"What!" He jumps from the chair to my bed, right next to me. "What happened? Was it an agreement or did one of you...? Why? Does he even know about the test? Wait, is he even the reason you—"

"He broke up with me," I tell him. "But don't get angry at Thomas. He made his choice, I guess. And no, he doesn't know about the test. But yes, he's the reason I did the test."

"But this feels like my parents are getting discovered!" He throws his head back. "Why didn't Thomas tell me? And the project makes no sense now!"

"I don't know why he didn't tell you," I say quietly, shrinking. The situation is too fresh to talk about without crying.

"But then he's an idiot!" Chuck slams a fist on my bed. "Why did he break up with you?"

"He doesn't love me," I reply. I try to keep my voice steady, but it doesn't really work. "Not anymore."

Chuck huffs. "You're the first partner I've met and then he breaks up with you?"

I shrug.

"I won't ever ask him to join my pranks again," he says confidently. "He left you alone with a pregnancy test! That's even worse."

"Chuck, keep it low." I rub my eyelids. "You can't get angry at Thomas now, buddy. Let us handle it and—"

"No. I'll be as angry as I want to." He crosses his arms over his chest. "I'll have a word with him!"

"Maybe you shouldn't do that if he already yelled at you over a drawing."

"He's just a twat." Chuck makes a 'forget it' movement with his hand. "I'm his cousin, he won't hurt me. I'll convince him!"

"Chuck—"

"Sounds like my ears are full of cotton!"

"You might make things worse—"

"I'll give him my puppy eyes!"