Bang (Black Lotus #1)(90)
“Why are you crying?” he asks as he watches the tears slip out.
“Because it’s a lie.”
“What is?”
“Dreams. They’re nothing but lies trying to trick me into believing life could really be like that.”
“Sounds more like a fairytale than a lie.”
“Fairytale is nothing but a fancy word for a lie used to deceive little kids,” I tell him. “A false perception of reality used to give them hope in a hopeless world.”
The look in his eyes causes me to close mine so I don’t have to see the sadness he’s feeling for me. Reality is a f*cked-up head-trip that I’ve numbed myself to, but my dad, I’ve never been able to control the emotion when it comes to him. He’s always been my one and only soft spot—until now—until Declan.
“Do you wish you were a caterpillar?” he asks as I feel the warmth of his thumb dragging across my cheekbones, collecting my tears.
“Yes.”
Declan’s arms envelop me, and I curl into him when he whispers, “Then go to sleep, darling,” before kissing the top of my head and tucking it under his chin. “Go be a caterpillar.”
ANOTHER THREE WEEKS have gone by since I’ve seen Pike. Bennett has been home for the most part, and whenever I can find time to slip away, I’m with Declan. I’ve been skirting around giving him a definitive answer on going to Scotland with him, but he’s starting to grow irritated with my avoidance.
The bitter cold of snowy winter has finally let up, even though the city never seems to get above fifty, even on a good day. A gust of wind picks up, nearly blowing the door right out of my hand as I open it up and head inside the building where Dr. Leemont’s office is located.
I’ve suffered from excruciatingly painful periods for around ten years; they are what led me to seek medical help, which resulted in my endometriosis diagnosis. About six months ago, I decided to try hormone therapy again to help with the pain but had to quit after a few months due to complications with side effects. Since December, the pain has been much more tolerable but the past few days have been nothing but razor sharp aches and pain, rendering me bed-ridden, practically unable to move.
Bennett’s been a worried mess, taking off work to stay home, doing whatever he can to comfort me. The soonest I could get in to see the doctor was this morning, which really upset him because he had to go to Miami for business. He was supposed to head out a few days ago, but he refused to leave my side and pushed back all of his meetings, but he couldn’t delay the trip any longer and wound up leaving late last night.
After signing in, leaving a urine sample for the nurse, and giving blood for the lab, I strip down, covering myself with the provided robe, and wait on the exam table for the doctor. As soon as I told Bennett about my diagnosis, he found Dr. Leemont, ensuring she was the best gynecologist in the state. I’ve been seeing her for over three years now, and when she finally walks in and I see her familiar smile, I release a heavy sigh, hoping she can do something for this pain.
“Nina, it’s good to see you, although I hear you are dealing with some discomfort,” she says as she walks across the exam room with her electronic notepad and sits down on a stool by the desk.
“Yes,” I respond. “For the past few days.”
As she looks at her notepad, she says, “Okay, so I see it’s been about four months since you came off the hormones, correct?”
“Yes. Around late November, if I recall correctly.”
“That’s what I’m showing here on your chart,” she remarks and then looks up at me, asking, “Have you experienced any other pain or cramping since coming off the pills?”
“A little, but it’s been minor. Nothing that a few painkillers can’t take care of.”
“And do you recall your last menstrual cycle?”
“Umm, well, it would have been right before I started on the hormones. So . . . back in August or September,” I tell her.
“What you are probably experiencing is the last of the hormones leaving your system,” she starts saying when a nurse walks in.
“I have Mrs. Vanderwal’s labs.”
They both step out of the room, and when Dr. Leemont returns, holding the papers, she walks over to the desk and leans against it. She shifts her eyes from the papers to me, saying in a hushed voice, “You’re pregnant.”
The deflating of my lungs turns me cold in incredulity. “What did you say?”
“According to the urine and blood sample, you’re pregnant.”
Disbelief—that’s all that courses through me right now as I can’t seem to generate any other thought or feeling. I sit here and stare at the doctor for a moment when fear and confusion start to filter in.
“How?” I ask while each thump of my heart pumps bursts of anxiety through my blood. “I mean, there has to be a mistake because I can’t have kids. I can’t get pregnant.” My voice is almost unrecognizable as the words fall out of me in a trembling stagger.
Dr. Leemont hands me a tissue, and it’s then that I realize I’m crying. She takes a seat on her stool and rolls over next to me, placing her hand on my knee. “I can’t imagine the shock you must be feeling right now,” she says as I look at her, utterly confused, shaking my head. “Sometimes these things have a way of happening. Is it rare and typically unheard of without having to undergo surgery to remove the lesions? Yes.”