The toilet seat was cold as I pulled down my jeans and underwear and sat down. The stick had this little paper thingy on one side and I reached in and held it in between my legs. I really had to pee, but for some reason nothing came out. I’d been downing gallons of water all day to save up for christ’s sake. Just let me pee on the motherfucking thing and get this over with. Finally I relaxed enough to soak it, place it on the sink and grab some toilet paper.
The wait is the absolute worst. I went out on my friend’s balcony to smoke, thinking if there actually is a baby in there maybe that would kill it and then it would just be like a major period and that’d be it. I also pictured the phone call I’d make. How I'd tell him how he’d knocked me up before dumping me three days later. I imagined how I'd ice-cold. Maybe I'd even lie and say I was considering keeping it, just to fuck with him. I obviously didn't do that, because I'm not a freaking loon. But I was so fucking lonely and I felt as if I was going to break into a thousand pieces on that balcony in Eppendorf in Hamburg in Germany.
Inside in the living room were my two friends, patiently waiting for me to finish my smoke to later give me supporting hugs and tell me nice things like “it’s going to be okay no matter what happens”. Neither of them have had an abortion nor a baby, so how could they possibly know? I got mad at them for no reason at all and asked them to just look at the stick. It’d been more minutes than what the instructions said you should wait. Before they gave me the results, the day my maybe-baby was conceived flashed in front of my eyes. How he came home and we hadn't seen each other for a week and got too excited and didn't make it to the bed and definitely not to the condom stash next to it.
Turns out I wasn't pregnant.
Again, I went out for a smoke. This time to celebrate. I was feeling very much relieved, but sort of robbed on something at the same time. If I’d been pregnant I’d have a reason to talk to him again and now I don’t. I wanted to talk to him again so badly. For a second I even considered calling him and lie. Say I was pregnant. I just wanted him to feel sorry for me. My period was a week and 4 days late and for a week and 4 days I’d been dying from worry while he’d been fucking his ex (or I guess girlfriend) on the same couch he potentially got me preggers in. I wanted him to feel as bad as I did. But instead, by the time I finished my cigarette, I to deleted his number and went on with my life.
The next day I got my period.
Something I wrote summer 2015.