The last portion of this was posted five years ago. My writing has changed a lot. The people who wanted to read this are few, but here it is. The writing is unsteady because this is a monster of a part written in various styles and times of my life. I came back to finish this story. If you read it, I hope you like what is here.
***
Nancy's body lied strewn across her bed. One arm laid over a pillow, and another under. Her mouth was wide open. Behind her eyelids there was movement spurred on by dreams. A desperate gasp rung, her eyes burst open, her web of limbs untangled, dreams returned her to the world of the living.
Nausea came to rest in her mouth. Her head tipped forward, her mouth expanded and filled with air. She brought herself to an upright position. Her nose tasted air and found it sufficient to suppress the nausea.
Placing her weight on her elbows, then her back parallel to the floor. Nancy envisioned a man, his fingers crawling along her skin, placing a hand on her ass, grasping her hips, then her shoulders, and finishing with her hair knotted around his fingers. A moan would deliver a message that she was
his
object, and he would touch her how he pleased.
His hands would explore every bump of her skin, every pore. The man would investigate the parts of herself she could not. His fingers sliding down her shoulder blades and finding the groove of her spine. But none of these things were the prize, not for a man. A man, a real man, by her estimation, waited long enough to make a woman suffer and longer still to make her beg. That is when his hands would dig into her hips, fingers sinking and her thighs enveloping them. His teeth would tear her underwear down to the floor. On the way up, he would kiss her legs. The man would stand up. He would spank her. Her skin would turn red.
"Do you like that?" It was a cliched thing to say, that Nancy couldn't help but love.
He would push her face down into the granite countertop, rub the head of his cock against her pussy, then he would make sounds, but never words. The sounds would communicate the intangible need growing in his stomach, which traversed south to his groin. This need, and the desperation that followed it, was the closest Nancy had ever come to experiencing the divine.
If she could describe it, she would say it felt like a shock, sudden and volatile. An exchange of warmth and fluid that would link their bodies and intentions. Their lizard brains would wake, and the man's thought would become singular. The only action that could following being his pounding into her with no intention of stopping. He would become an animal chasing pleasure, the chase being eternal.
Nancy imagined this. Her imagination was no substitute. She longed for the sensation--for the satisfaction that followed physical contact. She was uncertain if physical contact would get her there again.
It had.
When she was with Jeffrey, but he was no longer an option.
A wave ran up her throat to her mouth. She closed it as projectiles splattered the back of her teeth. Another burst of air escaped up her throat and forced the chunks of her last meal onto her bathroom mirror and sink. She breathed desperately, hand over her mouth. The faucet turned. The water was cool. As she swallowed, she regurgitated more mass from the bottom of her stomach. She swallowed it back down and felt it become slime.
"Disgusting..." she muttered.
Her hand brought more water to her lips. Her reflection stared back at her. She met its eyes and felt like a deer by a lake.
She grabbed grasped a towel from the rack, then wiped around her lips.
It didn't mean anything, Nancy reasoned.
Water fell from the faucet down to her hands. She redirected it towards the poorly disintegrated food, then watched the pieces go down the drain. They could escape her body, she could not.
Nancy wiped away the speckled dots of her half digested food. Seeing her insides come out... Made her feel dirty. She removed her clothes. She walked over to the fuzzy bathroom carpet and let the threads tickle her feet. She took a deep breath and stepped into the shower.
***
Before leaving the bathroom, she saw a big red splotch on her forehead. A pimple,
fucking typical.
Nancy's nervous energy made her hop back and forth between her legs. She stood on one leg, bit the side of her nail, then set her leg back down. She needed to leave. Needed to do something, anything.
Her hands parsed through her wardrobe, looking for something to wear. She smiled with two pieces of clothing in hand: gray sweat pants and an oversized gray sweater. These were perpetual winners in the competition of comfortable who-gives-a-fuck outfits.
Nancy stepped out of her room. She heard music and steeled herself. Passing by the kitchen, Nancy's mother greeted her good morning. Nancy uttered a mutual response, but failed to stop. Outside, she fumbled with her keys, missing the car's lock. She cursed her shaky hands.
When the door opened, the escaping heat greeted her. She disregarded it and entered, but the heat, then the hum of the engine, overstimulated her. With a pull, her car was in reverse, then in drive.
Her nails clattered on the wheel. Her foot rose and fell. Nancy wanted the sound of nothing. She jammed the mute button. Her hands danced on the wheel. She turned left and right. Passed cars and screamed when they blocked her way.
She looked up at the neon sign. Her head smashed into the wheel, then her feet touched the ground. People wandered among each other. She had never felt so resentful. They were happy. Had no problems. She covered her face with her hands. She stalked down the aisle, afraid of finding exactly what she needed.
Her eyes darted over the countless shelves of goods. Pain relievers, nasal decongestants, there was birth control. She was here for something specific. She didn't really want to find it, because if she did, there could be no denial. No easy answer would come after.
The box appeared in her hand. Her stomach dropped. The pink branding burned into her mind. She memorized the corners of the box. Suddenly, things felt very real. In her hands was a pregnancy test.
She felt eyes targeting her.
Slut.
Whore.
God never loved you.
How could he ever love a home wrecking slut like you?
Nancy stood on one foot and scratched her leg with the other. Strangers walked by her. She was wearing an oversized sweater and pants, and she still felt naked.
The cashier smiled and waved. He invited her up. The cold cardboard felt her heartbeats and bounced them back into the depths of her soul. She placed the item on the counter and abandoned it. Her touch was dirty. The village whore and a leper all in one.
The cashier glanced at the item, then scanned it.
"Fifteen dollars and ninety-one cents."
Nancy stared at the counter.
"Fifteen dollars and ninety-one cents." He repeated. "Cash or card?"
Nancy grasped the box from above. Her fingers covering it on all sides, then she fumbled a debit card out of her wallet. The card reader binged.
"Did you want your receipt?"
Nancy was halfway to the door. The cashier shook his head and grumbled. "I'm a person... Talk to me... Come on." He flashed a frowned, but returned to a smile as a customer approached. "How are you?" The response was silence.
Nobody has manners these days,
he thought.
The door of the car crashed closed. She threw the test onto the passenger seat. The sound of the door closing reverbed in her head. It did so until it built to the sound of a bomb that culminated in Nancy screaming in her car. Her palms banged until they matched her face in the color of cherry. Nancy's eyes spilled as a sea rose to meet waves. Her lips sputtered and closed. She wrapped her arms around herself.
In tow, a child held his mother's hand. He looked over before looking away.
"Keep it together," Nancy said. "Don't be a dumb bitch. Turn the car on and drive home. Wipe your fucking tears... Take the fucking test. It's nothing. It's nothing at all."
Nancy's hand trembled an inch from the door. Nancy's shoulders refused to move. She could do it. Opening the door was the easy part. All this would be over. It could be nothing.
Her anxiety settled enough to insert her key into the lock. There were a lot of causes for it.
Pregnancy does not mean you throw up. It's a sign, she thought.
Unfortunately for Nancy, this is the kind of story which enjoys cliches.
A clang followed a turning of the doorknob. Her eyes were wide. She stood in place and came eye to eye with her Mother.
"Now! Good morning. It was rather rude. You ignored me this morning."
"I--uh, I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. Good morning, Mama." She leaned forward. Her lips met her Mother's cheek.
Satisfied, she walked past her. "I'm about to water the flowers. What did you get?"
"Nu--nothing. I needed some pain meds." Nancy covered her stomach. "Cramps."
