New Normal
Wicked42
Gwen stared at the stick trembling between her fingers. At the little line across the front. At the device that had just demolished her entire world-view. Her entire future.
A sick feeling settled in her gut, and it had nothing to do with the tiny... parasite... growing there. Kids were fine. Really. But-they also took almost every waking minute of the day, and some of the sleeping ones too, and having her own kid meant that this time, it wasn't just for a summer, and this time, no one was paying her to deal with its problems.
And this time, David would be involved.
Well, David was involved at Camp Campbell, too. But this was different. This wasn't co-counselors tag-teaming throughout the day, CBFLs waving goodbye to a bunch of kids as they piled onto the bus in August, then waving to each other as they returned to their respective lives for another nine months.
This was permanent.
And definitely not something she and David talked about. Especially not with Max living in David's spare bedroom.
"Oh god," she whispered. And with guilt roiling in her stomach, she dropped the stick in the trash.
It took three weeks. Three weeks of extracting herself from David's arms in the dark, early morning hours, of rushing into the adjoining bathroom, of trying her best to stifle the sounds as the parasite destroyed her insides and generally made her miserable.
Of forcing smiles when David, oblivious as ever, cheerfully "woke" her for their morning Coffee Talk. Of staggering out of bed, bags under her eyes and exhaustion in her bones. Of quietly refusing coffee in favor of his beloved blend of chamomile tea.
Of guilt weighing her shoulders until she felt like she couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't think.
And after all that time, Max was the one who noticed.
Because of fucking course he did.
She was sitting with the #2 Counselor mug pressed against her lips, vacant-eyed, trying to subtly draw deep breaths to quell the nausea while simultaneously nodding at David's bright morning commentary, when she felt Max's gaze on her.
She shifted a glare to him, but the back of her neck prickled with heat and saliva poured into her mouth and suddenly fooling Max was more effort than trying not to vomit right there at the kitchen table.
"David, didn't you need to take out the trash?" Max said, out of the blue.
The redhead blinked. "Well, sure! But I was going to do it when we walked you to the bus stop." His eyes roamed over Max's backpack, hanging on a hook by the front door.
Max waved a hand. "Huh. Well, I hear the garbage truck coming. Kind of rude to wait until after they leave, isn't it? It's gonna stink up the whole fucking street."
It was a weak excuse, but it worked. David, ever the polite neighbor, chewed his lower lip before saying, "Oh, gosh, you're right. One second." And swiftly, he left the table and his tea behind to tie the black bag and hurry out the door.
The second he was gone, Max slammed his hands onto the table. "Okay, Gwen, spill. Why the fuck are you acting so weird?"
Gwen staggered to the fridge, plucking an ice pack from the freezer. It felt better against the back of her neck, the sharp jolt of cold pulling her mind from her stomach, from how it was preparing to revolt. With David gone, she gulped air, closing her eyes as she braced herself against the countertop.
