To have and to loathe

• 𝐂hapter 8

       Rejection tasted bitter in my mouth. It'd been two days but it still lingered.

    I groaned as I dragged myself out of the comforts of my bed and headed to the kitchen for some much-needed coffee. I'd probably need some ice too if I wanted to look anyway respectable for work. And yes I knew taking coffee wasn't healthy considering I was pregnant but a cup never hurt anyone.

    I slumped on the kitchen counter as I filled my mug.

    Today I was dragging, I'd drained myself from staying up last night. I shouldn't have stayed past my bedtime reading but it was the only solace I could find at that hour and I totally had to find out what happened to Ace after Sofia...you know...

   I was paying for it now.

    Soon enough, I arrived at work and got behind the booth. I tossed on my work outfit and began my shift even though it felt as though I was going to pass out any minute.

    According to the brochure I acquired from the hospital, my morning sickness shouldn't have been getting worse but it was. I puked my brains out twice this morning, and now I felt the third coming back up to my throat.

       "Hope, some french fries in table four!" My colleague yelled.

       "Coming right up!" I responded, emptying my mind and focusing on work.

    The next couple of hours passed in a blur of nausea and exhaustion. By the time the busy lunch hour started, I was fighting back my tears. I was still dragging, too tired. Some customers shot me impatient looks, some openly mocked my sluggishness, and when I'd messed up a table's order, they'd yelled at me.

    Coupled with my skyrocketing hormones I just wanted to lock myself inside one of the bathroom stalls and wallow in the console of my tears. If I couldn't work, I couldn't make money, if I couldn't make money, I'd go broke, if I went broke I wouldn't be able to take care of myself or the baby. I was only two months and the weight was already overwhelming. 

      At some point, I rested my head on the counter. My head ached, and I couldn't breathe. It felt like an asthma attack except I wasn't asthmatic. I closed my eyes, breathing heavily, and then, sudden hands came over my shoulders. 

       "Hope," It was Mrs. Joe.

   I looked up. "You seen tensed. What's wrong?"

    "I don't feel good." I confined.

     "Alright, come on, let's get some water on your face."

    I swallowed hard. "Okay."

    Two blinks and I was standing in front of the wide bathroom mirror with water dripping down my face from the splashes.