Page 31 of Angel
Chapter Eleven
Stevie
It starts quietly; it always does. One missed period that doesn’t mean anything. One twinge low in my stomach that could be nothing or everything. One morning where I wake up before my alarm with my heart racing and that familiar, dangerous whisper curling through my chest.
What if?
I lie there staring at the ceiling, counting backward in my head.
Days.
Dates.
Symptoms.
I tell myself I’m better now. That counselling helped. That Angel and I are stronger. That I won’t do this again.
I lie to myself. Because by lunchtime, I’ve already checked my app three times. By dinner, I’ve rearranged my supplements like the order might matter. By midnight, I’m back in the bathroom with the door locked, staring at my reflection like I’m daring my body to betray me again.
The mirror light is harsh. It makes everything look clinical. Exposed. I look tired but also hopeful and terrified. I take my temperature. Just this once, I tell myself, I only want to see. The thermometer beeps. I stare at the number. Higher than yesterday. Hope sinks its teeth into me so fast it steals the air from my lungs.
My hands start to shake, and my brain starts racing.
Implantation dip.
Elevated baseline.
Luteal phase consistency.
I hate how fluent I am in this language. I don’t tell Angel.Not yet, just in case.So, I keep it tucked tight in my chest and let it grow sharp and dangerous and bright.
The next morning, I cancel plans. Skip breakfast. Drink water like it’s holy. Google symptoms until my eyes ache.Tender breasts. Fatigue. Cramping.Early signs of pregnancy, the internet whispers back at me like a secret.
I stand in front of the mirror and press a hand to my stomach. It feels exactly the same as it did yesterday. And also, completely different.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please.”
I don’t even know who I’m asking anymore.
God.
My body.
The universe.
Anything and everything.
Angel notices, of course he does because he always does.
“You’re back on the apps,” he says that evening, not accusing.
I flinch anyway. “I’m just checking.”
“You said you didn’t want to disappear into it again.”
“I’m not disappearing,” I snap. “I’m paying attention.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. That’s the tell. The one he does when he’s trying to stay calm.
