One More Night Is All We Need

Tick... Tock...

Tick... Tock...

Tip... Tap...

Tip... Tap...

I stared at the clock intently. The seconds grew longer by the millisecond, torturing me with abrupt halts and pauses. My reflection grimaced at me, obviously disgusted at my current state of fashion. A black and white camisole with striped shorts was not really what I intended to wear at noon. But, at the moment, I really had no choice. The white sink in front of me made gurgling noises from the running water.

I tapped on the box that held my fear continuously. I began to realize that I wasn't willingly tapping it but that my hand was merely shaking so fast from nervousness. Three more seconds...

Three... Two... One...

My phone alarm went off. I jumped with a grasp, sending my phone to the floor. I scrambled to pick it up, dropping the box as I did.

I huddled to the floor. My hands turned a deep shade of deadly white as I opened it.

Don't panic. Deep breaths now. It could just say negative. I could have just eaten something incredibly rotten. Yes, of course! That would definitely explain why I have been throwing up every time I move. Wait. No. I have eaten anything in days.

Just open the damn box and you will finally know.

I let out a small whimper as the tab slipped out. I held the long white device in front of me. My eyes automatically shut tightly.

You won't get any answers if you don't open your eyes!

I cracked open my right eye. The little red symbol appeared blurry and somewhat fuzzy to me.

My left eye shot open. Everything slowly came into focus.

+

My mouth gaped open. My breathing stopped. My vocal chords ceased to vibrate. All the air flow was cut off from my lungs.

I tore open the bathroom door, slamming it into the latter wall. My feet carried me down the stairs. I flew into the living room.

My mouth finally allowed the sound to pass after making me choke on air, "JOHN!"

The back door flew open. John rushed in and put his hands on my cheeks, "What? What happened? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

I blinked, "Define hurt." I still gripped the white stick in my right hand. My knuckles were snow white from clutching it so tightly.

His eyes stared into mine, "What?"

I slipped the tiny rod into his hand, "Look, John."

He let go of me and looked as I had instructed him. His eyes grew wide.

I laughed once at his expression, "Well?"

He continued to stare at the stick. A couple of seconds past when his eyes finally passed to me, "Y-You're..."

I nodded slowly, "I'm pregnant, John. You're going to be a father."

He stuttered nothing coherent.

"Can you say anything?" I asked.

He blinked, still breathing heavily.

"Say something!" I demanded.

Instead of getting a direct answer, a dazed smile crept across his face. He pointed to himself, "I-I'm going to be a dad?"

I nodded slowly, "Oh, my God. You're mad."

His smile grew larger.

"I knew it. You're mad--"

He put his hands on my cheeks again and kissed me sweetly.

"You're not mad?" I muttered in between his kisses.

"Mad?" He shook his head, "Of course not."

"What are we going to do, John?"

He smiled yet again, "What else? Celebrate."