M. Shadows' Lips of Deceit

Newspaper clippings, notebooks and notes cluttered my desk as I sit there with my fingers to my temples trying to rub away a terrible migraine. I had three articles to type up but this migraine wasn’t letting me get to it. I took four Aleve’s twenty minutes ago and they have yet to kick in and my stomach was doing summersaults and hand stands with my toast and apple jelly.

The past two weeks have been rather stressful and busy, the wedding drawing nearer I’ve been working on the food menu and things, I got promoted to working four days a week now, I found an artist for the book and was meeting her every other day to see how she was doing. And the last thing I need is to come down with some flu or sickness that would have me in bed for a week.

I exhale calmly and hold a piece of paper in front of my face, reading it lightly and trying to absorb it’s knowledge like a sponge; that’s exactly what my brain felt like at the moment: a wet, sloppy sponge. I needed to write a review for the entertainment section on a local band that had a show this weekend. I listened to a few of their songs but that just didn’t click with the migraine.

My stomach grumbled something inaudible as I started typing up a review, stopping every some sentence to reread what I had only to hit backspace and rewrite it. The words begin a little dance of blur on the bright white screen of Microsoft Office as I nearly finish the article.

“You feeling alight V,” Kelly, the papers second editor asks as I hand her the printed sheet of computer paper shakily.

“I think I’m coming down with something actually,” I didn’t want to go home on my first week of four days but this migraine wasn’t letting me do any part of my job so what was the use of taking up space?

“Well why don’t you take your things home and work there, with the wedding coming up do you think you can handle working four days?”

“Yeah I know I can, it just must have been something I’ve eaten or haven’t eaten for that matter…I’ve been super busy and haven’t been taking much care of myself. I’m sure a night with pizza and Buffy an’ tomorrow I’ll be ready for action.” I really don’t want to lose this just because of a twenty four hour bug.

So I packed up my things in a folder and left for home, driving the speed limit so I don’t randomly crash into a person or a fire hydrant. I don’t need bathing the street with my car on my record…or running a person down.

The house was empty, Adam at work as usual, I popped in season four, disc four and burrowed myself under three blankets in the middle of our queen sized bed. A box of white cheddar cheese its sat next to me ready to be open as soon as I started the episode Pangs.

Now why couldn’t my Thanksgiving ever be like that? Yes I want to be hunted down by Chumash warriors and have a blonde vampire tied in a chair where I can do anything to him, okay mainly the second of the two. Can you blame a girl? I’d think not.

I fall asleep during the next episode ’Something Blue’, waking up to the menu list with groggy, crinkled eyes that make this little crisp noise during the very first few blinks from worn out eyeliner. I see the alarm clock read 5:20 in bold green numbers to my right as I sit up and stretch my body from the big nap.

Surprisingly I didn’t scatter the open box of cheese crackers all over the bed spread in my sleep; I close them up before getting up an’ out of bed to use the bathroom and stake out some food.

My reflection in the mirror looked a little out of place and it’s not the eyeliner that’s smeared across the bridge of my nose, the streaks in all directions on my cheeks or the large bruise like smudge on my chin, it’s the clamminess across my forehead and the faded pinkness of my light pink cheeks. I guess I am coming down with something, I mutter to myself as I crinkle my nose after taking in a breath of bathroom oxygen.

I kept pressing my hand to my forehead as I scanned the refrigerator; it was cold then hot against it and it was bothering me. “Suppose I’ll have to go out,” I mumble after not seeing anything really appetizing in the fridge, freezer or cabinets. After pulling on some pants, sneakers and a hoodie I grab my keys and phone an’ see I have a voicemail.

Walking out to the car I find out Adam is working late tonight so I shouldn’t mess with cooking dinner, good to know because I really wasn’t feeling like it.

I have aviators pulled over my eyes to keep the grocery store lights in check, strolling down the isles looking for something quick and warm. The shopping cart that I pushed in front of me contained laundry soap, dryer sheets, a loaf of bread and sponges; all of which we were currently out, no sense to have to come back here tomorrow when I needed to catch up on work. I turn into isle six and walk down it without another thought, the isle with toothbrushes and pastes, shampoos and conditioners, deodorants and then the end with the millions of different pregnancy tests.

Nah, not possible, this is just a fever, just the twenty four hour flu. I scratch my eyebrow effortlessly as I look what I’m guessing as dumbfounded at the rows and rows of boxes. A churning in my stomach sort of called me to stop here and I couldn’t seem to break the concentration on the boxes that I had. My left hand was griping the cart rim tightly, most likely whitening with the energy of the grip and I could feel my stubble of finger nails pricking my palm.

I was trying my hardest to remember last month and the dates of today an’ the concert and my last period. I’m having trouble trying to place everything; it all seems to blend together in a blur to as where I can’t even focus on remembering. A pound from a small fist knocks against my temple metaphorically as the migraine bitch from earlier struts back into my head.

So I try to remember if Matt was wearing a condom and I don’t have to try too hard; that night is crystal clear with mirrored images throughout the doors and rooms of my mind. He wasn’t.

So it wouldn’t hurt if I just grab one to confirm my answer, that there is no way in hell that this is a pregnancy and I’m just slightly sick with the flu. I look them over and get the one that’s promised to be most accurate with a blank ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. That would also be the one that costs the most, of course. Peeing on a stick costs almost as much as a large pizza, what a sham.

I put my dinner, (a personal Mac and Cheese) in the oven before grabbing the little box and heading off to the bathroom. I follow the instructions to a T and wait the two minutes it takes to tell you if you’re knocked up or not. I don’t see how a little electronic stick can tell you that and I’m not going to give it much thought, I’ll end up with a hangover sized migraine. My fingers tap my knees as I sit on the edge of the marble tub, anxious to know that I’m right.

Up until now I didn’t give the sex much thought, well the part of getting caught anyway. I mean every night when I’ve been going to sleep I see Matt’s face and the whole night comes back to me until I’m sleeping, and even when I’m sleeping fragments of that night are played on this big screen like a drive through porno flick.

My cell phone says two minutes has passed and I reach over for the little stick, closing my eyes. Wait, didn’t I say I wasn’t? Guess I’m not too sure right now, I mean I just peed on a fucking stick that I wasn’t even thinking about last week.

I exhale softly and slowly open my eyes, having the stick there ready to be read as soon as my eyes open, might as well open them. A couple of minutes won’t change anything.

YES.