A/N: I started writing Six Different Ways in June 2009 and first posted it on Twilighted starting in August 2009. I'm just finally posting it here on FF in the hopes that it will encourage me to finish writing it. I have about three chapters left, partially written, and am hoping to wrap this up in the next month or so.
Disclaimer: While I wasn't new to writing, I was new to the fandom at the time, and if I were to write this now, it would be different. Also, the patients/characters in this story are all fictional.
Thank you to pomme_de_terre for pre-reading. The title of this story is from The Cure song of the same name.
Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this story. The remainder is my original work. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.
I stare at the patterns on my ceiling, the smoothness of the swirling forms making me think of cells like in my biology class. Cells dividing and dividing and dividing. Repeated phases of mitosis. But instead of creating another living thing, they are invading my body, my blood, my bones.
The swirls start to blur and merge into one as my eyes tear up. I blink the warm moisture back and reluctantly smile up at them at the ridiculousness of my fear yesterday morning when I went to the doctor's office. I didn't know fear then. They sent me home from school, calling my mom to pick me up from the nurse's office. I had fainted.
I had been feeling tired for the past few weeks, then out of the blue, I fainted. I was running late for my English class and we had a paper due. I stayed up late finishing it up and ran all the way to first period. One minute I was catching my breath just outside the door, the next minute everything was spinning, then black.
This is it, I thought as I regained focus in the nurse's office. It was what I had been denying. I'm pregnant. Who gets pregnant the first time anyway? Who gets pregnant while using a condom? A condom that broke part way through a half ass attempt at losing my virginity with a guy I hardly knew and didn't really care about. That's what I get for wanting to get it over with.
But as I sat in the doctor's office-with my mom in the waiting room-waiting for the doctor to come back to me with the results of the pregnancy test, her words started to make more sense to me. If you're mature enough to have sex, then you're mature enough to talk to your parents about the pill. Except it didn't matter. Because I'm not going to have sex again. For now. And I'm not pregnant.
I can hear my mom, Renee, downstairs talking to my aunt on the phone through her own sobbing tears. The sound of her crying is what stirs me to motion again. I get up, drag my duffel bag out from under my bed, and start packing some clothes. I toss in some pajamas, my favorite ginger scented lotion, a few books, then pack up my laptop. Then I flop back down on my bed again and wait for the call from the hospital to let us know my room is ready.