ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Testing...

Vignette - Testing...
Dramatis Personae Melinda	2013-12-15 '
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Early in the morning, Melinda rises from her snowed-in roost on the couch at Lighthaus. She scrubs her hand over her face and looks around, the scent of last night's baking and cooking still in the air. She takes a moment to take a few more deep breathes before slipping her feet on the ground. She leaves her blankets behind and heads over to the door, hands rubbing at her thighs as she moves, some nervousness taking over. She kneels down carefully next to the reusable grocery bag that she left there the night before and rummages around briefly before withdrawing a long obnoxiously pink package from inside. From that moment on, her eyes stay locked on the box, reading the small writing on the outside. Distracted footsteps take her to the bathroom as her fingers open the box and pull out the longer list of directions. Mel's eyes widen before an exasperated sigh escapes her lips. She closes the bathroom door behind her and moves to the toilet. These things are ridiculous, she considers, frowning as she tears through the packaging. Fast and easy results in two minutes. Make sure it's the first of the day, close to when other things should have happened, hold under for five seconds or soak in a cup for thirty. Recap. Hold for however long or set down on a level surface -- who wants to clean up after that? Gross and ridiculous. And yet, necessary. After the deed, she rests the stick on the counter and washes her hands before repackaging the second test and leaving it on a separate part of the counter. Then she waits. And waits. And waits. It's lucky it's early enough in the morning that other sleep people haven't risen yet -- and those early risers have their own bathrooms anyway, right? Melinda flips the lid down on the toilet while she takes a seat. The seconds tick by slowly as the possibility of interruption looms on the horizon. The toothbrushes in the bathroom become increasingly interesting as time goes on, trying to visually inspect for moisture, attempting to gauge how long its been since they've last been used. Had it been used that morning? How long ago? Were they completely dry and the owners would be coming soon? How long was this going to take? How long has been? Well, it had been a couple weeks, a month to be exact, since she last had sex. It was a rush of relief and desperation that lead to that dark afternoon, slipping into Dusk's bed for comfort and distraction. It was a need to feel alive, and the act was amazing. The need and euphoria were intense, but not overwhelming so much as to not remember the basics, to not remember protection. And protection is pretty damned effective. However, as things were returning to normal and other things were not returning as they should, Mel's mind is locked in on that point zero two percent chance. She'd put it off for a long time. Things were not normal. Stress affect menstruation and hell if they hadn't been under a shit ton of stress lately. And it was only an idle concern. She would have rather gone out on her own and gotten the test herself, just to get a little peace of mind, but she was no where near qualified for supply runs and asking someone else was a bit beyond embarrassing. She'd wait it out. It's not like that would change anything. Either she'd still be pregnant, or she wouldn't. And then things got better and supplies started trickling in and the first time she found a pregnancy test on the shelf, she jumped at it. And here she was today. Waiting without watching to see if that dang strip activated yet. Silence ticks by, Mel looking around the bathroom once more and counting to sixty… twice, just to be sure before looking. And there is a sigh of relief. Melinda checks the packaging just to be sure, but that only confirms that the result is negative. She stares at the test, taps the capped tube against her fingers before turning and throwing it away in the near by trash can. The rest of the packaging is carried with her as she leaves the room, looking to move on with her day. She only pauses for a moment, glancing back into the bathroom, at the trash can, concerned. If not that, then... what?