by K. A. Berg
“Okay. Bye, Miss Jacobs.” He trots off, oblivious to the embarrassment coloring my face.
I grab one of the boxes off the shelf and head back to the pharmacy, hoping my meds are almost ready.
Worst two weeks of my life!
Chapter Eight
Danielle
“Danielle, you don’t have a urinary tract infection. Your cultures came back positive for chlamydia. I called in a different antibiotic to your pharmacy. The one you started yesterday isn’t strong enough to get rid of the infection. You’ll need to abstain from sex for the next seven days and inform all partners of your results, as they’ll need to be tested as well.”
And I thought yesterday was bad!
I exit my bedroom after getting off the phone with my doctor’s office, and I feel dirty and … soiled.
There’s no other way to explain it.
I don’t have a UTI.
I have chlamydia.
Freaking chlamydia.
Oh my God.
My feet feel like bricks of cement as I trudge down the hall toward the living room stuck in a daze as words I never thought I’d hear in reference to myself spin around my mind taunting me.
“You are white as a ghost,” Mercy says as she stands at the counter shoving cucumbers into her water bottle. “Are you feeling all right? Maybe we should skip yoga in the park today.”
Ignoring her, I walk through the kitchen to the living room, plop on the couch and stare at the blank television screen. How did this happen? Well, I know how it happened, but still . . . how the hell did this happen? I’ve had a total of four sexual partners in twenty-seven years and somehow, I have an STD. Not my sister, who sleeps with someone new every other weekend. Not Mercy, who practically slept with an entire frat house in college.
Me!
“Hey.” Mercy walks toward me and takes a seat, placing her hand on my leg. “You okay, Dani? What did the doctor say? What’s going on?”
Feeling cold and hollow, I grab the blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it around myself. “I have chlamydia.”
Her voice sounds like it could shatter glass, and she yells right in my ear. “What?”
“I have chlamydia.”
“You?”
I nod, still too stunned for more than the phrase, “I have chlamydia.”
“Holy shit,” Mercy gasps. “Scott’s cheating is the gift that keeps on giving, huh? I’m calling Amelia. Who cares that it isn’t even noon? This calls for some stiff alcohol.”
“I have to go pick up my new meds from the pharmacy.”
“Okay, we’ll have Ams do it on her way here.”
I hear Mercy talking to my sister, but all I can focus on are the doctor’s words.
“You need to get here, stat. Stop at the pharmacy and pick up your sister’s meds. Then, hit up the liquor store and get the good stuff.” Mercy’s words filter in. “I’ll fill you in when you get here.”
Amelia gets to my place in under twenty minutes with a paper bag in each hand. A small white one from the pharmacy in one and a brown paper bag from the liquor store in the other.
“What’s the crisis?” she huffs, slightly out of breath, as if she hustled her ass to get here.
“Your sister has chlamydia.”
Her face goes blank for a moment before she lets out the most obnoxious cackle ever.
What a bitch! Who laughs at that?
“What the hell, Amelia?”
She shakes her head as she continues laughing. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You, out of all of us, are the one with the STD. You can’t tell me that’s not hilarious.”
I snatch the bag out of her hand. “Give me my medicine, you whore.”
“Whore?” She laughs harder. “My vagina is disease-free, Dani dear.”
“Shut up!”
“I better start pouring those drinks before Dani decks you, Ams. You could’ve waited a bit before starting the joking, no?”
“Oh, please.” She places the brown paper bag on the counter, and I hear the bottles clink. “It’s not like it’s herpes. After some antibiotics, you’ll be fine.”
Mercy shrugs. “I mean, she’s kind of right. It happens more often than you’d think. Oooh … remember when that baseball player spread gonorrhea through, like, four sororities senior year of college?”
“One of my floormates got chlamydia three times our sophomore year,” Amelia adds.
“None of that is making me feel better. I’m a kindergarten teacher, for Christ’s sake. I can’t have freaking chlamydia.”
I wash the pill down with half a bottle of water before placing three glasses out on the counter.
“Start pouring.” I glare at Mercy.
She fills each of the glasses with about a half-inch of whiskey and tops it off with some Coke.
Amelia sniffs the drink and scrunches up her nose before taking a sip. “You know,” she says, “one good thing about Scott being a dipshit is that we haven’t spent this much time drinking with you since college. Only I hate Jack. Some Fireball would be good right about now.”
“I’m so glad you’re finding a silver-lining in the wreckage of my life.” I shake my head. “Fireball is nasty. It burns the hell out of my throat.”
Mercy snorts. Obnoxiously. “Your throat can match the burning in your fire crotch.”
The two traitors yak it up at my expense, and I want to punch them both.
Gripping my glass tight enough to break it, I scowl. “In case you forgot, I’m not opposed to punching people these days. Or finding new friends.”
“I’m your sister.” Amelia laughs. “You can’t trade me in.”
“No, but I can ignore you and have the locks to my apartment changed. Or better yet, tell Mom and Dad all about the men you find on the internet and meet. They’ll never leave your side, and you won’t get laid again.”
My parents are terrified of all those online dating apps. My mother is constantly telling us about stories she’s read about women who were abducted and never seen again after meeting people they found online. She also loves her crime dramas, her favorite being Law & Order: SVU, which only amplifies her fear of online dating in the city. No matter how many times we tell her those are just made-for-TV stories, she counters with, “The stories are, ‘Ripped from the headlines.’ They say so on the commercial. They wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.”
She gasps. “You wouldn’t?”
I smirk. “In a heartbeat.”
“All right,” Mercy interrupts, “Settle down. How are we going to get revenge on Scott for this? Flaming bag of dog shit? Cover his door in biohazard tape? What?”
Not happening. No chance. “I’m not going near that man with a ten-foot pole. I don’t want to add an arrest record to my list of accomplishments, which already has too many things being added to it. If I see his stupid face, I might claw his damn eyes out and then kick him in his filthy dick again.”
Amelia disagrees. Her perfectly messy blonde bun bobs on top of her head as she shakes it. “I don’t think it was Scott.”
“What?” I ask.
“Of course it was. He’s a cheating bastard.” Mercy adds.
“No doubt about that,” she says. “But symptoms of chlamydia take about two weeks to show. Scott’s been cheating for a while. There’s no way a chick begs a guy to not marry someone after only a few weeks. That shit was going on for months.”
“Way to rub salt in my wound, sis.”
She holds her hand up as a lame apology. “Hot bar guy with his pierced dick was about two weeks ago.”
“Condoms prevent that,” Mercy disputes. “There’s no doubt Miss Follow-all-the-rules over here used one.”
My stomach drops. Plummets is more like it. My face too. I feel it go lax, and my eyes practically pop from my head.
“You did, right?” Mercy questions as she turns and takes in my face and body language.
“I …” I stutter. “I did, but at first, I totally forgot. I hadn’t used one in so long. I was
a little eager to get started and might have forgotten for a second. But literally a second.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Amelia grumbles. “Seriously? It only takes a second. Did you sleep through sex ed? Strangers equal condoms, Danielle.”
I’m such an idiot. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let my little sister lecture me on safe sex.
“Well, clearly, lesson learned, Amelia,” I bark. I drop my head into my hands. “He gave me chlamydia and ditched me. I sure know how to pick ’em, huh?”
“What’s done is done,” Mercy declares. “It’s a beautiful summer Saturday afternoon in the city. I say we have a couple of drinks and get out of here.”
Glancing around my apartment, I realize I could use some fresh air and girl time to forget about all the shit I’m going through.
“Sure. Why not?”
Chapter Nine
Danielle
We had a few more drinks, and then Mercy and I changed out of our workout clothes. Amelia demanded I put on something cute and fix my hair and makeup, claiming that feeling good on the outside would make me forget all about my flaming vagina—her words, not mine.
One pair of cute denim shorts and super-tight tank, curled pony, and serious eyeliner later, we headed out.
“My tits are trying to escape this shirt.” Mercy looks down at her cleavage as we take a seat in the metal chairs set up around a bunch of round tables in a sectioned-off part of the intersection between Market Street and Lexington.
Apparently, this part of the city is hosting a street fair today. We stumbled upon the food and beer trucks after walking about five blocks from my apartment.
“Well, considering you’re an entire cup size bigger than me, my shirts aren’t really designed to keep those bad boys locked up.”
Mercy came over in yoga pants and a sports bra. Not exactly going-out clothes, so she raided my closet. She’s lucky I had one of her bras in my drawer that she left at my house at some point or else her Ds would definitely be out for viewing.
“I think you look hot,” Amelia says. “I think they do over there too.” She jerks her chin toward a table of guys a few rows over, and they are no doubt checking her out.
We are three good-looking women.
Amelia is the sultry one. She looks good, no matter what she does. Her shoulder-length blonde hair is always styled expertly. Her makeup is done to highlight her honey-hued eyes and her pouty lips. She’s thin with curves in all the right places.
Mercy is the voluptuous one. Her tits are amazing, and so is her ass. She hides it often because she works with teenage boys, but the woman has a body made for sin. Her dark hair has gorgeous, natural beach waves, and her bright blue eyes are captivating.
Me? I’m more the subtle girl next door. Pin-straight dirty-blonde hair that hits the middle of my back with big, round brown eyes and long legs, and I’m sweet as pie. I’m your stereotypical kindergarten teacher with a perky disposition and cheery voice—well, outside of the last two weeks anyway.
“Meh,” Mercy replies. “Not my type.”
“What do you mean, not your type? They’re male, and they look hot from here.”
“They look like they’d be a good time. Maybe just not all at once,” I joke.
Mercy did have a few threesomes back in the day. She came from a small farming town upstate and made sure she got all the life experience she could out of college.
“So funny.” She sticks her tongue out. “But, seriously, I’m wondering if it’s time to stop having a good time and look for someone to settle down with.”
I almost choke on my overly priced handcrafted artisan beer. “You want to settle down?”
She picks at her pizza and shrugs. “I do want a family one day. I won’t get that by only looking for guys who can show me a fun night. My dating life is a string of brief encounters with men only interested in sex. I’d like more than one day.”
“Wow.” Amelia looks shocked.
Mercy has been her wingwoman forever. After I started dating Scott and didn’t party the way they did, their bond really formed. Amelia’s never had many female friends. She’s always been beautiful and outgoing, and that’s intimidating to a lot of girls. Or at least, to the girls in our suburban hometown.
Raising my beer, I make a toast. “Well then, here’s to one last girls’ weekend. One last hurrah before Mercy starts passing up all the Mr. Right Nows in search of Mr. Right.”
We eat and finish our beer before getting another round.
“So, what do we want to do?” Mercy asks, finishing off her quinoa beer. It sounds gross, but surprisingly, it’s not bad.
Amelia checks her watch. “There’s some art exhibit going on down by my office. It doesn’t start until eight. Some laser show or something. We could still make it.”
Amelia is a social worker and works downtown. There’re always different things happening over there.
“Sure,” I say. “Sounds like it could be interesting.”
“Let’s take the subway though,” Mercy suggests as we stand from the table. “It’s freaking stifling out here, and I don’t want to look or smell like a hot mess.”
All in agreement about not walking across the city, we head toward the subway station a few blocks over.
“Guys, I have to go to the restroom, bad. But I really don’t want to deal with the pain that comes with it.”
This burning sensation is no joke. I don’t think I’d wish this on my worst enemy. It’s like a thousand fire ants live in my bladder, and they’re angry, stinging their way out.
Mercy gives me an apologetic look. “Holding it in isn’t going to help.”
“Stupid Mr. Sexy and his pierced cock. I’d like to give that guy a piece of my mind!”
“You said cock.” Amelia laughs. “It sounds so cute and endearing, coming out of your mouth with your little teacher voice.”
“Well, this teacher voice would give him the smackdown of his life if I ever saw him again.”
“Okay, Miss Badass.” She chuckles some more. “How strong were those beers you drank? You a little drunk on us, Dani?”
I shake my head and sigh, my false bravado leaving my body. “No. I mean, I’m a little buzzed, but mostly, I just have to pee, and it’s going to hurt like hell.”
Mercy grips my hand. “Well, it’s gotta be done. So, come on.” She nods behind me. “We’ll head in the bar over there and use the restroom. I’ll hold your hand.”
I turn to head to the bar and stop dead in my tracks. “Holy shit.”
“What?” they both ask in unison.
“That’s the bar I met Mr. Chlamydia in.”
Amelia, who seems to find every uncomfortable notion of my life comical, giggles. “This is just priceless.”
My false bravado returns. Adrenaline courses through my veins, pumping me full of just the right amount of indignation I need to go tell off that asshole.
Stomping to the entrance, I don’t even wait for them to move with me. I march right toward the door and swing it open.
I dart my eyes around the space but no Ryan to be found.
“Is he here?” Mercy asks, stopping behind me just inside the door.
Amelia nods toward the bar. “Please tell me that is not Mr. Sexy because if so, we need to talk about beer goggles. That man is not sexy. Pierced dick or no pierced dick.”
I look toward the end of the bar, and there’s a man pouring a beer. It isn’t Ryan though. But I do spot Roxy, who smiles at me.
“Back again?” she asks as we near the bar, my eyes still searching out Ryan. Maybe he’s in the back. “Punch anyone today?”
“No.” I laugh and take a seat.
Mercy and Amelia glance between each other.
“This is Roxy,” I clarify. “She hooked me up with some shots after Scott came by. Roxy, this is Amelia and Mercy.”
“What can I get for you ladies?”
Adrenaline still pumps through me, my mind and body prepared for a confrontation.
>
“Shots,” I answer quickly as my anger flares. I got myself all worked up in the matter of a few moments, and I feel like a shaken-up soda can, ready to pop. Even though I don’t particularly like shots, I feel as if it’s the only thing that will settle my frustrations.
Amelia slaps her hand on the bar. “Fireball!”
“No, you bitch.” I glower at her. “Tequila, please, Roxy.”
“You need to get to the restroom, Dani.” Mercy nudges my shoulder.
As soon as the words leave her mouth, I’m reminded of the pain in my vagina, and my anger intensifies.
“After this shot. I need something to help numb the pain.”
Roxy delivers the shots, salt, and a dish of limes. I don’t wait to toast or anything. I lick my hand, dump some salt on it, grab a lime, and go. Salt, shot, lime. My lips pucker, but the warm liquor feels nice, going down. A good kind of burn—unlike the one I’m about to meet again in the restroom.
I head into the restroom and decide to treat this like a Band-Aid and just rip it off. Boy, does it sting. Not as bad as I was expecting—maybe because I have so much alcohol and adrenaline in my system, or perhaps the antibiotics are kicking in.
When I get back to the bar, there’s another round of shots waiting for me.
I repeat the same salt, shot, lime combo as before and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I think I’m developing a drinking problem. I’ve been drunk more in the last two weeks than in the last four years.”
“You probably also shouldn’t be drinking this much with those antibiotics,” Mercy adds.
“True,” Amelia chimes in. “You want the medication to actually work.”
I glare at them. “We’ve been drinking for hours and you’re just now telling me this?”
They both shrug at me.
“Whatever,” I reply. “I’m taking a free pass for today. I deserve it. It’s just the first day, I can’t imagine I’ll cause that big of an interaction with the pills.”
Mercy tosses back her shot. “What’s the plan here? Do you see him?”
“Just ask your girl if he’s here,” Amelia recommends.