My Shallow Regret, Chapter 5 - Examination free porn video

"Oh, shit. What the hell did I do?" I wasn't reacting to the vomit in the toilet -- that had become almost routine at this point. Well, as "routine" as any of this madness could be. As I looked up at my reflection in the mirror, the unfamiliar female face that looked back at me looked very concerned. Thankfully, when I'd woken up this morning, I still had all my clothes on. That was the good news. The bad news was that Mark -- the man I knew as my best friend but who in this reality had been Alana's ex-fianc? -- was also in that bed, with his arms wrapped around me. I managed to slide out of bed without waking him and limp to the bathroom. Surprisingly, the ankle I rolled yesterday was feeling much better even if my stomach wasn't. The daily vomiting was enough of a concern for me that I made a mental note to bring it up at my doctor's appointment later today. For now, I had more pressing concerns. Like, primarily, how to get Mark out of here without anyone seeing him, and without bringing up any more... feelings between us. We definitely didn't need any more... feeling. I sat down on the toilet, making sure to put the seat down first, and just put my head in my hands. A few days ago, I may have been unhappy with my life, but it certainly wasn't this complicated. The worst part was that I couldn't tell if I'd made a mess of things or if Alana dealt with this insanity on a constant basis. She was certainly able to juggle a relationship with her L.A.-based boyfriend Aiden and an affair with Bryce, who up until two days ago had been dating her best friend Monica. I'm just not cut out for that. And as much as I want to maintain Alana's life, so no one suspects that I'm not really Alana, I'm not sure how much longer I can keep going. Hell, I almost broke down and told Mark the truth last night. But given the past between Alana and Mark, I'm not sure he's the right person to bring this too. Just as I was getting up and getting ready to head back to my bedroom, the bathroom door burst open. "Ohmigod, did I see who I think I saw in your bedroom?" excitedly asked my little sister Alexis. "Umm, hello, a little privacy," I said, incredulously. I was fully dressed and getting ready to leave anyway, but I couldn't believe my sister would just burst in like that. Just another thing I had to get used to in being a big sister rather than a big brother. "Hey, it's not my fault you left your bedroom door open with a dude in bed," she said. "That's not what I was talking about," I said, gesturing back to the toilet. "Oh, whatever," she said. "So are you and Mark back together? What about Aiden? Did you tell him? Does Mark know about Aiden?" "That's a lot of questions that I don't have the answer to," I said as I nudged Lexi back out the door. I could hear her still talking as I closed it and locked it. Thankfully she trailed off, and I had another brief moment of privacy before I had to go back and face Mark. And as much as I KNEW that, to me, Mark was just a friend, my body was certainly sending me mixed signals the night before. I knew there was no way I would do anything, but the kiss we'd shared had sparked something inside Alana, and I couldn't really just tell my brain to turn it off. "OK," I said to myself. "You can do this." I opened the door, and standing right there in front of me was Mark. So I did the only thing that felt right. I quickly closed the door and ran back to the toilet to throw up again. "Oh, wow," he said. "The sight of me really makes you sick? That's... comforting." In my haste to try and vomit my emotions, I'd forgotten to lock the door. I'd also forgotten to hold my hair back, but fortunately for me, nothing but a dry heave had come out. "It's not you," I said, lying through my teeth, which were in desperate need of a brushing. "I just haven't been feeling well lately." "How's the ankle?" he asked, leaning back against the door. "It's fine," I said, tersely. I tried not to come off as the bitch who'd broken his heart so many years earlier, but I also didn't want to become emotionally entangled. "You should probably go." "So... that's it?" he asked. "We're not gonna talk about last night?" "We are," I said. "Just not in my bathroom. And not with my mom and sister sleeping down the hall." "Your sister's not sleeping," he said. "That's so, SO, not the point," I said. I flushed the toilet and reached past Mark to open the bathroom door. He quickly put one hand on the door to keep it shut, and the other around my waist, trying to pull me in. "No," I said. "Not here. Not now." "I wasn't..." he said, trailing off. "I just thought I'd help you get back to your room." "I told you," I said as I turned the handle and opened the door, "my ankle is fine." It wasn't "fine" though, as I still had a small but noticeable limp as I made my way back to my bedroom. Mark followed behind, and entered as I was bending over to pick up his sneakers to hand to him. "Still as great a view as always," he said. I once again realized I was bending at the waist and showing off my ass, which made me quickly snap back up. I wanted to throw the shoes at him, but I was pretty sure I was blushing, and my fear of turning around and facing him was greater than my anger at his sexist comment. But I composed myself as best I could and brought the sneakers over to him. "As much as I appreciate being told my ass looks awesome, you really need to go," I said. "We can talk later. Are you working today?" "Yeah, 11 to 8." "Well, I can't do it tonight. I'm meeting up with a friend." "Why don't we just go get some coffee and some breakfast and talk now?" he asked as he slipped on his shoes. "I can't. I have a doctor's appointment," I said. "And besides, I'm not even dressed, and by the time I got showered and ready you'd probably have to go to work." "It did always take you forever to get ready," he said with a laugh. As he smiled, I felt myself smiling too. There was something comforting about seeing that familiar smile, even in a completely unfamiliar situation. "I'm free all day tomorrow," I said. "And I promise, I won't take forever to get ready. Maybe just an hour or two." "OK then, tomorrow it is," he said. Then he leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek before turning around and heading out. For a brief second I considered chasing after him, but my life for the past few days has been some kind of weird "Freaky Friday" movie; I didn't need it to turn into a shitty RomCom too. I heard the front door close and ran -- well, really more hopped -- to my window to see Mark walk down the street. Given that he wasn't walking toward a car, my guess was that in this version of our lives he still lived with his parents, which would make finding him considerably easier when I decided I wanted to go down that road. Right now I had a sister to deal with. "Hey Lexi," I said, politely and softly knocking on her open door. "So, could you, um, maybe, like, not mention Mark to anyone? Just, you know, for a while." "Did you guys have sex?" she asked, in a tone that was a little too excited for my tastes. "No, we did not have sex," I said. "We just slept together. I mean... slept in the same bed. Sleeping. With our clothes on. NOT having sex." I clearly wasn't helping my cause at all, but Lexi bought it. Or she just didn't want to embarrass me any further. "What was he doing here anyway?" she asked. "It's a long story," I said. "One I'd be happy to explain later. Like, say, maybe when you drive me to the doctor?" "Really?" she asked, in a tone even more excited than when she was probing about my sex life. "You want me to drive you?" "Well, I hurt my ankle last night and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be driving with it," I said. It wasn't a total lie, but it served as a convenient way to deal with the fact that I had no idea where this doctor was, and Lexi clearly did. "OK, sure thing," she said. "And we can talk about Mark on the way there." "Maybe," I said. "But until then, keep your lips zipped, okay?" She zipped her lips, then locked them, then tossed the key away, and gave me a thumbs-up. It was amazing how much different she was from the sister I remembered. My sister, Alana, hated me. But Alana's sister, Alexis, adored her. I wanted to figure out why, so that when I fixed my own predicament, I could go about fixing my relationship with my sister, my real one. And then maybe fix my fraying friendship with Mark. And my relationship with my parents. One problem at a time. ***** OK, this was a whole new problem. As we pulled up to the doctor's office, I recognized the building. It was where I'd picked up Alana the day before this craziness all happened. Dr. Briggs wasn't a physician. She was an OB/GYN. I had a gynecologist's appointment. "So I'll pick you up in a couple hours, OK?" Lexi asked. "Uhhhh..." "Look, I promise I won't take the car anywhere," Lexi said. "I'll just drive it home and then back here." Yeah, 'cause that's what I was nervous about. This shitty 2000 purple Dodge Neon. I let out a big sigh and opened the car door. "Please be back here AS SOON as my appointment is over," I said as I got out of the car. "Sooner, if possible." "I will," Lexi said. "Have fun!" Fun? Like that had any chance at happening. I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed inside, where I hesitantly approached the counter. "Hi, uh, Alana Carlylse," I said. "I have an appointment." The receptionist behind the desk didn't even look up from her paperwork as she handed me a clipboard. "Fill this out and have a seat. We'll call your name when you're up." Looking at the form, I realized how much of a problem this was going to be. I knew almost nothing of Alana's medical history, and this thing was detailed. Like, super-detailed. And all I knew was that I was an in-shape 25-year-old who was allegedly sexually active, has been throwing up a lot and sprained her ankle -- the latter of which I'm pretty sure a gynecologist wasn't really the kind of doctor to see about. Fortunately, before I got too deep into making stuff up on the form, I heard my name called out. "Miss Carlysle," the receptionist said. "Just head down the hall to waiting room 3." I held up the clipboard to try and indicate I wasn't finished with the form and delay the inevitable a little longer. "Don't worry about that," she said. "Dr. Frazier sent your charts up from New York. And if Dr. Briggs has any other questions, she'll just ask. Now head back to waiting room 3. There's a gown on the table." A gown. I assumed she wasn't talking about evening wear. I took the clipboard with me as I walked down the hall. The office was well-lit and decorated nicely, with pictures of flowers lining the walls (no symbolism there, right guys?), but it felt like a prison. That feeling didn't go away as I entered the examination room and saw the table with the stirrups. I almost wanted my brain to go into that auto- pilot mode it had done a couple nights ago, but no matter how hard I tried, it seemed like I was stuck here for the duration. I changed into the dressing gown as quickly as possible and sat up on the side of examination table. I wasn't going to get into "the position" until I absolutely had to, and based on my experience with doctors, moving from the waiting room to the examination room only meant you were going to wait some more. After a few minutes of sitting in silence and staring at the wall, I pulled my phone out of my purse. I wasn't surprised to see I had text messages waiting for me from Aiden, Bryce, and even Mark. And a voicemail from a number I didn't recognize. On some level it was nice to be wanted -- I couldn't remember the last week when I got texts from three different people, much less the last morning -- but given what had transpired with each of those guys over the last couple days, it was really the last thing I wanted to deal with. My Facebook app wasn't much more inviting, sitting in the dock with a bright red badge showing 33 new notifications. I hadn't opened it or logged on to Facebook since my last Alana research session, and I'm guessing that my extended absence from the platform was starting to concern some people. However, Alana's return to social media would have to wait, as the woman I presumed was Dr. Briggs entered the room. "Hello Alana," she said, not even looking up from the chart she was holding. "How are you doing today?" God, I have no fucking idea how to even begin answering that question. "Fine, I guess," I said, noncommittally. "Well, if you're fine," she answered, putting down the chart and looking at me for the first time, "then you don't really need to see a doctor, do you?" She looked at me square in the eyes for a second, and then let out a little laugh. I admit, I needed that. It was the first time since pulling into the parking lot here that I felt like I could let my guard down. Hell, it was probably the first time since all this had happened that I felt like that. "OK, well 'fine' might be overstating it," I said. "Honestly, I've been vomiting a lot lately." "Have you been eating any differently?" she asked as she sat down in the doctor's stool in front of me. "Not really," I said. "And it's not like I'm throwing up after I eat." "OK, then, let's check you out." I started to turn my body toward the stirrups, prepared for the worst, but Dr. Briggs reached for the blood-pressure armband on the wall. For the next few minutes, everything felt mostly like a regular doctor's appointment. She tested my blood pressure, did the whole "open and say ahh" thing, had me get on the scale -- an even 104 -- listened to me breathe... nothing out of the ordinary. I was starting to think I'd get out of this experience without having to do anything horribly embarrassing, when she finally said it. "Why don't you lie down and we'll check your breasts?" Yeah, that certainly wasn't part of my normal physical routine. I tentatively leaned back on the table, but before I could get all the way down, Dr. Briggs reached over and stopped me. "Oh, wait, just have to get this first," she said, pulling on the top drawstring of my gown. Oh, crap, I have to be topless for this. I mean, that makes sense, obviously, but... oh, c'mon, why couldn't Alana auto- pilot mode just take over here. I was fully prone on the table as Dr. Briggs began poking at my small, but obviously womanly, breasts. Fortunately, I was too weirded out by this whole experience to feel even remotely turned on. It's not that Dr. Briggs was unattractive. She was actually quite pretty for a woman who appeared to be in her early 50s and was wearing an ill-fitting lab coat. It's just that if there's going to be any breast examining in my life, I'd always prefer to be the examiner and not the examinee. "Everything seems good there," she said after a couple minutes. "Why don't you get up in the foot rests and we'll do a quick pelvic exam." Yeah, and after that, you can just shoot me in the head, because being dead seems like a better option right now than living through this experience. If I ever get back to my normal life, I'm never giving another woman crap about being on her period or anything involving her reproductive system ever again. "All right," I said, trying to mask my growing anxiety as I slipped the top part of the gown back over my torso. I lay back on the table and slipped my feet in as best I could, wincing a bit as I hit my right ankle against the edge of the foot rest. "Are you okay?" Dr. Briggs asked. "Yeah, I just sprained my ankle yesterday," I said. "I think I just wanted something to talk to you about other than my vomiting." "We could talk about your sex life," she said. "Are you currently sexually active?" "I... um... I mean... WHAT?!" "I know, stupid question," she said. "You're 25, of course you are. Are you using any birth control?" I was still too stunned by this line of questioning to answer. I mean, sure, it made sense, given what kind of doctor she was, but it came out of nowhere and she was being so casual about it while staring at my vagina under a paper-thin medical gown. "When was your last period?" she asked. "I... I don't know," I said, being completely honest. I tried to force my brain to access Alana's memories to give her a better answer, but it still didn't work that way. "That's okay," she said. "It's not uncommon for women in your field to miss a cycle or two. You are still in dance, right?" "When my ankle isn't hurt, yeah," I said. "Given your low weight and the amount of exercise you put in during an average day, it wouldn't surprise me if you were off cycle," she said, as she popped her head back out from under the gown. "But let's go ahead and get a blood test just to be sure." As Dr. Briggs went back to her chart and began writing up the order for the blood test, my mind started racing. Was there something wrong with me? With Alana's body, I mean. I began thinking about every possible horrible thing that could be wrong with me... cancer, AIDS, other STDs... just the whole gamut. I've been a generally pessimistic person for a while now, and this certainly wasn't helping. Dr. Briggs was still talking to me as she was filling out the paperwork, but I wasn't hearing a word. Eventually she ripped off the top sheet from her pad and handed it to me. "Just take this down the hall and they'll get you all set," she said. "If you want, we can set up a follow-up for next week, or just wait until the results come in and discuss it then." "Ummm..." I hesitated, not having heard pretty much anything she said up until then. "Let's just wait and see." "OK," she said, with a bit of a chipper tone in her voice. It was both reassuring and off-putting at the same time, like she was being way too calm about something I was freaking out about. "You can go ahead and get dressed, and I'll let Cynthia know you're coming." Getting dressed had been a nightmare ever since this change happened, but right now leggings and a blouse seemed downright normal compared to this gown. I threw on my clothes as quickly as possible, not even bothering to put my bra back on. I just stuffed it in my purse. My purple blouse was dark enough that it wasn't likely anyone would notice, and I was headed back home right after this blood test anyway. Heading down the hall, the heels of my sandals made a loud, echoing click with every step, reaffirming the change I'd been through -- as if being in an OB/GYN's office wasn't affirmation enough. At the end of the hall, a girl -- probably about my age, wearing pink scrubs -- was waiting for me. She took my paperwork and led me into a small room, where I sat down in one of those small school chairs with a mini-desk attached to one of the armrests. Three days ago, I wouldn't have been able to fit in the seat, but this body slid in just fine. The nurse, Cynthia, pulled out a syringe and a couple of empty vials and began prepping my arm. I'd always been scared of needles -- one of the many reasons I could never take PEDs as a football player -- so I just did my best to look away. "OK, ready?" Cynthia asked as she prepared to stick the needle in my arm. "As ready as I'll ever be," I said. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them back up, I'd be back in my bedroom as Andrew. Sadly, I had no such luck. Cynthia finished up, and let me know that Dr. Briggs put in a rush request on the testing, which didn't ease my concerns in any way. "So that's it?" I asked. "Yep," she said, in a tone that -- like Dr. Briggs' -- was a little too cheery for my tastes. "We should have the results for you later today." I wanted to believe that everything was fine. That if there was really any concern by anyone that something was seriously wrong with me they'd be more straightforward about it. But I couldn't get this nagging voice out of my head, a voice that was telling me that none of this was normal procedure. Still, all I could do was wait. ***** I'd had all sorts of things I wanted to get done that afternoon -- starting with backing up Alana's hard drive to test out my reboot theory -- but I couldn't take my eyes off my phone. I kept waiting for a call from Dr. Briggs' office, but as the hours ticked away, it seemed like that call wouldn't be coming. Texting kept me plenty busy, as the various men in and around my life all wanted some kind of attention. I managed to keep Bryce and Mark at bay, but Aiden could tell that something wasn't right with me. I'd done a decent enough job faking things when we talked and texted, but I feared what would happen when I was with him face-to-face. That was still a few days off, however, and I had a night out planned to take my mind off of it. This certainly wasn't how I wanted my first date with Sara, the Panera Bread girl, to go. I mean, I was thrilled it was happening, but I imagined myself wearing khakis, a button-down shirt and a nice pair of Jordans. Instead, I was looking at myself in a mirror wearing a light blue mini-dress, black leggings and heeled boots -- the right one of which I could barely zip up, thanks to my swollen ankle. I desperately wanted to skip the heels, but the only shoes I could find that didn't have them were my workout sneakers and ballet slippers, neither of which went with any kind of outfit that would be appropriate at The Red Door. To be entirely honest, I wasn't sure this outfit was great, but my sister seemed to like it, which was approval enough for me. I kept looking in the mirror, nervously twirling my long, black hair. I looked fine, right? No, I looked better than fine, even without makeup (I'd tried sitting down to put some on, but I couldn't get into autopilot mode, and wasn't nearly practiced enough to try it myself). Still, something felt off. Looking around the room, something caught my eye: the ankh. It was sitting next to my bed, with the last bit of sunlight coming through the window and reflecting right off it. I picked it up and slipped it on; it still felt heavy around my neck, but looking back at my reflection in the mirror, it seemed like the perfect thing to complete this otherwise sparse outfit. I cracked a brief smile. My emotions were still so conflicted. Sure, I was gonna go watch my crush play live music as her personal guest, but I was also still... this -- not to mention the whole "blood test" thing hanging over my head. "It's now or never," I said to myself, as I grabbed my purse and headed out. The 35-mile drive to The Red Door was surprisingly uneventful -- if a bit slower in this shitty Neon than it would've been in my Charger. I even enjoyed listening to the radio for the first time in years, since the rap selection on Hot 93.7 was far superior to that on Alana's iPhone. I wasn't sure what type of music Sara would be playing that night, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't resemble Meek Mill or Rick Ross. Even if it wasn't my kind of sound, I told myself to enjoy it. It was about the girl, not the songs. "ID, please." The bouncer at the door caught me off guard. I hadn't been carded in years -- even before I was 21 I was big enough and looked old enough to get in bars no problem -- but apparently going sans makeup had the strange effect of making me look younger than I was. It didn't help that the dress I was wearing was loose and hanging low off my shoulders; it looked like I'd raided it from the closet of a big sister I didn't have. "I'm 25," I said, reaching into my purse to dig out my driver's license. "And I'm on the list. Alana Carlysle." "ID," he repeated. The guy stood about 6-foot-2, probably about 275 pounds or so. His tight black shirt showed a physique that wasn't quite chiseled, but was certainly imposing enough to me in my new, tiny form. God, I hated so many things about what I was going through, but this recurring feeling of weakness in the face of someone bigger than me -- someone who wouldn't have been so three days ago -- was getting on my last nerve. I briefly considered telling this asshole off, but instead I just showed him my license and headed inside, where I scoped out a spot at the bar by the stage. I really just wanted to mind my own business, maybe have a drink and get to know Sara better, but it quickly became clear that wouldn't be easy. "Can I buy you a drink?" A man sat down next to me. Well, calling him a "man" was probably being generous. He looked like he was about 19 years old, and calling him a "hipster" probably would've been an insult to hipsters. He couldn't have weighed much more than me, and was wearing black skinny jeans that might've been tighter than my leggings. His "vintage" shirt was probably brand new and cost at least $200, and... fuck me, I was giving off a hipster vibe, wasn't I? The whole "dress with leggings, no makeup, faux- vintage necklace" look totally played into what this guy was looking for. "I'm not interested," I said, trying to brush him off as quickly as possible, but he wasn't giving up so easily. He sat down in the seat to my right and flashed two fingers at the bartender. "If you're not interested in a drink," he said, "then a bar is a weird place to be." "Are you even old enough to buy a drink?" I asked. I probably would've been better off just ignoring him, but he seemed like the persistent type. "I've been around," he said. "Where've you been? I mean, besides my dreams." "Sweet Christmas, that's your line? Really?" The response came from behind me and I turned around to see just about the last person I expected: Cash. "Oh, hey," the hipster said to Cash. "Is she with you?" "Yes," I injected quickly. "And we'd like it if you left. Now." He put his hands up as if to say "I'm sorry", then hopped up out of his seat and headed down to the other end of the bar, where a cute blonde was sitting by herself. I almost felt sorry for her, but at least I wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. Cash, on the other hand... "Thanks," I said to him, letting out a big sigh. "No problem," he said. "That guy didn't really seem like your type." "And you do?" I asked "Well," he said. "At least I'm dressed like an adult." He was wearing a black suit with a light blue button down shirt. My guess is he'd come straight from work, and probably just took off his tie and left it in the car. I had to admit, he looked good. I'd never had the physique to dress like that, but he was pulling off the look quite well. "You are," I said. "Blue's a nice color on you." "It's better on you," he said. "Oh, God, that was such a cheesy line. I should probably just go hang out with that guy." "No, it's fine," I said. "Well, yeah, it was a cheesy line, but at least it came from an honest place." "You know," he said, "I was gonna call after the other night, but I wasn't sure if you wanted me to. You were kind of weird at the club." "It wasn't really my kind of scene," I said, being honest in that regard. But that was so far down the list of reasons I would've seemed "weird" to him that night. "Same here," he said. "Places like this are much more my speed." "Well, if we're being entirely honest, I normally wouldn't be here either," I said. "But I've got a friend performing tonight." "Me too," he said, enthusiastically. "OK, now you're just going along with me to butter me up, aren't you," I said. I crossed my legs and crossed my arms across my chest, to make it clear via body language that I was "closed for business". "No, I'm serious," he said. "My sister Sara is going to play some of her songs tonight. She's up first. That's the only reason I'm here so early." "Sara Carpenter?" I asked. "Yeah," he said, quizzically. "How'd you know?" "That's who I'm here to see," I said, excitedly. "We're old college friends." "Small world," he said. "So, while we're waiting, can I buy you a drink?" "Just water for now," I said. "I'll save the heavy stuff for after the show." Truthfully, I just didn't want to get drunk and accidentally test this body's alcohol tolerance -- and possibly do something stupid in the process. While mentally I had no interest in any guy, there'd been enough moments with Cash, Bryce and Mark over the last few days where my body sent me signals totally opposite of what my mind was saying. And with my mind already in a vulnerable place in regards to Sara, who knew what could happen if alcohol was thrown into the mix. I wasn't much of a chemistry student in high school, but even I knew that all made up a bad formula. The bartender brought over water for me and a bottle of Sam Adams for Cash and we turned our attention to the stage. After a couple minutes of small talk -- and me avoiding any talk of Aiden or the OB/GYN -- Sara came out on stage and took a seat at the keyboard. There was some decent applause and she launched right into her first song without even introducing herself. The music was your basic piano rock/pop, like a Vanessa Carlton or a less-angry Fiona Apple. It wasn't my thing AT ALL. But damn if I wasn't enthralled by her voice. Her singing voice was deeper than I'd expected from talking to her. There was a soulfulness to it that belied her small frame. And the lyrics... She sang of lost love, not in a Taylor Swift-ian "OMG, I can't believe my boyfriend left me AGAIN" kind of way, but in a way that expressed true pain, true hurt. The kind that you didn't just move on from. She wasn't just singing words, she was singing her life. Part of me wanted to just go on stage and hug her and tell her it'd be all right, but not only would that be super-unprofessional, it'd just be flat-out strange. As she played the final notes of her opening song, the bar grew completely silent, then erupted in applause, no one cheering louder than me. "Hi, I'm Sara Carpenter," she said, finally introducing herself to a very receptive audience. "That was a song I wrote. This next one I didn't write, but I love playing it, so if you know the words, sing along." As she said the last part, she seemed to look over at me and smile. It gave me a tingly feeling in a place that, quite frankly, I didn't feel comfortable feeling tingly. The rest of Sara's set was just as breathtaking as her opening number. She easily bounced between covers and original songs, and the audience loved every minute of it. You could see the joy in Sara's face as she left the stage, knowing she'd done what she loved and made people happy doing it. It was the same expression I had every time I ran off the field with a crowd cheering after a win -- the kind of look that says "I love this and I don't ever want it to stop." "She was pretty good, wasn't she," Cash said to me before finishing off his second bottle of beer. "Pretty good," I responded incredulously. "She was amazing. She was incredible. She was... perfect." "I don't know about perfect," said a voice from behind. Cash and I both turned around to see Sara standing there. I immediately starting blushing, though thanks to the low level of lighting in the bar, I'm not sure Sara noticed. At least I'd hoped she didn't. Cash got up from his seat, allowing Sara to sit down next to me. "Well, if you weren't perfect," he said as she sat down, "you were damn close." "I can't believe you think you need something to fall back on," I said. "You were born to do this." "I don't know about that," she said. "I was just so nervous and then I saw you and Cash here and all of my butterflies went away and I just played. It's never been that easy before. I just... I felt the music." She took a deep breath and looked down at her hands. "God, they're still shaking... I need a drink. How do you do it?" "Do what?" I asked. "Perform in front of people night after night? I mean, you've been in ballets, musicals, you practically live on stage, right?" "I guess I just don't think about it," I said. "And, to be honest, alcohol helps." She laughed that laugh that just made me want to melt, and then signaled to the bartender, who brought over three more bottles of Sam. "A toast," Cash said, reaching over Sara and grabbing one of the bottles. "To two beautiful, talented artists. And Alana." "Oh, engineering is an art now," I said, jokingly. "Well, if you dance as well as you throw a football..." "I had a bad day," I said. "Besides, this isn't about me. It's about Sara. To a brilliant performance." I picked up my beer and she picked up hers. "To friends," she said. "And maybe more," Cash added. "Maybe," I said, looking more at Sara than him. We touched our glasses, and right as I went to drink, my purse started shaking. "I think it's your phone," Cash said after taking a big swig of beer. My eyes darted back and forth between my purse and my beer. I wanted to just take a drink and ignore whatever was trying to distract me, but then it hit me: Dr. Briggs' office! "Oh, shit, I better get that," I said. I put my beer down on the bar and quickly rummaged through my belongings to pull out my iPhone. "Hello, can I speak to Alana Carlysle?" the woman on the other end asked. "This is," I said. "Miss Carlysle, we have the results of your blood test," she said. My face went white. I couldn't imagine they'd be calling me this late on a Friday night if it wasn't something really bad. "And?" I asked, hesitantly. "The test came back positive," she said. Oh, God, I knew it. I'm going to die. I'm 25 years old, I'm stuck in a body that isn't even mine, and now that body is going to die. "Positive?" I asked, my voice quivering as I slumped in my stool. "Yes," she said. "You're pregnant."