pregnancy scare with Patrick? The reader takes a pregnancy test, but it’s negative. Thank you bestie 🥹💕
this one isn't as happy-fluffy...
The pregnancy test felt like a lead weight in your backpack as you walked into the Center Street Drug Store after school. The fluorescent lights overhead made you feel exposed, like everyone could see right through you. You'd grabbed the test quickly, trying not to look at it too long, as if your guilt might somehow transfer onto the box. You grabbed a couple of other random items in a poor attempt to hide the purchase: a magazine, a bag of cotton balls, a bottle of shampoo, mints, and a pack of cigarettes.
When you got to the counter, Greta Keene was chewing gum, her nails painted a neon green. Greta’s eyes lit up when she saw the box, and she didn’t even bother hiding her smirk.
“Who’s is it?” she asked teasingly, leaning forward like you were in on some big secret together.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you slid some crumpled bills across the counter and avoided Greta’s gaze. The bell above the door jingled as you left, Greta’s soft laughter trailing behind you.
It was late in the evening before you got up the guts to take the test. Patrick’s house looked surprisingly normal. White siding, a trimmed lawn, nothing that screamed Patrick Hockstetter lives here. His parents’ cars were in the driveway, which made you uneasy. He’d never invited you over when anyone was home before.
When he opened the door, he was wearing that cocky half-smile you hated as much as you liked. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he’d just driven with all the windows down.
“What’s up?” he asked, stepping aside to let you in.
Patrick looked over his shoulder into the house and then back to you. "My dad's out of town this week. My mom's on her third glass of red."
You hesitated, pulling the test out of your purse like it might bite you. “I need to take this.”
Patrick stared at it, then at you. “You’re kidding. You can't do that at your house?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding? My mother will kill me if she finds it.”
His face twitched, like he wanted to say something, but for once, he didn’t. “Fine. My bathroom’s up the stairs, down the hall.”
You locked the door behind you, your hands shaking as you ripped open the box. The instructions were overly cheerful, written in some bubbly font that made you want to scream. After peeing on it, you set the test on the edge of the sink and walked back into Patrick’s room to wait.
He was pacing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “How the hell long does this take?”
“Three minutes,” you muttered, sitting on the edge of his bed.
“Three minutes? Feels like a goddamn eternity.”
You didn’t say anything. The silence between you felt heavy, like the walls were closing in.
Patrick stopped pacing and leaned against his desk, his arms crossed. “Do you wanna, like, talk about it?”
“What you're gonna do if it’s… you know.”
You looked away, your voice barely above a whisper. “Patrick, I’m only a junior. I can barely pass biology.”
“I know,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.
“And you said you’re getting the hell out of Derry as soon as you graduate."
“I know,” he repeated, louder this time, his jaw tightening.
"You know? Great, Patrick. That's super helpful. Glad we're on the same page."
His lips curled. "What do you want me to say, huh? That I'll stick around? That I'll play house with you? Be a dad? Jesus Christ."
"God, Patrick, I'm not asking for a damn proposal!" Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. "But maybe a little support? You're not in this alone, you know."
"Oh, I know I'm not. Pretty sure you're the one late for your period, not me."
You stared at him, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Are you serious right now? You're acting like this has nothing to do with you."
"I didn't say that," he shot back, his tone cold and clipped.
"You might as well have!" you snapped. "I didn't fuck myself, Patrick! I didn't get myself pregnant!"
"Keep your voice down, my mom's downstairs!"
He stood up straight, stepping closer, towering over you with that dangerous energy radiating off him. "Don't pin this on me like I took advantage of you."
Your laugh was humorless, bitter. "Oh, I'm sorry, sneaking around and screwing me in your car until you get bored and leave is what every girl dreams of."
Patrick's jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing. "You're the one who wanted to keep this casual. Remember that? No one can know little miss perfect got her cherry popped in the backseat of a fuckin' Chevy. Especially not by me."
You stared at him, your mouth agape, rage bubbling beneath your skin. "Really? That's where you're going with this? You think you're the victim just because I didn't want to get called a slut at school?"
"You're acting like I tricked you into this, like you didn't crawl into my lap every chance you got," he shot back.
Your laugh was sharp, venomous. "And you didn't have your hand up my skirt every chance you got."
His eyes darkened. "Don't pretend you didn't like it," he sneered. "You wanted it just as much as I did. Maybe more. Just to piss off your rich parents."
"Oh, screw you," you snapped, shoving him back a step. "You're such a jerk. The second something doesn't go your way, you turn into a complete asshole."
"And what are you?" He gestured wildly, his voice dripping with mockery. "You've got it all figured out, don't you? Except now you're in my house, using my bathroom, waving around a test like it's my fault."
"Because it is your fault!" you shouted. "It's not like I'm doing it with half the senior guys in their cars!"
"Yeah, and I didn't exactly force you into my car either. On any of those times," he snarled.
Your hands balled into fists at your sides. "You're unbelievable. You don't even care, do you? This is just some inconvenient blip on your radar."
"Care?" He barked out a laugh. "What the hell do you want me to do? Shit, do you want me to propose?"
"Shit, do you want me to propose..." you echoed dryly, nodding to yourself, tears stinging your eyes. "You're such a piece of shit. Why did I even tell you? It's not like you're my boyfriend."
He flinched at that, but it only seemed to make him angrier. "No. I'm not."
"I'll have to drop out of school, and I'll have to—"
"Drop out?" he interrupted. "Don't be so fucking dramatic. It's not like anyone's forcing you to keep it."
The words hit you like a slap. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. "Wow," you finally said, your voice low and trembling.
Before you could respond further, the time on his nightstand clock blared, the shrill sound making you jolt. Both of you froze.
"Well?" he asked, his voice sharper now.
You didn't answer, your chest tight as you turned and walked into the adjacent bathroom, slamming the door behind you.
When you came out a minute late, the test in hand, Patrick was sitting on the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He looked up when you stopped in the doorway.
"For fuck's sake, what does it say?" He asked.
"It's negative," you said quietly, the relief in your voice muted by exhaustion.
For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then he leaned back onto his bed, letting out a low, humorless laugh.
You stared at him, your expression unreadable.
"Guess we dodged a bullet," he said finally.
"I dodged a bullet," you corrected him tiredly.
He offered a half-smirk. "Right."
You grabbed your purse, your movements stiff and mechanical. As you reached the bedroom door, he called out, "Hey."
You paused, glancing over your shoulder, wiping your eyes. "Whatever it is, forget it."
He stood, crossing the room in two long strides until he was standing in front of you. His height, his presence, was overwhelming, as always. "Don't start again," he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. "We're fine. It's over."
"It's not fine, Patrick," you snapped, your voice trembling. "I'm still stuck in the same situation, pretending like none of this matters to me, while you..."
"I'm sorry, okay?" For a moment, you saw something raw flicker across his face. Regret? Whatever it was, it knocked the air out of your lungs.
You blinked. "You're sorry?"
“Yeah.” He reached out, brushing his fingers over your arm in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “I’m sorry I said all that shit. I didn’t mean it. I was just—” He shook his head, his gaze dropping for a moment before snapping back up to meet yours. “I was scared.”
You opened your mouth to argue, to say he didn’t get to play this card now, not after everything he’d just said. But then his hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer.
“Come on, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “You know I didn’t mean it. You know I care about you. Don’t you? You're my girl.”
“Don’t.” His hand moved to cup your face, tilting your chin so you couldn’t look away. “I’m serious. I care about you, okay? I know I’m not good at saying it, but I do.”
You swallowed hard, your resolve crumbling as his lips brushed against your temple, your cheek, before settling just over yours.
“Please,” he whispered against your skin, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t stay mad at me.”
And just like that, you gave in. You always did.
