Chapter 92: Results

-Molly-

I tossed the bag back on the table. “No.”
Paul pushed it back toward me with a calm, even stare that said he had the upper hand, and he knew it.
“This is non-negotiable, girl. You will take the test, and you will tell me what it says,” he almost sounded pleasant as he spoke.
I barked out a cruel laugh. “What are you going to do, Paul? Shake the sample out of me? I don’t think so.”
He didn’t even flinch. “I’ll pack your mother up tonight, and you’ll both be on the streets before you can blink. Do you honestly think that Williamina will last long without my money?”
Based on past knowledge… no, I thought in despair. There was no way my mother could live without having a man to take care of her.
In my head, I began to search for an escape from this horrible calamity. I couldn’t let Paul think for one minute that he would have anything to do with my baby. If I was pregnant… and for the first time since I had started to suspect, I hoped I was wrong.
I could go to my mother. She would be there for me… right? I couldn’t imagine her kicking me out. But if she thought that she would lose her friends and status, she just might.
Williamina loved me, I never doubted that, but I wouldn’t put her in the position of having to choose between her husband or her daughter.
And the same went for Scott.
I would NEVER do what Paul was doing.
That meant… I was on my own, and I wasn’t strong enough to fight Paul outright. The only option I had was to play his game until I found a way out.
I grabbed the paper bag and cradled it to my chest. “Fine, I’ll take the test.”
Paul picked up the phone and called one of the housekeepers into the room. I recognized her as the one that had emptied my trash can this morning. She was older than my mother and had a severe look of displeasure about everything. Her short pointed nose was turned up to the ceiling as if she was smelling something foul. Her stark grey hair was pulled back in a bun that was so tight it actually helped ease some of the wrinkles around her eyes. But that did not work in her favor. The typical black and white maid's outfit was faded but starched within an inch of its life. I doubted it would ever dare wrinkle or get dirty even if she fell down a muddy hill.
“Madeline, take this girl to the downstairs bathroom and make sure she doesn’t screw it up,” he demanded.
“Yes, sir,” Madeline said, giving Paul a little curtsy as if he was the lord of the manner.
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at how she looked at him. It was as if they were both playing a sort of weird kinky part that should never have seen the light of day.
Disturbed, I got out of my chair and followed Madeline to the bathroom, then moved around her to get into the bathroom.
“Leave the door open,” Madeline demanded. “I don’t want no funny business.”
I glared at her and put my hands on my hips. “What exactly do you think I’m going to do, Madeline? Have someone sneak in the bathroom window and have them take the test for me?”
Madeline’s narrow face pinched even further, which I thought was quite a feat on her part. “Don’t give me any lip, young lady. Your father—”
“Paul is NOT my father.”
“Is doing the best he can for you! He deserves your respect!” she finished as if I hadn’t said anything.
“How is letting you watch me pee on a damned stick gonna show him anything? And he is calling ME perverse?” I scoffed.
Madeline grabbed my arm and shoved me into the bathroom. Despite her age, the woman was strong enough to be a bouncer, and I winced at her grip.
“Get it done, girl, and watch how you speak about the master of the house, or I’ll box your ears as your parents should have. I swear you monsters nowadays are more and more disrespectful!"
“Well, that’s easy to be when the ELDER generation looks at us like we’re invading their space instead of sharing it,” I spat back as I moved into the bathroom and firmly closed the door in her face.
I quickly locked the door before she could turn the knob.
“Open this door!” she began to scream and pound on the door, but I ignored her.
I sat on the toilet and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. My heart raced, and my lungs felt like the heat of the desert mid-summer.
I forced the sound of the maid's shouting and banging out of my head. I needed to try to think rationally about the situation.
I pulled out the box and quickly read through the instructions as if I didn’t know what the words: Pee-On-A-Stick meant. I read through every little word hoping that something would inspire a way out of this debacle.
It hit me when I saw the last bit about proper usage and warnings, declaring in very bold letters to not reuse or use if the sample collector was wet, as it may return a false negative.
“I sure as hell hope so,” I replied, opening the box.
I finally felt I had hit a stroke of luck when I saw the box had two tests. Hiding one in my pocket, I dipped the stick in the water, then turned the sink on to simulate the act of taking the test.
Just to cover all my bases, I ripped up the box and hid anything that mentioned more than one test, praying that no one paid that close attention.
As soon as I was satisfied, I set the used test on the counter and finally opened the door waving Madeline inside.
“You can check every nook and cranny. The only person in here that would take the test is me,” I told her, getting out of her way.
Madeline glared at me but did search the room, then stood over the test, watching as it slowly changed colors. I slid my hands into my pants pockets and squeezed them into fists, trying to keep my anxiety off my face and not stare as she was.
The seconds ticked by like minutes, and the minutes felt like hours before the maid turned back to me.
She lifted up the stick with a satisfied smile.
It took me a minute for my eyes to focus on the single blue line on the stick.
Negative.