I couldn't bring myself to tell my mom the truth; I simply couldn't. The moment I heard her warm voice on the line, my stomach twisted, and I found myself mumbling incomprehensible apologies. I acted like a complete coward, shifting the full responsibility onto my aunt, and then retreated to my room for the entire night, consumed by the fear of mom's reaction. I don't know if I could handle another devastating blow, especially one of such scale. After all, she's not just a fleeting presence in my life, someone I'll forget in an instant. She...

She's my mom.

We only have each other.

And I let her down. Again.

"I spoke to Janet," Bonnie says. She slumps into the chair next to me. Just the mention of mom's name sends a chill down my spine. I can almost feel the goosebumps forming on my arms. "She's already applying for early release from her role as a witness in the case. It's expected to be approved without any major issues."

I send her a vague look.

"And..." My throat goes dry. "Did she say anything...?"

"Well..." The tension leaves Bonnie's face. "Janet... She's worried about you, you know? I'm sure you're aware of that." She swallows. "But... Well, I don't know, wouldn't you maybe prefer to... talk to her? Before she comes back?"

I lean forward and say, "I tried."

Twice, even. However, the moment I turned on my phone and looked at the missed calls from my mom, accompanied by a snippet of that unfortunate message from Newton in the notifications, all my inner drive dissipated like smoke. Lingering at the periphery of my consciousness was the persistent bitterness of yet another failure.

The recent recollection of our encounter at the Bench of Solace fails to uplift my spirits. Instead, it resurfaces dormant emotions that should have remained suppressed, carrying with them the reverberation of that old hope — an internal detonation that devours everything in its path.

"I don't believe it's a suitable conversation to be held over the phone." I capture Bonnie's attention by saying that. "Perhaps it's merely my foolish interpretation, but..." My words taper off.

"I get it," she responds.

Do you really? I restrain myself from uttering those words aloud. Perhaps it's due to our shared history, but I find it hard to believe that Bonnie understands me in any capacity, that she gets the profound anxiety that engulfs me whenever my thoughts turn to mom — the person who has always been there for me unconditionally. Even when Bonnie audaciously coerced me into coming out. Even when I shattered after splitting up with Darren.

Always.

Moreover, I would much rather have the opportunity to discuss all of this with mom face-to-face than through a phone conversation. Even Darren had the decency not to inform me of the entire situation with a simple text message. That aspect astonishes me the most because when I used to imagine Darren, all I saw was the personification of deceit. The guy I thought I knew wouldn't be considerate enough to arrange a direct meeting. The guy I thought I knew probably wouldn't even admit that he had HIV. He would simply move on.

And if this guy did meet me and behave like... like... a decent human being, then...

Maybe I never truly knew him?

This thought terrifies me — the possibility that I've been misunderstanding everything for all this time.

I can't even recall if I ever cared about the potential of catching something, even if I didn't engage in sexual intercourse. However foolish it may sound, until now, I hadn't even considered that possibility. I still believe that such a scenario is absurd, but at the same time, I'm terrified.

What was the purpose of it all? What was I hoping to achieve? What were my expectations? I wanted to convince myself that everything was fine, that I didn't need anyone, and that I didn't miss him at all, even though the truth was the opposite. It didn't take long before I started mirroring his actions.

That's right. I intentionally mimicked my perception of a person to suppress my inner sorrow. I pushed away any thoughts associated with the need to stop behaving in such a pitiful manner — the quiet voice urging me to let go and take a step forward because it wouldn't end well. I ignored those concerns for so long until I succeeded in manipulating reason and deceiving my mind. I consciously caused my own downfall.

Caught up in my thoughts, I fail to notice Bonnie rising from her seat. It's only when her hand gently rests on my shoulder that I raise my head, immediately sensing the weight and unease conveyed through her touch. No words are necessary for me to grasp the importance of the doctor's arrival.

It's time.

With reluctance and a heavy pace, I rise from my seat, as if entertaining the faint possibility that delaying could somehow alter the outcome. I step into the doctor's office, sinking into the chair and inhaling deeply, bracing myself for the impending storm.

I silently count the seconds in my mind, my gaze fixed on the doctor. The sound of papers shuffling makes me tense, and I tightly clench my fists, feeling the nervousness and stress mounting within me. Beside me, Bonnie sits, crossing her legs with a stiff posture, as if the effort drains her of the energy she desperately needs.

That would make us two.

But what will happen afterward? What about my mom and my friends? Damn, even Newt! His family! Won't they all have to go through the same tests if my test result turns out positive? How will I meet their gaze? How will I explain the origin of this damn disease? How will I share this news with my mom?

How in the world will I make them all understand that I have or could have HIV?

Certainly, nothing is definite at this point, as Bonnie maintains. Darren could have gotten infected after cutting off contact with me, and I may not have caught it from someone on Tinder or at a bar! I didn't even sleep with those people. We just...

Just what?

Even in such a situation, I find myself seeking excuses, desperate to justify my actions and soothe my conscience. It seems I have mastered the art of self-deception. Perhaps that is the only thing that has truly served me in this entire ordeal.

What a shame that I don't feel any sense of accomplishment.

The doctor settles into his seat, clearing his throat before scanning the results with a focused gaze. A subtle crease on his forehead prompts Aunt Bonnie to shift nervously, placing a firm hand on my knee and gripping it tightly.

I remain silent, frozen in place. Despite the tumultuous churning in my stomach, as if I haven't eaten in days, I choose to wait. I cling desperately to the fragments of hope, praying for a favorable outcome. I persist in deceiving myself; after all, it has become second nature to me. Yet beneath the surface, tension mounts, an unyielding force I can no longer contain.

I surrender, and with an expressionless face, I await the verdict.

And when that sentence finally falls, with emptiness in my eyes, I sink back into the chair. Bereft of the strength to resist the weight of reality any longer, I surrender, allowing a torrent of memories I've long suppressed to inundate my mind.