The Pain of We (ON HOLD)

11

It had been two weeks since the game.

I was late. And oh hell I wish I was late to class. I was supposed to start the weekend it happened. But here I am, going on three weeks late. This could only mean one thing.

I raised my hand. "May I go to the bathroom?"

My biology teacher looked at me. "Hurry back."

I stood up and nearly tripped trying to get out of that room. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. I started to cry, hysterical. I couldn't get a good breath in.

After a minute of that, I stood up, wiping the last bit of my tears and splashed water on my face. I took a few deep breaths.

What are my options?

I could keep it, or not. I could have it adopted, or in foster care. It might not even live.

I can't keep it.

But first I need to be sure.

I found you quickly during passing period. "I need you to drive me to a drug store after school."

"What? Why?"

I bit my lip, tears threatening to spill. "Can I tell you later? Here isn't really a good place..."

You looked concerned. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. "I will be."

...
I was shaking by the time I got to your car. The thought had been bothering me all day, making it hard to focus in class. What will I do?

I've been taking on the problem from different stand points. I thought about the baby scientifically. It wouldn't be likely to live since the two combining genes are too similar. And even if it did live, it would be very unhealthy for all its live.

I thought about where I stand mentally, how aborting it could affect my mental health. I'm only seventeen after all. This is it a decision I should have to think about.

I thought about it financially. I don't have the money to pay for nice things for myself. All the money my father makes goes to food and bills. There's no enough income to support a new child. It'd be unhappy, and thus unhealthy.

Socially the answer should be easy. None of my classmates have to know if I abort it. And if I keep it, everyone will think it's yours. Maybe you'd help financially.

That's too much of a burden though. And too much to ask. You shouldn't have to raise a child that's not even yours. I'd be taking away from your high school life asking you to be its father.

I'm getting a head of myself. I'm not even sure if I am or not.

You looked worried once you reached me. "You're shaking." You said, putting your warm hands on my cheeks. "I didn't think it was that cold."

"I'm not cold." I muttered. "Let's just go and get this over with."

You gave a nod and got in your car.

I couldn't stand to look you in the eyes as you drove. I looked out the window, tapping my fingers and my foot, never still. I felt you glance at me more than once.

Walking into the store, I went stiff. I made you wait in the car, hoping you didn't have to know what I was going to buy.

I returned to your car, almost crying, with a brown paper sack in my grip. I clutched the bag, hoping it'd disappear.

"Are you okay?" You asked, putting a hand on mine.

I bit my lips. "Please just take me home."

You swallowed and put the car in reverse.

At home, I took a deep breath before getting out of your car. I was crying now, tears silently sliding down my cheeks.

"What's wrong?"

I looked down at the bag, creased from where I clutched it. I looked up at the house. Biting my lip, I lowered my voice and took a deep breath. "I think I'm pregnant."

Your brow creased. "But... We haven't..."

"I know." I looked down at my wrist. There was a burn mark there from the other night. "It's... Uh..." Oh god. I thought I'd be able to say this.

"You're not cheating on me, are you?"

I nearly laughter at your cluelessness. "No. I'm not. It's..." I looked up at the roof of your car. "Jesus Christ," I hiccupped, ready to break down.

"It's my father's."

The look on your face was unexplainable. A mixture of disgust and pure hatred. You went green and red at the same time. You faced forward, clutching the steering wheel, your knuckles turning white.

"Well," you swallowed, trying to regain your composure. "What are you going to do?"

"I can't keep it. It'd barely survive. And my dad... He'd blame me for being foolish." I sighed. "I'm not saying I will... But I might not keep it."

I looked up at my house. I grabbed the paper sack and took a deep breath. "Will you... will you go inside with me?"

You took your keys out of the ignition. "Okay."

We got out of your car and you slid your hand in mine, rubbing your thumb over the back of my hand. "It'll be okay. We'll figure this out."

I went straight to the bathroom and told you to wait. I followed the instructions and waited, pacing back and forth.

I looked down.

I tossed the plastic in the trash and opened the door, crying.

"Hey, hey what's—"

You stopped as I put my head to your chest, heaving out sobs. You wrapped your arms around me, whispering in my ear. "Shh, it's okay. Just relax. We'll get through this. Shh." You ran your hand through my hair over and over.

...
We went to the walk in the next day after school. I had an appointment scheduled. You were going to drive me to that too.

You were silent the whole ride home, and for that I was thankful. I didn't want to do this, or even have you a part of it, but here we were. I'm sorry you've been involved.

My father doesn't know.

...
I sat down in the chairs, feeling every eye on you and me. I could only imagine what they were thinking. Did they think the baby was yours? Did they maybe think you were a friend, or maybe a family member?

I tried not to think about it too much.

"Lark Litz?"

I looked to you, and you squeezed my hand. "I'll be right here until you're done."

I bit my lip, ready to cry. I gave a nod and slipped my hand out of yours.

...
"Thanks," I said, avoiding your eye.

"No problem." You touched my hand. "Call me, okay?"

I gave a nod and got out of your car.

I walked into the house, heading straight for my room. I needed a shower in the worst way.

I stepped into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, locking the door. I took a deep breath and grabbed one of my dad's razors. I unscrewed the tiny bolts and held the blade between my fingers.

I looked down at my wrist, spotted with different burns and bruises.

I took a deep breath and drug the thin blade across my wrist, watching as droplets of blood seeped out.

I started to cry, dragging the blade again and again.

I dropped the blade in the sink, watching as the blood seeped to the drain. I looked at my bloody wrist and turned on the shower. I didn't even bother to strip. I just stepped into the shower fully clothed and watched as the blood ran between my legs.

I turned off the water when my wrist stoppedbleeding. 

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