Can we try again?

Eighteen.

"Samira?" My mum called as I got to the living room and My dad turned to look at me. "I thought you were asleep? What are you doing downstairs?" She was sitting on one end of the couch, and my dad was on the other end. It would be a miracle if they ever sit next to each other like every normal couple would.

I tentatively took a few steps closer to them. I'm sure my mum saw the tears in my eyes, because she bolted up from her seat and came up to me. "My dear, what's the matter? Are you okay?"

My dad didn't move an inch, nor did he say a word, but peered at me intently.

"Samira? Talk to me, what's the matter? What has happened?" I removed myself from her grip and wiped the tears from my eyes.

"Mum, dad?" I looked at the both of them. "I . . ." more tears were rolling down my cheeks.

"What is it? Samira, tell us." My mum looked at me, her eyes frantically searching all over my body. "Is . . . Are you ill?"

My dad shifted from his seat, clearly worried now. "Samira? What is going on?"

"I . . . I am . . . I'm pregnant." I blurted the words out; those dreadful words I've been stressing about for weeks on how to tell my parents. They were finally out and for some reason I felt somewhat relieved; like a weight lifted off my shoulders.
But it was not for long.

Time seemed to have stopped. It went suddenly very quiet in the living room. I looked at my parents. Their expressions were unreadable as they stared at me. In that moment I wished the ground would open and swallow me up. Let me just disappear forever. Let my very existence be obliterated.

I waited for them to say something. Anything. I just didn't like the stillness in the room.

The silence was soon broken by a sound. A very loud guffaw, that went on for about half a minute. It was my dad's. I was confused. Did I say something funny? My mum on the other hand couldn't keep her eyes off me, her expression still unreadable.

"You're such a trickster Samira. Good one. Good one." My dad clapped.
What the hell? How was he finding this funny?

"Daddy?" I called, barely able to hear my own voice. He shook his head and picked up the remote control to change the channel.

"You're a Very funny girl." he giggled. He thought I was kidding. I wish that was the case.

"Dad . . . I'm not joking. It's True. I am pregnant. Two months pregnant." I was sobbing now.

My dad paused and shot me a look. Realisation finally hitting him that I wasn't at all joking. That understanding swiftly turned into fury. "Samira?" He called. His tone was harsh.

"Yes. . . Daddy." My voice trembled.

"You can't be pregnant. There is no way you're pregnant. Not in my house." He chuckled, but it was without any humour.

I stared at my hands, tears rushing from my eyes.

My mum who had been quiet all the while, let out a loud wail. "Samira you have finished me! You have completely finished me. You might as well just get a knife and pierce it through my heart." she exclaimed.

"I'm very sorry," I cried. That was all I could do; apologise and cry.

"You're sorry? You're sorry? Sorry for what? Is that what we sent you to school for? Eh? To be sleeping around with men? Samira why?" My mum placed her hands on her head wailing. This time it was my dad's turn to be quiet. He turned to the TV and stared at it like he was concentrating on what they were saying on there, although I knew he wasn't paying any attention to it.