by R. C. Martin
“We mostly talked every time we hung out. He seemed to like it, our conversations, which made me like him. The night of the party, I was upset. I had gotten into a fight with my brother, which never happens, and Mack invited me over. He said he couldn’t hang out for long but he insisted I let him try to make me feel better.”
My heart is beating so loud, I’m sure a passerby could hear it. She’s telling the story now with more detail than she did before. I can see that she’s upset, that she’s trying not to cry, and that somehow makes me want to crumble. I feel her betrayal right along side my own. She was innocent. At least from this side of things, she was. She made a mistake, sure, but she didn’t know about me. She didn’t know about him. Neither of us did.
“He said all the right things, you know? He touched me in all the right places. He made me feel more desirable than I’ve ever felt in my life. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop myself. I knew that I should. There was a small voice inside of me that begged me to remember why everything he was making me feel was so overwhelmingly exciting—but for a moment, I just wanted to feel…free. I didn’t want to think of my actions as being wrong or forbidden. I didn’t want to think of what might happen if. I didn’t want to think at all. So I let it all go. I threw caution to the wind.
“Now, every time I remember that moment when you walked in, I so desperately wish you would have barged in sooner—before he had a chance to finish.”
She blinks and as tears stream down her face, it’s as if she’s being pulled back—back to this moment, on this bench, with me. She wipes her cheeks hastily and shakes her head. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t deserve it. I was an idiot. Now I have to live with the consequences of my poor choices.” She coughs a humorless laugh. “Damn, I sound like my mother.”
“What are you going to do?” It’s the first time I’ve asked the question. I think I couldn’t bring myself to do so before because the reality of the situation hadn’t sunk in yet. I’m still not sure that it has. I’m curious to know the answer just the same.
“I’m not aborting it, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not keeping it, either. Someone will want it. She. He. Whatever.”
“What about school?”
“I’m not dropping out. I don’t know what I’m going to do, what my parents are going to do, but I’m not dropping out. I’ll stay with my brother over the summer. In the fall—I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” She inhales deeply and puffs out a sigh, clearly not capable of thinking that far ahead. I stop asking questions. “Thanks for trying,” she tells me, pointing to my phone which is still clutched in my hand.
She stands to leave but something tells me to not let her go. Before I can think I cry, “Wait! Daphne!” She turns to look at me and my heart breaks for her. In seven months, that bastard’s spawn is going to rip its way out of her vag. Compared to her, I’ve come out of this shit show completely unscathed.
Dammit. What am I about to get myself into?
“Hoes over bros,” I say as I stand and link my arm through hers. “I need a latte. My treat, okay? We’ll try calling him some more.”
I can tell I’ve surprised her and she’s not sure what to say. I spare her and hit redial.
“Hey, you’ve reached—”
I blow out an exasperated breath before I mutter, “Yeah. I love you, too. Asshole.”
November 2011
“Fucking hell!” This pain is unbearable. I’m not big enough for this shit. There’s a little human trying to come out of me right now, but I can tell by this excruciating pain that He. Won’t. Fit through the tiny hole down there! I know I should be breathing—that’s what everyone in the room keeps telling me to do—but I just want to push. I just want him out. I just need to get this over with. “Jesus Christ!”
“I thought you weren’t talking to Him anymore,” says Logan as she frees my waves from my hair tie. She finger combs the mess before securing my locks into a new ponytail. I chopped off a good ten inches a couple months ago. I love the new cut, but the asymmetrical bob is not very labor friendly.
Then again, labor and friendly are really not two words that can be joined together, I’ve decided.
She’s right about Jesus. We aren’t on speaking terms. I wouldn’t exactly say it’s His fault, but His overwhelming compassion and acceptance for the people who profess to belong to Him—it pisses me off, so I’m done.
“Besides, I’m thinking an epidural is what you really need,” she continues as she mops the sweat off my brow. “You look like hell.”
“No,” I huff as the contraction finally subsides. I lean back against my pillows and try to gulp down a few deep breaths. It’s too late for an epidural and I know it. So even if I were to change my mind… “No. I hate needles.”
“Oh, but the drugs in the needle—”
“Logan—”
“Alright, alright. No epidural.”
It’s barely a minute before I’m in utter agony again. I whimper as I feel another contraction coming on. I absentmindedly reach out my hand and Logan’s quick to wrap her fingers around mine. “Holy shit, if you’re not a walking birth control ad right now…”
The rest of her sentence is drowned out by my scream. “Please, let me push! I need to push.”
“You’re so close, Daphne,” says the sweet nurse who has been kind enough to stick by me since I arrived. In spite of the fact that she hasn’t allowed me to start pushing yet, I like her. I’m guessing she’s in her mid-forties; her hair is black as night and naturally streaked with white. I think it’s totally badass and told her as much earlier. She’s also obviously done this before—not just helped women through labor, but experienced it herself. I can tell even without asking. It’s in her eyes. Her sympathy. Her understanding. “You just need to hold on a little while longer.”
“I. Want. Him. Out!”
“I know, sweetie. I’ll go get Dr. Phelps, alright? I’ll be right back.”
She gives my shoulder a squeeze and offers me a kind smile before she turns to leave. Her gentleness makes me think of my mother. Thinking of my mother makes me want to cry. I wish she was here. I need her right now. Hell—I’ve needed her for the past nine months; but as soon as she found out about the baby, she practically disowned me. I might still be in shock.
I’ll be the first to admit that what I did was stupid. I tossed my virginity to the lowest bidder and didn’t think twice about it. I was upset and acted impulsively. I’m smarter than that moment, though, and my parents know that. I was banking on that knowledge to work in my favor when I sat down to tell them that I was pregnant. I still remember the look on my mom’s face. You would have thought I told her that I was growing the devil himself in my uterus.
I pleaded with them to be on my side—to help me. I needed them, especially my mother. The whole reason I decided to carry the baby to term was because I had been taught my whole life that we don’t believe in abortion. Christian’s believe that life begins at conception and to abort a pregnancy, at any stage, is taking away someone’s life. So, when I found out that there was life inside of me, I didn’t think twice about letting the child grow. I thought, at the very least, my mother would see that I was still capable of making good choices. But no.
No—I did what I was taught and then she turned her back on me.
She told me that I was not allowed to spend my summer with them. I wasn’t allowed to come home after finals. She didn’t want me in her house; she didn’t want me attending her church; she didn’t want me making a spectacle of our family. I guess, looking back, I shouldn’t have been surprised. My mother has always been one to avoid making a scene.
Dad was different. As soon as mom stormed off, he sat with me and held my hand. Even still, he was filled with disappointment too. He didn’t shun me. He promised that he would continue paying for my education and that I could keep my car—which has both of our names on it. He told me if I ever needed anything to call him. But that wasn’t enough for me. D
on’t get me wrong, I appreciate him not cutting me off, but I wish he would have stood up for me more.
For a while, I thought their betrayal was just my cross to bear. I had pushed them too far and fallen out of their good graces. I still had Roman. Roman and God. I spent the summer with him. It was a hard couple of months for both of us—me dealing with the baby and him dealing with his breakup with Katie. We needed each other.
As luck would have it, my parents kicking me out was kind of perfect. I liked his church, too. I managed to make a few friends. Then when I started to show, people started to ask questions. There was no point in me lying. It’s not as if I could hide my bump. I’m not exactly voluptuous so my new curve turned out to be a billboard announcement that I was expecting.
When people found out, even if they didn’t say it, I could see it—the judgement. Not everyone, but enough. They acted like they were above reproach; like my sin somehow weighed more than theirs; like my growing belly was proof that I was a sinner.
Newsflash: EVERYONE is a sinner.
The whole situation was horrible on its own, it didn’t need the help of a church full of hypocrites to make it even worse. So I stopped going. It was obvious to me that the grace, compassion, and generosity that Christian’s so often boast of—the lessons I had been taught my whole life—they meant nothing to the holier-than-thous.
Screw them. I refuse to be lumped into a religion with those kinds of people.
Another contraction pulls me from my thoughts. “Fuck!”
Logan chuckles as she plops her pretty little self on the bed beside me. “I swear, this kid has given you the most foul mouth.” I try and laugh, because she’s right, but I’m in too much pain and can only manage a whine. “You’re going to get through this. You’re going to be fine, you know that, right?” she says, squeezing my hand. “You’re the bravest chick I know. I sure as hell could not do what you’re doing. In fact, I should really thank you for allowing me to be here for this so I know never to have children.”
I manage a smile as I grip her hand tightly. When I tracked Logan down all those months ago, I never expected that I would walk away with a friend. Little did I know, she’d end up being my savior. There’s no way I would have gotten through the last few months without her. Looking at her now, it’s so obvious that we’re incredibly different.
She’s gorgeous, with her long, straight, blonde hair and charming green eyes. She had about two seconds to get dressed and bring me to the hospital this morning, and yet she still looks runway ready. No joke. She’s in a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans and a pink sweater that hugs her C-cups, which make me jealous, and her tiny waist. The light weight scarf that drapes around her neck is patterned with various shades of pink and white. And, of course, her gray ankle boots have a three inch heel—because the only time she’s not in heels is when she’s in tennis shoes and headed for the gym.
God. I suddenly feel like a fat cow.
It’s not just our looks, though, that make us different. She’s a party girl. She’s indecisive. She can actually be a total bitch, too—but never to me. I don’t know why, but she’s been nothing but loyal for the last seven months. At first, I thought it was only because she felt sorry for me; but I think in some twisted way, we just need each other. That whole Mack debacle broke the both of us.
She’s my best friend. And I am hers. There’s a unique level of trust that exists between us. We can be brutally honest with each other and it’s as if we’re better people because of that. The two of us together—we’re hard to explain. We just work.
She took me in at the beginning of the semester. I couldn’t stay with my brother, as he still lives in Boulder, over an hour away from CSU, in Fort Collins. I couldn’t afford to live on my own, either. Obviously the dorms—whilst six months pregnant—were not an option. I didn’t know it, but she had been planning to move me in with her long before she even mentioned the idea.
Her parents are loaded, and that’s putting it mildly. As soon as she enrolled in school, they bought her a condo not too far from campus. She was living on her own in a three bedroom flat. About a month before school started, she invited me to come stay the weekend. I was beside myself when she showed me what is now my room. It looked amazing, like the rest of her apartment, but it was nothing like it had been the last time I had seen it. I remember gaping at her, willing her with my mind to offer up an explanation. She said she had an itch to remodel the room and when she was finished, she decided someone needed to live in it.
I wasn’t sure at first. I found her offer far too generous. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She assured me that she wasn’t being completely selfless and that she was sick of living alone. She also told me she fully intended to make me share everything I cooked, aware that I know my way around a kitchen. So, we struck a deal.
“I’m her brother—” I gasp, pulling my eyes away from Logan at the sound of Roman’s voice. I texted him when we were on our way to the hospital. I knew he would come, but I thought he wouldn’t get here until after. He must have driven like a bat out of hell. The thought makes my heart swell with love, but I don’t want him to see me like this!
“Roman’s here,” I tell Logan. “Don’t let him in. I don’t want him in here.”
“What? He’s—” she turns and looks at the door. On the other side of the window is my brother and Dr. Phelps. “That’s your brother?”
I forget that they’ve yet to meet and I roll my eyes at her. I also forgot how women usually respond to my brother. He looks just like dad—handsome and debonair. Labor is making me forget a lot of things.
“Please—just don’t let him in here.” When Dr. Phelps turns to enter the room, Roman follows. I shove Logan off of the bed and point in their direction as I wince my way through yet another damn contraction.
“Daphne, I hear you’re anxious to push.” I grunt my response but barely acknowledge him. “Let’s take a look and see what we’ve got here.” I hardly even register the fact that he’s about to go down under to see if I’m fully dilated; I’m too distracted by the commotion at the door.
“She says no,” states Logan.
“Look, Logan, is it?” His tone is dripping in condescension. “I’m coming in. I don’t care what she says.”
“Listen, buddy—” I watch as she presses her palms against his chest to push him back.
Their contact makes her falter and she turns back to look at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Christ—she’s practically drooling! I shoot her a glare and cry out as another contraction wracks my body. My eruption causes both of them to act. Roman pushes farther into the room and Logan whips her head around, unappreciative of his advances. I can tell by the set of her shoulders that he’s just ignited her inner bitch.
“Hey! She said she doesn’t want you here. Last time I checked, the one whose vagina is about to get ripped to shreds is the one calling the shots.” Oh, boy. “When she wants you, I’ll find you. Until then, get the hell out of here! I’ve a got a job to fulfill and kicking you out of this room is keeping me from it. Now scoot.” I can tell by the look he’s giving her that she’s startled him. In any other situation, watching the two of them would be comical. “I’m here, okay?” she adds softly. “She’s not alone.”
“Daphne?” Dr. Phelps calls my name, effectively drawing my attention to the space between my legs.
He’s been such a great doctor—kind, gentle, thorough—and he’s actually really attractive. Again, in any other situation, I’d be embarrassed to find myself completely exposed and on display in front of the likes of him as I am now. He is totally all up in my business. However, he can make himself nice and comfy right where he is if he just tells me—
“Daphne,when your next contraction hits, I want you to push.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic!” I breathe. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I remember Logan’s comment about my vagina being ripped to shreds. Suddenly, I don’t want to be alone. “Logan!” She’s at my side in an
instant. I’m vaguely aware that Roman is nowhere to be found.
Good.
“Okay, Daphne—on three.”
Sheer terror overwhelms me as I look from Dr. Phelps to Logan, wishing desperately that I could skip this next part. “You can do it!” she tells me.
“I’m never having sex again!” I cry with my first push. “It was SO not worth it!”
Logan laughs and it makes me want to smack her, but then she squeezes my hand and a surge of gratefulness floods my veins. This isn’t her fault. In fact, she’s currently my favorite person in the whole world. On the other hand, this kid is killing me! I yell outrageous things until he’s finally out.
The second I hear him cry, I swear a part of me dies.
He’s mine. The owner of that pathetic little cry is mine.
Except…he isn’t.
There are arms waiting to hold him. Hearts ready to love him.
I—I am no longer needed.
I want him out—out of this room. I want him as far away from me as possible. I don’t want to hold him. I don’t want to touch him. I don’t want to see him. I know that if I do, I won’t survive it.
I didn’t know I would feel this way. I’m not ready to be a mother. That child deserves so much better than what I can offer. But—but—but I didn’t think that—dammit! I just didn’t think! Now that I am, reality is slicing my soul to pieces.
I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t let my mind stay here. It only intensifies my new sense of hollowness. I push every single thought away and I ignore every single voice that tries to break through my newly erected barrier. When it’s all said and done, and I’ve been cleaned up and stitched up, the room fills with silence as one body after another departs. Logan speaks, but I don’t hear her. I won’t. Not right now. When she leaves, I hardly notice.
