Honorable Disgrace

by Stephanie N. Pitman

  “Wha … what happened?” I tried to sit up, my palm pressed to my head as the room spun. Stubbornly I fought my way up, ignoring the starbursts of light in my vision, the swirling dizziness, and glared in the general direction of students leaning over tables and each other.

  “You fainted.” Mrs. Baxter gestured at my head. “You can thank Cory. He caught you just before you spilled your brain all over the floor.”

  I looked for him, but he wasn’t among those ogling me. Tanya crouched beside me, and she put out a hand to help me to my feet. Awkwardly, unsteadily, I got my feet under me and made it to a chair a few feet away. Cory was seated at the back of the room, studiously ignoring everyone, his pen poised over an open notebook.

  Tanya scooched over and whispered, her hand like a shield by her mouth, her eyes flicking toward Cory and back. “It was amazing. I saw you start to fall. I mean, you were walking in and then, you just fell. No one was even close to you, and then Cory came running in from the hall and hugged you to his chest like he was cradling a football, but not before you clunked your head on the side of a table.”

  Cory? Cory caught me? I had a vague memory of Cory calling my name before everything went dim. But why would he do that? He’d just been getting all cozy with Cali Johnson. And he’d made it perfectly clear what he thought of me, that he didn’t want anything to do with me. And he had barely said two words to me all day. Familiar emptiness flared, an all-consuming ache eating away at my broken heart. I hunched into myself.

  “Alright, everyone to your seats. She’s fine, no brains, no blood, and I’ve got a class to teach.” Mrs. Baxter toddled to the front. “Angie, maybe you’d better go see the nurse.”

  “No, I think I’m okay.”

  “You let me know if you change your mind.” She proceeded into her lecture.

  “How do you feel?” Tanya hissed at my side.

  My shoulders rose infinitesimally. “Fine, I guess. I have a headache. And I’m queasy.”

  Queasy? Come to think of it, I’d been queasy all morning. I’d chalked it up to nerves, but the more I thought about it, the more twisted and unsettled it became as I counted the days in my head. I should be starting soon. Papers rustled and I jerked to attention. Mrs. Baxter stopped next to me, shuffling through the small sheaf of papers in her hand. “See me after class, Angie.”

  The bell rang and students moved to the door, naturally gelling into groups, filing out. With my strap slung over one shoulder, I approached the front.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You still look pretty pale.”

  I nodded and furthered the lie by adding, “I’m fine.”

  “Alright. Here’s a list of your missed assignments during your absence, today’s marked on the bottom. I know you’ve been sick, but with a week left in the trimester you need to get these in as soon as possible. Do you think you can do that?”

  I looked at the list she held and gave a noncommittal shrug.

  She hmphed. “Study Hall should help you get there.”

  I pulled the list from her fingers and walked to the door. “Whatever.”

  Study Hall was just a glorified detention. My mom could have smoothed things over so I could do my work at home, but I couldn’t keep hiding. I had to break out of this funk somehow. I stifled a laugh at that. A funk. That made it sound so normal.

  ><><><><

  The sides of the desk were cold and hard beneath my hands, and I concentrated on not looking at anyone, not making eye contact, surprised the heat of a dozen stares hadn’t made me combust into flames yet. It was Friday and my third straight day in Study Hall, and the looks hadn’t gotten any easier. If anything, they were nosier, more curious, and more judgmental than ever. Liz had been busy spreading who knows what about me, because nothing even closely resembled the truth. Rumors buzzed around the school, ranging from mono to I’d disappeared to join a convent but came back because I didn’t like it. Seems people would believe anything. But I’d rather they believe the insane than learn the truth.

  “Cutting it rather close, aren’t we?” Mr. Perry asked. Hurried feet passed my desk.

  “I made it, didn’t I?” an all-too-familiar deep voice answered. I refused to look up.

  Minutes ticked by, the stuffy silence became unbearably tense. I cracked an eye, and confirmed what I’d already known. Cory sat across from me.

  And he was staring as blatantly as everyone else.

  I saw myself surging to my feet, slamming my hands on Cory’s desk, demanding what his problem was. But I didn’t. I remained in my seat, my irrational rage making me feel dangerously out of control, my words welling up, ready to spew out.

  “Angie,” Mr. Perry’s curt voice called out.

  If it had been any other teacher I might have ignored him, made him call for me again, but Mr. Perry was one of my favorites. He’d brought English alive for me, his way of teaching erratic but effective in a strange way. You never knew if he was going to come in dressed as some goofy Shakespearean character or a hard-ass. I drew in a breath, wrenched away from Cory’s stare and turned to Mr. Perry, his stern visage making me wince. I guess he was going for hard-ass right now.

  He jerked his head, motioning out to the hall. I stopped outside the door, Cory’s gaze still on me like the brush of a finger across the back of my neck, making me shiver. Moving so I was hidden from sight, I turned to face Mr. Perry.

  “Mr. Jacobs,” he called into the classroom. “Bring your bag, and Miss Adams’, too, while you’re at it.”

  I rolled my tongue around my mouth. What was he doing?

  “I know you’ve been ill, but since you are in here and so is Cory, I’d like to ask for your help once more. You had been tutoring him at one point, right?”

  I nodded, not liking where this was going.

  “I set him up with another tutor, but that’s not working. He’s failing again. And the VP, his parents, the varsity coach, they’re all breathing down my neck to give him a pass. Can you help him?”

  By this point, Cory appeared, his bag slung over a shoulder, mine dangling from his hand. I wanted to tell Mr. Perry to forget it. I had enough homework of my own to catch up on. But Cory had saved me from cracking my head open, or so I’d been told. I kind of felt I owed him something at least. But could I bear it?

  “I’ll give you extra credit.”

  I kept my eyes trained on my sneakers. I definitely could use it. “I guess.”

  “You two can sit out here so you don’t disturb the other kids. I expect at least one assignment turned in to me by the end of detention, from each of you.”

  My heart accelerated alarmingly, like the staccatoing beat of a hummingbird’s wing. He wanted us to be alone? “Mr. Perry, please no. I can’t … can’t work out here alone with someone who hates me.”

  “Angie—” Mr. Perry began sternly, but Cory interrupted, his face looking like he’d just received an electric shock.

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “Please … it’s all over your face.”

  “Enough.” Mr. Perry looked directly at me. “Put your differences aside and get to work. You have exactly forty minutes or Cory will be permanently kicked off the team.”

  I pressed my lips tightly, and my nostrils flared. I jerked my book from my bag and flipped it open. Rigid and taut, my muscles ached from the effort it took to keep from shaking. What a jerk.

  Appeased, Mr. Perry disappeared back into the classroom. Cory silently sat down and we worked in awkward quiet, my belly rioting. He finished two assignments, while I struggled on my one, one hand cradling my stomach. He never said a word, nor asked for help, and I never offered. How was he failing again? He knew this stuff, my lack of help only proving it.

  Five minutes left, I crammed my things into my bag.

  “Can I say something now?”

  “No.”

  “Please, I …” The light touch of his fingers were painfully sweet, but the rawness of my anger scratched at the back of my throat.

  �
��Cory, you made it perfectly clear what you thought of me in the hall a couple weeks ago. So don’t pretend, don’t … just do me a favor and leave me alone.”

  “I can’t, Angie. Believe me, I want to. I wanted to hate you, but I can’t do that either. Every time I see you, it’s like I can finally release the breath I’m holding, and I can breathe again.” Cory shook his head sadly and dropped his stormy eyes from mine, his voice barely above a whisper by the time he finished. “No, I don’t hate you.”

  My book already stuffed away, I grabbed his from the ground where it lay open next to him. I couldn’t let him pull me in. I’d never survive another round with him, because there would come a time again when he’d realize I was garbage.

  I read aloud.

  “In Stephen Crane’s The Red Badge of Courage Henry Fleming declares, ‘he was not like those others. He now conceded it to be impossible that he should ever be a hero.’ Later, Henry reflects, ‘He had rid himself of the red sickness of battle. The sultry nightmare was in the past. He had been an animal blistered and sweating in the heat and pain …’”

  Those two lines stabbed at me. Sickness, nightmare, animal blistered and sweating, pain. I sucked in sharply, my breaths shallow and uneven, the intensity of emotion assaulting my fragile defenses. I jumped, emitting a tiny squeak when Cory shifted, the clearing of his throat deep and loud.

  Cory’s rumbling voice took over, his body too close as he leaned over to read.

  “He had been an animal blistered and sweating in the heat and pain of war. He turned now with a lover’s thirst to images of tranquil skies, fresh meadows, cool brooks—an existence of soft and eternal peace.”

  Soft and eternal peace? My fingers splayed on the page over the word peace as though if I touched it, I could absorb it into my life.

  “Angie?” Cory leaned worriedly toward me. I thrust his book at him and then bolted.

  I didn’t get far, pain hitting me savagely in the gut, doubling me over.

  “Angie!”

  ><><><><><

  “You’re pregnant, Angie.”

  I looked numbly at Dr. Sloan, the scene so like the last time I was there, her perched on her stool, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, a stethoscope slung around her neck. Déjà vu of the worst kind. Her words weren’t comforting in any way—they were a bombshell that should have obliterated me, but didn’t. I’d suspected it for days. Somehow I’d known my sentence wasn’t over.

  After I’d collapsed in the hallway, Cory had carried me, held tightly, securely against him to his Jeep. “I can get you there quicker than an ambulance can come get you.”

  He hadn’t released my hand the entire way into town. When he turned toward the hospital, I desperately begged him to take me to my doctor. I couldn’t face explaining my condition to anyone new. And that condition had become inestimably worse with those two words.

  You’re pregnant.

  I inhaled, the sound like the sucking vortex of a bathtub draining, the water nearly gone. I wiped a hand across my face, my palm coming away wet.

  “I need to do another quick ultrasound of your abdomen, see if I can pinpoint why you’re having so much pain and maybe a few other tests before I send you home. It might be the bruise you had did something internally that we didn’t see last time.” Her words forcibly snapped my mind back to the conversation at hand and I woodenly lay down, staring blankly at nothing.

  The cold squirt of the lubricant on my belly made me balk—cold this time because I’d caught her just before the clinic closed up. I half sat up before Dr. Sloan gently pushed me back. “It’s okay.”

  She slid the gray hand piece over my skin, the cordless instrument smearing the gel over my abdomen. She peered at a monitor, the corners of her mouth turning down. I couldn’t see the screen of the monitor clearly, so I elevated myself on my elbows. The fuzzy gray image made no sense to me.

  “What do you see?” My voice broke.

  “Nothing. You’re not far enough along to see anything.”

  “But you’re sure I’m pregnant?”

  She nodded.

  The room spun, followed by a ripple of nausea. I dropped back and shoved my fist into my mouth in an attempt to staunch the urge to expel the contents of my stomach.

  Abortion.

  The ugly word popped into my mind like a blow, and I cringed. I tried to push the thought away, but it beat against me again and again and again. Abortion was … horrible. Wrong. But I didn’t want this. I couldn’t live with this. My throat ached from holding back my torment.

  “What are my … options?” I knew what they were. None of them acceptable. I couldn’t abort the developing embryo, the baby. But I couldn’t let it remain, the daily reminder. No, I couldn’t handle that.

  “There’s adoption, you could keep the baby, or you could choose to abort. They’re all very personal decisions, not to be taken lightly, and I can’t tell you what to do.” She stopped, put down the tool and wiped off my belly. She helped me sit up, her hand lingering on my back. “Have you talked to the police yet?”

  “Yes, a couple weeks ago.”

  “Good.”

  “Why am I having so much pain? Why did it make me collapse?”

  “I can’t see any reason from the ultrasound. Perhaps you have more internal damage than we are aware. I’m going to set you up for an appointment at the hospital to get a more thorough ultrasound done. And, Angie, no one would blame you if you chose to abort.”

  I knew she was right. No one would.

  “But I would.” And I knew it was true. As much as I wanted to rid myself of this nightmare, needed to, I knew I’d never be able to do it. The guilt would haunt me forever, because even though the fetus wasn’t technically recognized as a person by law, I did. I’d be killing it. I buried my face in my hands and cried. I cried for what happened to me, I cried for my current state, and I cried for my bleak future.

  When my sobs subsided, Dr. Sloan passed me a handful of tissues. I leaned against her, her arm around my shoulders. I shuddered, the involuntary shiver psychological, but physically chilling as well. “I have to go. My friend, he needs to get to practice.”

  “Angie, here. This is a number of a friend. She’s a counselor. She can help.”

  I took the card from her without meeting her eyes, brushing my hand through my hair. “Umm, okay. Thanks.” I slid it into my back pocket and escaped the room.

  I slowly made my way to the waiting room. But now I was away from Dr. Sloan, I was in no hurry to actually be anywhere near Cory. He paced the length of the room, stopping abruptly when I came out, his jaw muscles flexing strongly. Keenly aware of my bedraggled appearance, my puffy eyes, red nose and blotchy face, I shuffled to the door without a word.

  “Wait. Angie, wait. Are you alright? What happened? What did the doctor say?” At first he sounded worried, but as I continued to ignore him, passed his Jeep and started down the sidewalk, he became angry. “Will you stop and talk to me?”

  His hand on my elbow, he spun me around. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m walking.” I rolled out of his grip and quickened my pace.

  “Walking where?” Instead of trying to stop me, Cory fell into step with me.

  “Home.”

  “What? No, you’re not.” He slowed, his face tight and flushed with anger. “I didn’t bring you all the way in, miss practice, wait and agonize over what was happening to you to let you hike fifteen miles home. I think the least you could do is tell me what’s going on.”

  I almost shouted it at him, I’m pregnant, at full volume. My steps faltered. “Well, I don’t.”

  “Angie, please. What is going on? Why’d you faint the other day? What’s going on with your stomach? Are you sick?”

  “Cory, really, you don’t want to know. You’re better off not knowing.”

  Cory folded his arms over his powerfully muscled chest, and then they dropped, his hands fisting like he didn’t know what to do with himself, a
look of barely tempered rage coming onto his face. “I heard something the other day, but I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. But it’s true, isn’t it?

  Reaching out with his free hand he stroked my arm, the gentleness at odds with his enraged countenance. His finger lightly brushed across where the hideous bruises had been.

  “Those bruises, Brad did that, didn’t he?”

  I hung my head, stifling a sob with my fist.

  “Angie, answer me. That rumor I heard, you were raped.” He didn’t say it like a question. The whispered statement whooshed out of him like he’d been kicked in the gut.

  He let go of my arm like it had burned him. I stumbled, the abrupt release disorienting. “Cory …” I said. I sank to my knees in the cold grass and whispered, “I didn’t ask for it, I told him no.”

  Cory flung open the door to his Jeep. His fierce scowl cut me open.

  Pressing the palms of my hands into my eyes, I half-listened for the revving of his engine, so the footfalls took me by surprise. My eyes flew open, and I gaped up at Cory—gone was the ferocity and loathsome expression, his visage tormented and drawn. He bent down and gently pulled me up, folding me into his arms.

  I didn’t resist.

  I breathed in deeply his unique scent, and pressed my face to his solid chest, caressing the new growth of hair at the nape of his neck and sobbed. The touch of his fingers, of his lips lightly pressed to my forehead, the feel of his skin, his strength securely enveloping me, even his voice as he whispered soothingly to me, made me limp with relief and slowly my body quit trembling.

  “Angie.” My name was strangled and my hand vibrated against his chest, his breath tickling my cheek. He pulled me tighter, burying his face in my hair, inhaling. Huskily, he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I … I thought … Brad told me you’d come on to him and that you’d spent the night with him. I thought he had to be lying, but you broke up with me, you wouldn’t talk to me. I thought I’d blown it by being too controlling. I’m such an idiot. I should have known you wouldn’t do that.”