by Matt Shaw
had old fashion values. They’re fine for me to have a boyfriend but they both would have
me to be married before anything ‘grown-up’ happened.
Too late.
Darren, rightly so, froze to the spot.
“So how have you been?” he asked in a ‘normal’ tone of voice. Probably for the best,
sometimes mum enjoys his quirky side.... other times, it’s very clear it bugs her like crazy.
When I got to my bedroom, I closed the door to get away from their ‘polite small talk’.
So embarrassing.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror which hung from the wall.
What a state.
Sometimes Darren can be the most romantic person I know. Other times - he can be the most childish. As I remember him pinning me on the blanket, squirting the whipped cream all over me.... today was definitely one of his more childish moments.
Funny though.
Funnier had it not been my favourite top.
I’ll have to catch him on one of his more romantic days. The original idea of feeding each other strawberries and cream.... the original idea sounded quite.... nice.
* * * * *
The hooded man scooped some potato onto the fork and waved it in front of my mouth.
No.
I turned away again.
I don’t want him feeding me.
I don’t trust him.
I don’t know him.
“No,” I said.
The man sat back and dropped the fork back onto the plate, on top of the food - chicken and potatoes.
Chicken and potatoes.
They do smell good.
It looks good too.... like mum and dad used to make.
No.... like they DO make.
They still make it.
And one day I’ll be eating it again.
But this does smell good.
And I am hungry.
Put it out of your mind.
The food could be laced with anything.
The man sighed and stood up before fishing around in his pocket. A couple of seconds later and he pulled out a small, silver key.
He pointed to my left hand and then my right.
“What?” I asked.
Was he going to let me out?
Was my ordeal over?
Again, he pointed to my left hand and then to my right before holding the key up.
One hand maybe?
He pointed to the plate of food.
One hand to feed myself?
It would be a lot easier if he just spoke.
I waved my right hand and he walked around the bed to get to the cuffs on my right side. Seconds later and my hand was free.
Bliss.
My wrist throbs as the blood rushes back to my hand.
Bliss.
The man leant across me and grabbed the fork from the plate. As he stood to his full height, he pressed the fork into my free hand and pointed to the food.
Without saying anything else, he put the handcuff key back into his back pocket and left the room.
I peered over to the food. It does smell good.
No.
Don’t eat it.
Resist.
One bite.
I reached over and stabbed a potato onto the end of the fork.
One bite won’t hurt.
One bite....
.... tasted so good in my mouth as soon as it hit my tongue.
I chewed, slowly to start off with.
Doesn’t taste funny.
My chews get faster and I swallow the bit of potato down.
Certainly doesn’t taste poisoned.
Another fork full is shovelled into my mouth as my stomach grumbles a sound of appreciation as the first piece works it’s way down.
I don’t know why I’m so worried about it being poisoned anyway.
If this is my time to die, I’d sooner get it over and done with.
Save dragging it out.
* * * * *
“Are you sure?” asked Darren. A look of sincerity in his eyes which I hadn’t seen before.
I nodded, bracing myself as I looked deep into his eyes.
A few seconds, which felt more like minutes, of clumsy fumbling before he pushed deep into me - his eyes shut in the ecstasy he felt.
I bit my lip, to save myself from screaming out from the pain.
Pain?
A little pain.
I was warned the first time could hurt.
He started to slowly thrust in and out - building into a steady rhythm, clearly savouring the sensation himself - and with each thrust, I felt a little more comfortable and a bit more pleasure, compared to the initial sting.
I couldn’t help but laugh at his facial contortions so I too closed my eyes to just enable myself to go with the sensations down below.
It started to feel nice.
Not as nice as I thought it would, though.
Just.
Nice.
Ish.
His hands roamed over my naked body as he continued to thrust in and out of me. Clumsy hands. His right hand settled on my bum, squeezing gently, whilst his left hand found it’s way to my breast where he squeezed a tad harder than strictly necessary.
A few more minutes, could have been seconds, and he let out a loud moan.
I opened my eyes to see he was staring right at me.
If anything, a little off-putting.
“Are you okay?” he asked, when he stopped trembling.
I nodded.
Was that it?
I thought it would.... well, I thought it would last longer.
I winced as he pulled out of me.
Gross.
I felt him trickle out and down, between my cheeks.
Really gross.
Darren flopped down next to me, “That was incredible. Wasn’t that incredible?”
I looked at him.
Don’t upset him.
I’m sure it will get better.
“It was nice. Thank you.”
Thank you?
Why was I thanking him?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t better prepared,” he said. “I’ll get some for next time.”
I smiled, “Okay.”
I couldn’t blame him for getting carried away. It wasn’t just him. We both wanted it. We both got carried away after a heavy kissing session. Perhaps if we had been anywhere other than his bed.... perhaps if his parents had been home.... maybe things wouldn’t have gone this far?
“Next time will be better,” he smiled.
He leaned in, close to me, and kissed me on the cheek before reaching over to the television control on the bedside cabinet.
He’s not.
A flick of his finger and the television booted up.
He is.
I closed my eyes.
I could feel where he’s been.
“Did you want to choose the channel?”
* * * * *
He handed me the controller for the television.
I guess I’m here for the long haul.
“Thank you,” I said.
Thank you?
Why was I thanking him?
I should be swearing at him.
I wish he’d just talk to me.
Let me know who he is.
Let me know what he wants.
Why I’m here....
Instead - the silent treatment.
Always silence.
Unbearable silence.
Maybe he brought a television down, from upstairs after he had taken my empty dinner plate away, because he was fed up with the silence too.... just unable to break it himself. Unable to giveaway who he was.
If he hates silence - maybe I can get him to talk.
“Did you want to watch television with me?” I asked.
He shook his head, slowly, after a slight hesitation.
Hesitation.
“Please?”
I raised my free hand in an attempt to
pass him the controller.
“You can choose the channel,” I offered.
Whoever he was - he obviously wanted me.
He obviously wanted me to like him - offering me good food.... a television.....
I hope, at some point, he offers me a bath.
He shook his head, again.
I dropped the remote control to my side, still in reach if I needed it.
“Then just sit with me?”
He shook his head again and turned towards the stairs.
“Wait,” I pleaded.
He turned to me.
“Please - what do you want with me? I at least deserve to know that much....”
He walked over to me and reached his hand out before placing it on my stomach.
Did he know?
He took his hand away and walked to the stairs. A final look back at me, before he disappeared up the stairs.
I know who he is.
I know him.
It can’t be...
5.
“You seem distant,” said Darren, over the dinner table. “Where are you at?”
“I’m here,” I reassured him, putting my hands on top of his own hands, across the table.
“Something is on your mind, I can tell.... I’m finally tuned into these sorts of things...”
“Nothing, I’m fine....”
“And now you’re lying.”
“I promise....”
“Still lying....”
“.... Everything is fine.”
“Scampi and chips?” said a waitress as she walked over to our table, balancing our two meals in her hands.
“Yes, please,” said Darren.
The waitress placed the scampi plate in front of Darren and turned to me, “And yours must be the gammon...”
“Yes, thank you,” I said as the plate was placed in front of me.
“Can I get either of you any sauces?”
I shook my head.
“No, I’m good,” said Darren.
“Well, enjoy your food!”
The waitress, job done, walked away.
I picked up my knife and fork and looked down to the gammon, “It looks good....” I flashed Darren a smile.
He was just staring at me.
Not saying a word.
Not eating.
Not even holding his knife and fork.
“No good?” I asked.
“See, when a woman says she is fine....”
“I’m fine!”
“Like that... it means - everything is far from fine.”
I laughed, “I mean it - I’m fine...”
“It means men should cower in fear, somewhere out of sight... somewhere the women can’t find them or get to them...”
“I’m pregnant!”
Silence.
I didn’t mean to tell him like this. I didn’t mean to just blurt it out. In actual fact, I didn’t have a plan as to how to break the news to him. Whatever method I would have chosen though - I did expect some sort of reaction.
More silence.
He just stared at me.
Blankly.
Was he happy.
Disappointed?
Ashamed?
Scared?
Nothing.
“I’m sorry - I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Is it mine?!”
Okay.
Didn’t expect that.
“Of course it’s yours!”
Offended.
“I’m sorry - I don’t know why I asked that....”
A serious look on his face. More serious than I’ve ever seen before. Normally he’s always smiling. Always happy around me, at least. Just not at this particular moment.
“I’ve only slept with you.... you were my first...”
“And you were my first,” Darren insisted. “We only did it once with protection.”
No answer to that.
I took a mouthful of my gammon, not wanting it to get cold. He still didn’t touch his food.
“Well, now what?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, signalling to him that my mouth was full and that I couldn’t answer.
“Do your mum and dad know?”
I shook my head.
I thought it was only fair I let Darren know before telling mum and dad. That and the fact I thought he might have been good enough to be there, with me, when I did break the news to them.
I’m not holding my breath anymore.
“And you’re sure?”
I had finished my mouthful but continued to pretend to eat - to save having to speak. I nodded.
Fake a swallow.
“Do we keep it?”
Ever since finding out I was pregnant, I had been asking this question to myself every minute of the waking day. Do we keep it? Do I keep it?
Eighteen in a couple of months.
Am I ready for a child of my own?
Would mum and dad let me have one? They’re pretty firm believers of marriage before sex. At least, they are when it comes to me - their precious daughter. I don’t know if they feel the same with other couples.
I’m also sure Darren wouldn’t be ready for fatherhood yet, even if we decided to go ahead with the pregnancy.
God.
Pregnancy.
When it was just me who knew, it didn’t seem real. Now I’ve told someone. Now it feels very real. What have I done.
Stupid.
“Well,” Darren repeated, “do we keep it?”
“I’m not sure. What do you think?”
Silence.
I would have rather we skipped the unnecessary silences.
“I’m thinking I wish I never asked what was wrong.”
I thought Darren and I were serious but, speaking with him now.... we aren’t a serious couple. He obviously didn’t want it to get serious.
No.
Don’t think that.
It’s not fair.
He’s only just turned eighteen. This is a massive step for him too.
“I think I’d make a great dad,” he said, eventually - a smile on his face.
Damn. Part of me was hoping he’d tell me to get rid of it so we could continue getting to know each other at a sensible pace. Mind you, could we really have carried on as a couple after going through an abortion? I’m not sure.
He noticed I wasn’t smiling, “You don’t think so?”
* * * * *
If he did want the baby.... if that’s what he meant when he put his hand on my stomach.... I’m definitely here for the long haul.
And, if that is the case, does he expect me to stay cuffed to this bed for the full pregnancy? Will he, at some point, reveal his face? Maybe, after he’s convinced me to keep our baby - maybe then he’ll reveal his face?
Does he honestly think this is the best way to make me keep his baby? Keeping me prisoner until I finally give birth? He’s insane.
I can’t help but think back to his jokey comment when he first took me to what became our regular picnic spot.... it was where he took all the bodies.
Am I the first girl he’s cuffed to a bed?
