Professor Bramble pulls a stack of old novels from his briefcase and lays them on the table. These tattered leather books have definitely come from a different era in time. The bindings have seen better days, with deep cracks revealing the mesh beneath the leather. I’m surprised the pages are still hanging in there.
“Now that I have your attention, can someone explain to me why I have brought these books to my lecture today?” Professor Bramble asks, while stroking the top of the stack of antique books.
Silence falls over the classroom, and I can almost hear the wheels in everyone’s head spinning. Someone finally raises their hand, “Is it because we are studying writings from that era?”
“No, but that was an adequate attempt Ms. Locke. Would anyone else like to try at a more developed answer?”
A pulsating sour taste rises up from my nauseous stomach. My heart pounds against my chest like a sledge-hammer trying to break through. Slowly I raise my hand, not quite sure why I am doing this. I had successfully made myself inconspicuous, but what I am about to do will destroy all of that. I can’t sit here any longer while the answer is completely obvious to me. The compulsion to answer his question is far too strong for me to fight.
Mr. Bramble’s eyes widen as he notices my hand going up. He gives a slight nod in my direction. “The fact that you have the word tragedy on the board, along with these books, makes me think of two different reasons. One is most of the stories in that time period have some type of tragedy the protagonist has gone or will go through. But my second reason is to never judge a book by its cover. No matter how much the world has destroyed it, there is still a beautiful, worthwhile story within its pages.”
The entire class instantly turns and looks at me, as if they have just realized I am in their class. Their expressions range from utter shock to complete amazement. Some of the girls exhale forcefully through their noses, giving off a sound of disgust. Their eyes begin searching over every detail of me. An unnerving wave of embarrassment sweeps over me, causing my cheeks to blush.
“Thank you Miss…” He looks down at the list of students in his class. “…Miss Hayes. That is a fairly decent answer.” A feeling of satisfaction prickles through me. Though I am happy about my answer I am also frustrated with myself. I can no longer hide. I am a visible participant now. I know it and now everyone else knows it, too.
Mr. Bramble grabs his lecture notes and tucks them neatly into his briefcase. Turning towards us he adds, “We’re going to do something a little different today. We’re going to take the first reason Ms. Hayes gave us and run with it. I’m going to break you all up into small groups of two or three. I then want each of you to share a tragic experience from your life.” A mixture of gasps and shrills of excitement reverberate through the class. “We’re all the protagonists in our lives. If you have not yet experienced the effects of tragedy, I assure you, you soon will.”
A numbing sensation spreads fervently throughout my quivering body. This is not possible. I can’t be here. I can’t do this. There’s no way in hell I am going to share with any of these people my tragedy. My only hope is that no one will want to have me as their partner.
Mr. Bramble interrupts my optimistic thought by adding, “So we get some truthful experiences I am going to segregate you into my own groups.” As he begins dividing the groups up my panic increases, causing sweat beads to form on my upper brow. My shallow breathing escalates into a state of distress. Why did I have to speak up? Now even my professor knows I exist.
“Ms. Hayes, will you please join Mr. Hughes at the back table.”
Oh shit. Why did I have to come today? Closing my eyes tightly I audibly exhale discontentedly as I head to the back table where Callum now sits patiently waiting. His immaculately polished appearance is such a sharp contrast to his relaxed and nonchalant posture. Hastily grabbing my chair I sit down, adjusting my bulky sweater. Cautiously I look up into his liquid caramel color eyes. His posture does not adjust a bit. Callum stays in his slight languid position, examining me with his intensely scrutinizing eyes. My trembling hands grab onto my sweater, adjusting and covering every part of my torso. His penetrating gaze almost seems to peer right through me. My eyes narrow, deepening the furrow between my brows as a conundrum of thoughts rally around in my head. I’m not sure if he’s disgusted he is stuck with me, or if he’s truly trying to figure me out.
Attempting to get this over with quickly, I demand, “You go first.”
A brief smile tickles the corners of his mouth, “Bloody hell, you just want to bang to it, huh. Don’t want to get to know each other first?” he asks without adjusting his reclined posture the whole time.
Disgusted by his sly and sexual reference, I answer flatly, “No. I prefer not getting to know you. Nothing personal, I just want to get this over…”
He immediately sits up, causing the once relaxed aura about him to evaporate. His eyes widen as his jaw quivers slightly, “Wait a minute. You’re telling me to not take it personal. You don’t want to get to know me before we share some deeply tragic experiences in our lives. Well, I hate to tell you, I do take it personally.”
Using my trembling nerves as fuel I add, “Like you have ever experienced something deeply tragic before.”
“A lot more than you,” he scans over me, visually taking in my appearance. “You’re a spoiled American who knows nothing about tragedy, let alone experienced any. You’re just like most of the young American girls I have met, bored with their environment so you decided to run to England in hopes of having a fairytale experience.”
My gripping fists tighten, causing my nails to cut into the palms of my hands. Heat races up my stiff spine, “You know nothing about me or why I’m here. Trust me, the reality of a fairytale for me is over,” I shout, louder than I intended to. “My reasons for coming here are mine alone. I don’t need some egotistical boy assuming something about me.” Grabbing my things I rush out the door, trying to fight back my tears.
Hastily I head down the long hallway as my tears now spill down my overheated cheeks. The months of pent up sadness mingled with anger explode forcefully from my body. This is not possible. I came here to escape my pain so I can deal with the aftermath on my own. Why am I allowing this arrogant jerk to drag this kind of pain out of me? Blindly I stare down at the floor as I run at full speed, instantly slamming into someone.
“Bloody hell, watch where you are going!”
I look up to apologize, when I catch sight of a feisty pixie face staring up at me, “Olivia.”
Olivia’s face beams with surprise as soon as she realizes it is me. Slowly her expression takes on a downward spin as she observes my plight, “Breanna, are you alright?”
“No. Can we go somewhere and talk?”
Her eyes narrow as a soft, deflated expression washes over her. A slow exhale rolls over her lips, “Absolutely. Where would you like to go?”
“I don’t care. You decide.”
We sit on a bench at the edge of the River Cam. I watch the shimmering ripples dance on top of the water, completely unaware of the dangerous undertow lying beneath the glow. I may put on an aura that everything is okay, but I’m completely aware of my troubles lying beneath my surface. I carry the reality of what I have gone through and will still be going through on a daily basis. Quietly I watch all the punts on the river full of people enjoying their journey. A sense of resentment consumes me, causing my tears to well up in my eyes again. Warm drops fall gently from my eyes and land with forceful stings, seeping through my pants, causing the skin on my thighs to heat up.
Olivia rises up, turns towards me and asks in a soft, smooth voice void of her usual sarcasm, “Breanna, do you want to talk about it now?” Olivia’s voice is coated with concern.
“I can’t. This is my burden to bear. Besides, I don’t want to put a heavy load on you. I think I’m just feeling very lonely. And I allowed some jerk in my class to get under my skin, that’s all.” I can’t look up at Olivia for fear she’ll be
able to see right through me. The core to my sadness is not something I’m sure how to explain, nor am I sure I want to reveal it, either.
A soft exhale rolls from her mouth as she gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Fine, I told you once before that your reasons are yours alone, but I can do something about your loneliness.”
Tilting my head questioningly I look up at Olivia. She is now wearing a mischievous smile prickling the corners of her mouth, causing my heart to drop into the sour bile within me. “What do you mean?”
Her posture changes as she stands at attention with a wave of excitement rushing through her. Her hazel eyes, which are already large, swell with the possible thrill of what she is about to propose. “You obviously have had a bleeding day. There’s no better cure for it than to go and get pissed.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, slightly caught off guard.
“Oh, I forgot, you’re American. I mean go and get drunk. There’re some great pubs around here and I’m supposed to meet some friends at one soon. Why don’t you come?”
“Thank you Olivia, but I can’t.” A heavy weight of desolation pushes down on my shoulders, deflating my posture.
“Why not? It’s just going to be my brother and a few of our friends. They will love you. Besides, this will be a great way to forget about your problems.”
If she only knew how it would just make my problems so much worse, “Thank you, but I don’t think it will be the best place for me right now. Besides, I don’t drink.”
Her eyes widen as her bottom jaw drops, revealing her gaping mouth, “Wow. You don’t drink. Drinking tea and meeting at the pubs for a pint is a big thing here in England.” A sarcastic laugh pushes out of her, “What, are you pregnant?”
Though Olivia is just kidding, a searing surge shoots through my core causing an internal pain to envelop me. The once hard and protective shell shielding my core rips wide open. Tears fall heavily down my cheeks. I foolishly believed I was going to be able to hide my pregnancy from everyone. This is something I thought I didn’t want to talk about, but her guess leaves me with a sense of relief encapsulating me. I have been going through all the pain and uncomfortable struggles by myself. As my tears resume I gaze up straight into her eyes whispering, “Yes.”
Olivia’s face drops, the once gaping mouth reappears, only wider, “Bloody hell. You’re what?”
“I’m pregnant,” though my voice is soft it is laced with frank honesty.
I watch as the disbelief flows down her body like air pressing out of a deflating balloon. She drops down right next to me, forcing me to scoot over onto the edge of the bench. Her wide eyed expression stares straight ahead, not even acknowledging what she is staring at. This is the first time I actually have seen Olivia speechless. Regret slowly consumes me with the fact that I perhaps should not have revealed my predicament to her. I don’t know her well enough to know how she is going to handle this kind of information. Though this is just the tip of my iceberg, this is my hell, not hers, and I should have kept it that way.
“I have to see this for myself,” she declares, in complete frankness.
Turning towards me she lifts up my sweater and places her hand on my stomach. My frozen body shatters, causing me to jump back slightly with the intrusive touch of her hand. The invasion of privacy vibrates into my core as I sit motionless watching this molesting of my stomach take place. I always knew this type of invasion is a very common occurrence for pregnant women. Once someone’s baby bump is showing their stomach becomes public property for anyone to touch. But because I have been successfully able to hide mine with large sweaters or jackets, I have not experienced it before – until now.
“Blow me. You’re very pregnant.”
My rigid body remains motionless as I gaze down at her hand still firmly placed on my now exposed stomach, “Yes. I’m almost nine months.”
“How old are you?” she innocently inquires.
“I am eighteen.”
“You’re the same age as me.”
“I know,” stating frankly, considering I have been assuming she is my age the whole time.
“How?” Her hand grips my stomach like a basketball.
I gaze up at her with a wide eyed expression. My face must be revealing the question running through my mind, because she immediately gives a rebuttal to her previous statement.
Her cheeks flush a soft pink color, quickly adding, “I know you need to have sex in order to get pregnant. I just mean, how were you able to hide this, thus far?”
Slowly I reach down, grabbing her hand, gently removing it from my exposed mid-section. Pulling my sweater back down over my pronounced stomach, I anxiously adjust it, making sure every part of my torso is protectively covered. A ringing stings my ears as a tingling sensation pricks my mind with a fear of swarming questions to come. I can’t tell her any more, but I can’t chance losing my only possible friend either. My hands begin aggressively twisting and turning around each other as I brutally take out my nervousness on them.
“I am actually not that big for how far along I am. But I was successfully – until now – able to hide it with my loose fitting clothes. I would really prefer to keep it that way, too.”
Olivia’s furrow between her eyes deepens as she stares at me with a questionable gaze, “You know you won’t be able to hide it for very much longer.”
“Yes, I know. But I am at least hoping to make it to the mid-term break.”
A laugh suddenly escapes out of her, “That’s a bleeding good plan. But I will be surprised if that happens. You may not be showing very much, but since you are almost nine months along then you are knocking on that delivery door.”
The reality of what she says pulsates through me. I knew I would be taking a chance of going into labor while in the middle of this term, but I had to come here. I couldn’t stay where I was any longer. I had to leave before I was destroyed. Though I am far from the surroundings I am used to, this is exactly what I need right now.
The cool, damp air washes over me, leaving shimmering droplets of water all over my clothes and hair. The thick mist slowly pours down over everything. The once sunny and bright day is beginning to be overtaken by the invading clouds rolling in. The light is extinguished by the haze, leaving only gloom and darkness. Everything around me and within me reflects my feelings, like the consuming darkness has won.
As I sit here in silence contemplating my situation, I watch the swarms of people running around in the mist having a carefree time. The sounds of their happiness are muffled by the intense veil of haze now enveloping all of us. Heavy droplets of water fall from my now curly brown hair.
Olivia’s voice cuts through the thick haze I am in, “I don’t know about you, but I can’t sit here in this anymore. I am getting soaked.”
“If you want to go, you can. It is okay with me,” my voice is gruff under the circumstances.
“What do you think I am, some sort of wanker? I am not leaving you here. You are coming with me whether you want to or not.” Standing up she grabs tightly onto my hand.
“No, I can’t go and you now know why,” I utter forcefully, trying to fight the tight grasp she has on me. Though Olivia’s frame is petite she is extremely strong for her size. She tightens her grip around my arms while she continues pulling me up from the bench.
“Just because you are in this state doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. You are coming with me even if I have to bloody drag you the whole way. You are still young and deserve to let loose and have some fun. So let’s go.”
Cat’s Out of the Bag
Olivia has to practically drag me the entire way. I try to come up with a million and one reasons as to why I can’t go with her to the pub, but she isn’t listening to me. She drags me down a narrow street lined by quaint four-story row houses, where the bottom floors are filled with commercial institutes. Each row building is unique in its style, giving the street a mystical illusion, as if everything has stepped back in time. The charming street gently
curves, allowing me to see the details of the intricate buildings. Hanging on the outside of all the businesses are traditional oval signs, enhancing the archaic yet picturesque feeling to the street. No cars are allowed on this street, making me feel as if I too have stepped back in time. As the night approaches it brings with it swarms of people heading to the multiple pubs and restaurants lining this trendy lane.
My nerves abruptly explode as we stop in front of an enchanting pub called The Black Cat. The front has two very large paned windows situated on the bottom floor of a Tudor style building. I grab Olivia’s hand tightly in nervous reaction, and she gives my hand a gentle and reassuring squeeze back. As Olivia swings the door open a bell hanging on the inside rings loudly, causing everyone nearby to turn in our direction. Loud cheers from the back of the small and modest pub echo towards us.
“Olivia, we are back here!” someone shouts.
Olivia starts to head back when I abruptly stop, causing her arm to be yanked hard, “Buggers, Breanna. That hurt.”
“Sorry, but can I at least go to the bathroom, the loo, first and make myself somewhat presentable before I meet your brother and friends?” She stands here quietly observing me like a bounty hunter scrutinizing her skipper that is ready to escape at any moment.
“Aye, but if you don’t come back I will come after you,” she states with a half-smile slightly curling up the edges of her mouth. I am not sure if it is a joke or if she is serious, either way I am not about to test her. She is stubborn enough and strong enough to take me down.
Never Forever Page 2
