by Emma Cole
That’s when she dropped the news that she was pregnant. She hadn’t wanted to tell me over the phone when she’d found out a few days prior. She was terrified to tell her family and worried about how Damien would react. She’d been correct, as a few weeks later when morning sickness set in and her mother insisted she go to the doctor after throwing up at school, she’d had to fess up.
Her parents had demanded to know if it was Damien’s, and when she said no and refused to abort, they kicked her out of the house. She’d had enough saved up that she was able to get into a low-income based housing for expectant teen mothers and had gotten emancipated a short time later with her parents’ blessing to get her out of their hair.
Damien didn’t go so smoothly. He’d flipped out and tracked her down after school one day, insisting the baby was his and that they were going to get married. He kept harassing her to the point she’d had to get a restraining order and even had an amniocentesis done to prove the baby was mine.
With all the issues, I'd been scared to propose, afraid she’d shoot me down. At least she did let me help with expenses, so she could finish out her senior year, and when I asked her to marry me over spring break when she came to visit me in California, she’d said yes.
Now I sit and rub the empty spot where I’d put her engagement ring that day not so long ago and the wedding band today, figuring they’d removed them for surgery. I softly begin to sing “You Are My Sunshine” to her, one of ‘our’ songs. I’d make her hold the phone up to her stomach, so I could sing to her and the baby for months now. When I’m finished, the nurse pulls back the curtain, coming in to check her vitals again.
“Umm, can you find her rings, please? And is there a locker or somewhere I can store my bag and her purse?” The nurse nods and leads me out to a hall with a bank of lockers.
On one is Cora’s information, and in it is an envelope with her rings in it. There’s just enough room for my duffel in the bottom and her purse on the shelf. I tuck her rings into her bag and shut the locker, spinning the dial to lock it.
I feel a pressure in my chest, this time more like someone sitting on it than from being emotional. That’s my cue, I bet. I use the bathroom before I go back into the room to sit with Cora. When I get back, the nurse is removing the empty blood bag and replacing it with saline.
“She’s doing quite well, considering. Keep talking to her, and if you need anything, think something is wrong, or she wakes up, hit the call button.” She shows me where the button is located on the bed rail and takes her leave.
A wave of dizziness hits me, and I slump heavily in the chair that’s positioned near Cora’s head. I take her hand in mine again, speaking quietly to her.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll have to go soon, but I so wish I could stay longer with you.” Positive I feel her fingers move, my eyes dart to her face. Her eyes are slitted, and she starts to moan softly. I can’t tell if she’s in pain, trying to talk, or both. “Hey, there. You’re going to be okay. Let me get the nurse.” I hit the button and take the opportunity while I’m waiting to kiss her lips, about the only place on her face not bruised, minus a small split from where the airbag hit, murmuring, “Love you.” My energy is waning, and I sit back against the chair, never taking my eyes off Cora’s.
“She’s awake?” the nurse asks, with a team of others following her in. I nod toward her, and they get to work, checking her over and testing responses.
They never notice when my eyes close, and I slump over. Cora does though. Her monitors start beeping as she tries to get their attention, voice cracking when she calls my name. No one has even told her that the baby is gone. I force my eyes open briefly and give her a wobbly smile. Somehow she understands, and her absolute panic is plain on her face.
Chapter Four
8 weeks later
Cora
I’m crying. Again. It never ends, always weeping for one reason or another. Or no reason at all.
I’m packing up the last of Kael’s belongings into a storage unit. They’d been shipped to the on-base housing, but since we’d never taken residence in the one assigned, it has all been sitting in a room in the commissary waiting to be claimed. Frankly, I’m surprised they hadn’t tossed it all out.
I’m still in my crappy little one-room apartment, except now I have to pay an exorbitant monthly rent since I’m no longer pregnant. And hadn’t that been a blow? I’d lost the baby and Kael on the same day. I’d found the letter Kael had left in my purse but haven’t had the courage to read it. I still don’t understand what happened. According to everyone else, he’d been fine, refused to get checked out. If he had been examined or told anyone he hit his head on the window when the truck flipped, they may have found the clot that took him from me.
Sighing, I pull down the rolling door and put the lock on, trying not to dwell on the what ifs. It had taken weeks to recover enough to get off mostly bed rest and be able to work again and deal with all the things that had piled up. The auto insurance was still in litigation. I’d gotten a payout from Kael’s life insurance through the military, but it mostly went to paying my hospital bills and subsequent doctor visits and testing. And, of course, taking care of Kael. Keeping a roof over my head had been a priority as well, and the money was dwindling fast.
I’m currently jobless, nearly broke, and only now able to put in applications, but I still have light duty restrictions to abide by for the next few weeks before I finish my physical therapy and get a tentative all-clear. I wish Damien’s parents would just let the insurance pay out. I get that they’re pissed about their son, but I didn’t force him to get wasted and smash into us. The least they can do is let it pay out without a fight.
After finally getting home and heating up a freezer meal in the microwave, I pull up my bank account.
“Shit.” I’m going to be lucky to make it to the end of the month. No job, no career, no schooling past a high school diploma. And soon to be no apartment, as crappy as it is. Along with shattered nerves thanks to the crying baby next door.
I have night terrors, not only about Damien, but about the wreck, the baby, and Kael, and the crying baby seems to set them off the worst. I get out my exercise bands and start my strengthening exercises, still-weak muscles protesting the stronger ones, but they’re getting there. I’m sweating and huffing when there’s a knock on my door.
When my yells to come in are ignored, I stop to answer it. Usually, it’s the upstairs neighbor’s boy trying to sell something for his school fundraiser. No one else, besides the landlord if I'm late on rent, ever comes by.
I swing open the door, preparing my speech to let the little guy down gently.
“Hey, Marshall. I can’t buy—" It's not a little boy at my door. "You’re not Marshall, and you’re not selling overpriced candy.” I cock a hip and brace my foot on the inside of the door, ready to slam it as soon as an opportunity presents itself. “What do you want, Drake?”
“Just a minute of your time, Cora. That’s all. Then I’ll leave.” Drake holds his hands up, a manilla folder in one and the other empty. I don’t believe he’s harmless, regardless of his actions; too many hinky things happen around him and his crew. Plus, his brother had been an absolute douche.
“Fine, but you can do it here. I’m not letting you in.” I can be stubborn, and this is one of those times I’m not going to budge.
He gives a gusty sigh but steps back and extends the folder. A tattoo of scales on his inner wrist catches my eye, and I’m struggling to keep myself from being pulled into a panic attack. It matches the marks I’d seen on Kael when the hospital staff had realized he was in distress after I’d woken up in the hospital. Only the pressure of the door being pushed in against my foot snaps me back to reality with a new terror— the kind of an invader pushing their way into your home against your wishes.
“No, get out,” I shout, shoving on the door, making my newly healed injuries twinge. Drake immediately desists and backs up. I'm shaking and nauseous, but I'm n
ot about to stand down.
“Here, I’m laying it down. Read it, please. It’s the only offer my father is prepared to make.” Drake continues backing up until he hits the pavement to the parking lot in the gated apartment complex before he turns and gets into a shiny black BMW.
I wait until he’s gone before darting out to grab the folder then get back inside, securing the chain, deadbolt, and doorknob lock. Feeling marginally better, I retreat to my bedroom and, plopping on my bed, open the folder.
After making it through all the legalese, I get down to the heart of the deal.
Attend the private university run by the same board as the highschool me and my step-brother had gone to.
Finish all courses with a B+ average.
Receive a monthly allowance as well as room and board at the school.
Comply with all clauses of the contract.
If any clauses are broken, it is considered voluntary withdrawal, and the offer is null and void.
If the contract is accepted and then subsequently violated or the Plaintiff declines, there will be no other offer extended.
There’s more in detail, but I ignore them for now. This is it. Either I take the deal, or I’ll be tied up in court for months, if not years, and I can’t afford it. They have to know that as well.
I hang my head in defeat. If my parents would be half-decent human beings and help at least somewhat by letting me stay with them, as uncomfortable that would be on both our parts, I could have a chance to get caught up. Instead, they didn’t even extend their condolences, only reminded me that I was persona non grata to them when I'd swallowed my pride to ask for help.
I weigh my options, even as I fight the tears. Stay here and be in debt and poor as poor gets, struggling for years to at least make it somewhere. Or, and it’s a hard pill to swallow— take the offer, get a professional education at an excellent, exclusive university, and have an allowance I can save up. If needed, I can choose a major that can keep me there for years, as long as I can hack it.
With my situation, it’s really a done deal, and I’m sure Drake's dad and his attorneys know it. I keep reading through all the details of the document. Some things I’ll have to consult my own attorney about. There are items that void it on their end as well, and if they do, it results in an astronomical payout. That’s something to consider at least. The other things are somewhat odd. Participation in club and school events, specific ones required. It goes on with a dress code at those events, ect. Hopefully, I can get some of this revised since it’s absolutely ridiculous.
I make a call to my attorney, glad he can fit me in first thing in the morning. Sleep is slow to come, and the ever-present nightmares plague me with an added twist of masks and robes and altars. I jerk upright in bed at a particularly gruesome one, covered in sweat, and decide to take a shower after giving up on trying to sleep.
***
Sitting on a straight-backed chair, fingers twisting together in nervousness, I wait for my attorney to finish perusing the papers Drake had brought me.
“Well, Cordelia. You can try to propose some of the minor changes you’re concerned about, but if they stick to them, there really isn’t a lot to be done. Do you have a year for them to stall? I can eventually force them into court, but until then, can you survive?” My attorney, Mr. Basham, is kind and middle-aged, but he’s very clear-cut.
The answer? No. I can’t make it another year. Not like this. Not without being homeless in the meantime.
“No, but can you put the changes in there, and I’ll do the filing or whatever to avoid the extra charges? Sorry, but you’re right. I’m nearly tapped out.” I can feel the flags of color high on my cheekbones at having to admit it, and my twined knuckles clench, but pride doesn’t supply food, clothing, or a roof over my head.
“Of course, and I’ll add my retainer to it as well. Most likely they’ll pay for it, and I can refund you whatever is left over.” I can’t decide if that’s a boon or not. My insurance refused to continue paying after they covered the victims that my truck had hit and the legal fees for those. I had hit the cap, and there wasn’t anything leftover to cover going after Damien’s insurance company.
Our history together didn’t help either. They were trying to say I’d provoked him by having Kael tell Jaeger, my step-brother, knowing it would get back to Damien. Blah, blah, blah. It was a ridiculous but very realistic spin his attorneys (yes, plural) were trying to put on the incident.
Leaving the office, I head to theirs and deliver the changes. The receptionist asks me to wait, and while I do, my palms start to sweat, and I'm actively trying to keep my hands separated so they don't give away how uncomfortable I am. I didn’t anticipate them going over the changes now. What if they say no? What if they want to change something else? I need to call Mr. Basham.
I’m just reaching into my pocket to get my phone when a man in a suit comes out carrying papers. He’s looking right at me, and I’m going to guess he’s one of the attorneys. He extends his hand for mine when he gets close enough, and I grudgingly let him have it, pulling back and giving it a surreptitious wipe on my jean-clad thigh when he lets go.
“Hello, you must be Miss Cora. I’ve heard so much about you!” What the hell? He’s heard about me?
“Umm… yes, I’m Cora, but I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”
“Oh, yes! Please forgive me. I’m Damien’s uncle Chaz, a partner with the firm here. Terrible thing that happened. If you’ll follow me, please.” Dude is an odd duck, and I’m tempted to walk out. Instead, I try to stall, really not wanting to go in the back with him.
“Maybe we can stay here since I didn’t bring my attorney. I was just dropping the papers off.” Polite seems the way to go in this situation.
“Yes, of course, My apologies, again. I’ve consulted my client, and he’s amenable to all the changes you proposed. If you’d like to sign it now, we can.” They accepted them all? Even the money? It sounded too good to be true.
“I’d feel more comfortable calling my attorney first.” Not waiting for his agreement or otherwise, I whip out my phone and cross my fingers that he answers. Thank goodness he does. “Mr. Basham, it’s Cora. They want to accept the changes and have me sign the papers?”
“Cora, that’s excellent. Bring them back here and let me look them over again just to be sure, and we’ll get them done and filed this afternoon.” He hangs up, and I relay the directive to Chaz. He seems slightly disappointed, but I ignore his peculiarity.
“Don’t forget, Miss Cora, once it’s filed, you have seventy-two hours to report to the university and complete your enrollment. Have a nice day now.” He ushers me out of the office, and I feel like I just escaped being the fly in a giant spider web.
Chapter Five
2 Days Later
I’m here, at the gates to my new school. It’s not terribly far off from where I’d lived most of my life with my parents. Blackbriar University, more commonly known as Blackbriar Academy due to the set-up and requirements demanded of the students, is as imposing as it is elite. I know I had the grades to get in, and most likely would have, had I applied and had the funds to attend.
Fuck, I miss Kael. And I miss my baby. This isn't where I was supposed to end up. Stifling the urge to break down, I center myself and pull up to the booth.
Driving through the open gates after showing the attendant my identification, I park in the visitors’ lot. My small SUV is a lot more economical on the gas in regards to mileage than my big truck had been, and it’s also easier to park. Paperwork in hand, I lock up and hike my purse strap on my shoulder. It’s a bit of a walk to the entrance, and I take in the pristine courtyard, fountain included, as I pass through it. There aren’t any students roaming, and I’m not sure if that’s due to the term not having begun yet or if it’s always this sedate. I hope not, or it’s going to be a long few years.
It takes a few minutes of waiting at the office to get in to a counselor for registration, and I use t
he opportunity to try to memorize the headshots of the staff with their names. Some are dour as I’d expected, but they’re all middle-aged or older. Which is why it’s a surprise when a youngish man comes out to greet me.
“Hello, I’m Mr. Jacobsen. You must be Cordelia,” he greets me, with an outstretched hand that I feel comfortable reciprocating as his manner is so easygoing. “Let’s head on back and get everything squared away. I’ll have one of the students on site show you to the dorms when we’re finished.”
I follow him through a door and down a few offices until we reach a door marked Alexander Jacobsen. “Here, take a seat, and I’ll take your papers.” He rounds his desk, and I sit while he brings something up on his computer and begins comparing my information to what he has on file. “Everything matches up. Now, for the classes and extracurriculars.”
By the time he’s done I have a pile of forms to fill out, a full schedule, and slips to get my books and other supplies. My room and board covers everything from meals, to uniforms, a laptop and phone, books, anything needed, really, other than street clothes or anything off-campus. I could get used to this if the reason behind it wasn’t so awful, and I have to struggle to stay in the present and not get sucked into my constant misery. I’m not sure what else I’ll need an allowance for other than basic bills. I’m keeping my own phone plan, car insurance, and the couple credit cards, plus the storage unit. Not much else besides fuel and toiletries if I don’t like those provided by housekeeping. Yes, they have housekeeping.
I nearly stumble over my feet when a familiar and unwelcome face is waiting to be my escort. It was to be expected that I’d run into Drake's little posse, and my step-brother would be around as he’s a year ahead, same as Damien would have been. Like I said, I was pretty much expected to go from my high school, Mooreton High, to Blackbriar.
