Pregnant by My Sister's Boyfriend

by Alice Carina

  "But I don't want to be the thing that breaks them."

  "You, on your own, are not; you and her boyfriend, maybe. If you want to continue blaming yourself, at least acknowledge that he is just as equally to be blamed, if not more because he knew more about his relationship than you could. You can even go a step further and blame her with you guys,"

  "Joss didn't do anything." I frowned.

  "She was with another guy, for crying out loud, and she wanted to do everything with him." He moved his hands around in frustration. "They were done, Katie. Even if just for one night, they were done, they changed their minds after. If something truly matters to you, you shouldn't give up on it, not for a second, because you don't always get to change your mind back. Whether it's a week, a night, an hour, or even just one minute after, it could be too late. I know all about that."

  "Seth, I'm sorry," my heart broke every time his past haunted him.

  "It's not your fault," he shrugged my apology like he always did, "just like this isn't," he pointed to my baby bump. "They gave up on something that mattered to them, and life decided not to let them change their minds about it. It happens."

  We had those conversations during the day, when the café was slow or when we were having lunch together. At night, Seth was a completely different person.

  It only took a few days for me to realize that Seth had a drinking problem. He went out and got drunk every single night. He would come back home late at night with a girl – never the same one – whenever he could still walk or just stumble through the door alone and collapse on the kitchen floor.

  The first time he did that, I got so scared I nearly called for an ambulance, but he slurred that I shouldn't worry about it and in a few days I just got used to helping him to his bed and going along with him pretending that nothing had happened in the morning.

  I wondered if he'd always escaped into alcohol from his memories or only after I barged in with my pregnancy and Teresa-similar-qualities reminding him of what he'd lost. It wasn't healthy either way, but it didn't feel my place to call him out on it. He'd literally taken me in from the streets and given me food, shelter, safety and encouragement for free, I couldn't offer him anything back but respect for his privacy and decisions.

  I stayed with him for two weeks and a half. We would work and chat and share memories during the day, he would go get drunk and come back with a girl equally drunk or unstoppable giggles as he lied on his cold kitchen floor.

  He once came back home with a broken toe, it was the only time we addressed his drunkenness. He started the conversation in the morning by asking me if he'd told me anything the night before about how or why his big toe was broken because he couldn't remember breaking it or going to the hospital and getting it wrapped. I took that as my opportunity to express my worry, I was entitled to that at least seeing as we'd become friends over the short but intense days.

  "I'm fine, don't worry about it," he smiled at me. "It started after Teresa, it was the only way I could think of to forget her, but it doesn't really work, everything comes back in the morning ten times harsher."

  "Doesn't sound like a good decision," I tested.

  "It isn't," he shrugged, "it all started with the bad decision of pushing her away and I haven't been able to make a right one since."

  "Another wrong decision won't make the previous wrong decision any less wrong." I pointed out.

  "Says the girl who made the wrong decision of running away from home to cover up the wrong decision of leaving her pregnancy results accessible to hide the wrong decision of sleeping with her sister's ex to make up for the wrong decision of dating a jerk who never liked her?" The words would've been harsh, but he asked them in such a sarcastically-thoughtful manner that I couldn't help but laugh, which was what he'd intended.

  "Quite the listener," I chuckled. "Since you seem to have it all figured out that each one of my wrong decision led to an even worse one, shouldn't you learn something from my experience?"

  "Nah, I'll probably only learn when I get pregnant myself." He shrugged and I laughed. "Seriously, though, I tried to stop many times, but always fell back in two days. Literally. The longest I've been sober since her death is thirty-six hours. I know that what I'm doing is wrong and won't get me anywhere, but I don't know what else to do."

  "Maybe you should listen to your own advice and just move on?" I suggested. "It's what you keep telling me to do, remember? And you can actually do it. You can find a hobby, or literally move on from this place and go somewhere that won't remind you too much of the past, or date someone for more than a night." He laughed at my last suggestion and the mood felt lighter again.

  "Maybe," he nodded to himself then limped to open the café.

  Later in the day, while I was helping him in the café, I accidently stepped on his injured toe as I was trying to move around him to grab a donut for a customer, he yelled and cursed so loud that the woman who'd just walked in with her child closed his ears and quickly ushered him back out.

  "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." My eyes teared up when I saw how much pain he was in because of me. I'd been getting very emotional lately.

  "It's fine," he hissed unconvincingly, still clutching his foot with the broken toe. "This is all my fault. I can't believe I broke my toe and can't even remember how I broke it."

  "I'm so sorry," I was crying by then.

  "You know what? That's it. No more drinking."

  "What?" I blinked through my tears.

  "Really," he nodded more to himself than to me. "I'm officially moving on. No more drinking." He promised me and himself, and my hormones instantly turned my tears into those of pride. He was such a good guy, he'd taken me in and taken care of me when he didn't even know me and had no obligation to. He was a good man and he was finally seeing himself as worth goodness.

  His resolution, however, only lasted until he closed the café. He was drained from work, his toe was hurting him, he suddenly remembered while I was checking the calendar and counting how many days I'd been away from home that it was the anniversary of Teresa's death, and he felt so much worse that he'd been so distracted lately that he'd forgotten it. He couldn't deal with the memories and the guilt of briefly forgetting them sober.

  "Tomorrow," he promised me. "I'll quit tomorrow. But tonight... I can't, Katie, I just can't."

  I didn't say anything; I was in no position to judge and had no right to pressure him into anything. I could only feel grateful for him and try to help him when he wanted me to, and he didn't want me to that night.

  I waited up for him. He'd looked so sad when he left, limping his way painfully into the street. I worried that he would get into a fight that night like he often did and lose because his broken toe put him at a great disadvantage, I worried that he would get something else broken, I worried that he would do something even more stupid than he usually did to block the pain of his memories on that particular night, I worried that he was in too much pain, physically and emotionally, and there was nobody else out there worrying about him.

  I leaned against the door of my appointed room, staring at the kitchen door that led into the café, waiting for him to come back, hoping that he would come back home with a girl so that I could duck back into the room unnoticed and relieved, or that he would just come back so that I could return the favors he'd done for me by taking care of him and making sure he was alright.

  Many hours passed by, but I couldn't distract myself by reading any books or watching TV, not when it started to rain and I knew that he'd left with thin clothing and an open slipper from which protruded a broken toe that wasn't supposed to get wet.

  It was almost five in the morning when he came back. The sun would've come up in a couple of hours and he'd never been out that long before; he always made sure that he could have a few hours of sleep before having to open the café and start the day. I was contemplating calling the police when I heard the rustling of keys in the café. I quickly stood up, ignoring the sickness in m
y stomach that had resulted from too much worrying.

  "Where were you all night?" I asked when he walked through the door, scanning him for any additional injuries. There was nothing out of place except for his wrapped toe which was soaking wet from the rain.

  "Ou..." He slurred, "I... I wa...sss... Outt."

  "It's nearly morning," I approached him so that I could help him into his room.

  "Aawww," he coed, "Werrre you worr-ied about meee?"

  "Of course, I was."

  "No – nobody worr-ies about meee." He threw himself on me in a hug.

  He'd never hugged me before. He was too heavy as he leaned his full weight on me, but I tried to stay steady even as his wet clothes soaked mine until he exhausted his emotional phase and got into his usually sleepy state.

  He slowly lifted himself off me, but kept his arms around me in a tight hug. His hands rubbed my back in circles, then started moving lower, and lower.

  "What are you doing?" I quickly pushed him off.

  "Oh, come on," he took a step closer to me, "don't bee like tha-tt."

  "I think you should sleep." I nodded in the direction of his room as I slowly backed towards mine, wanting to put the closed door between me and his roaming, drunken eyes.

  "Nah," he kept moving towards me. "I don' want to sleeep."

  I backed into my room and made to close the door, but he ran the remaining distance and was right on the other side before I could close it. I thought he was too drunk for persistence, but he shoved the door back on me with so much force that I stumbled and fell back on the bed.

  "What are you doing?" My voice shook with fear.

  This was no longer the Seth that I knew, the nice guy who took a runaway girl in and helped her out of the kindness of his heart. This was the monster he'd been nurturing inside himself and fueling with alcohol and carelessness for years, and it had taken over that night, he'd let the monstrous misery consume him, and, as it took over, it would not be sedated until it had caused misery.

  "Don't play hard to geeet." He smirked as he approached me, his steps returning to their former slow stumble. "I took you iiin, gave you foood and hooome. Nobody does anything without wanting something in return." The quickness and ease with which he said the last sentence frightened me. Had he always expected me to give myself to him in return?

  "No, Seth, listen to me," I gulped. I wanted to stand up, but he was so close standing would've brought us even closer and I appreciated nothing more than the distance between us, no matter how small.

  "We could be a family," he smiled so widely at his own thought and his sinister smile brought tears of helplessness and confusion to my eyes. He bent down slightly and steadied himself by placing his palm flatly against my round stomach. The moment his hand met my bump, something in me snapped in hysteria. I started screaming, kicking my legs trying to stand up, and put both my hands on his one extended arm, punching it and scratching it to get it off my baby, but it wouldn't move. He had a dreamy look on his face, like he couldn't even see me there, struggling under him. He was living another moment in his head where everything was as right as it could be, and nothing I did could snap him out of his alcohol-induced bliss. "I could be your baby's daddy, and you could be my Teresa. Don't you see? This is my second chance to do this right and have a family. You're my second chance."

  Before I could say anything, he crashed his lips over mine. I screamed, and my hands moved up to his face, trying to scratch him off, but he was oblivious to me, I wasn't Katie to him, and he wasn't Seth anymore.

  My heart went into an overdrive and I felt painfully sick as I tasted my tears. My fear and shock and sickness had gotten to the point where I felt I was going to pass out, but just then some survival instinct kicked in and I found myself pushing against him with all my might. He was too strong for me. Without any intentional thinking on my part, my foot went up in the air, gathering force before stumping with all my weight on his broken toe.

  He dropped off me like a heavy rock, his weight too much for him as he fell flat on his back, trying to grab his toe but failing to sit up. I stood up too fast and the dizziness almost rendered me on the floor next to him, but I forced myself to keep moving and half stumbled half ran to the door. Seth took advantage of my slowness and flipped around so that he was on his stomach, his arm extended as he grabbed my ankle.

  "Come back,"

  Once again, without thinking, my foot went up in the air and kicked down on his hand with full force, causing him to return to his cussing and flailing.

  I ran out of the room, but there was nowhere to go. The flat was a dead-end and the rooms didn't have any locks. I ran as fast as I could through the kitchen and out to the café. I shook the café's door again and again, but it was locked

  "No! No!" I yelled as I kept trying to push it. "Oh, God, no!"

  This could not be happening. How did I end up in a locked café in the middle of nowhere, pregnant and alone? Nobody knew where I was, nobody could help me. How did I go from feeling absolutely safe and taken care of and hopeful only a few hours before to being so scared and in danger and helpless?

  I tried to slow my breathing, to calm myself down so that my boiling sickness wouldn't take over, but it was useless. My heart was beating too fast I was actually frightened by its sound, my throat felt clogged like a fist was squeezing it, and my stomach hurt worst of all with held back sickness. It was Seth, the guy who took me in, fed and sheltered me, opened up to me, accepted and forgave me, read pregnancy books with me, promised me to better himself tomorrow, but tomorrow was already too late, we were both in too deep beyond saving.

  I heard him call out for me, and his voice was close; he'd already left his parents' old room which he'd given me. The moment I heard him sing my name, my body went into hysteria. This couldn't be happening. Why was it happening to me? I'd left the safety of my home and given up my family to spare everyone else the pain and humiliation, I accepted my suffering on my own, but why did I also have to suffer his – a stranger with a hidden monster that he'd let take over just one day before promising to kill it?

  "Help!" I screamed as I slapped my hands against the glass walls of the small café. "Help! Somebody please help me!" I was crying and spitting against the glass as I emptied my lungs, but it was useless. It was pitch dark outside. The rain and the thunder drowned every other sound. There was nobody outside at that time of the night, especially not in that weather.

  "There you arre!" He pushed the door until it slammed against the hard wall.

  I gasped as I turned around and saw him standing there with dazed eyes that saw something else in my place, something that wasn't a scared, crying, pregnant girl afraid of him, but something that made him smile contently to himself as if I was smiling back and running into his arms.

  We stood there frozen for a few moments. I couldn't stop crying and continued to pound my fist behind me at the glass, hoping that someone would hear or see. He couldn't stop smiling at his hallucination of us becoming a family.

  A thunder broke through the sky, shaking the walls and floor of the café, and he took a step closer.

  I ran. There was nowhere to go, but I ran. I ran in the opposite direction from the café's entrance and towards the inventories' room. I'd never been there before and I had no idea how I was going to be safe there, but I was praying for a back door or a hiding space or something that I could at least use to defend myself.

  I yanked the door open and leaped inside, only to fall down a short flight of stairs, but each sharp edge punched my ribs and sides like a hammer. I felt suspended; slowly rolling down each step, leaving a part of my energy and consciousness behind on it. When I reached the flat bottom, my legs remained on the last step, my calves bruised and seemingly dead in a painful position that I couldn't think to pull them from.

  The room was too dark, or maybe I somehow lost my sight in the fall, I wondered if my eyes had fallen out and squeezed my eyes tightly just to feel them because I didn't have the energ
y to lift my hands. I felt light explode around me as I squeezed them, and I nearly gave into it, letting it take me away somewhere bright and far away from wherever I was, but a sudden feeling of unbearable sickness circled my stomach and shook my whole body. My limbs moved and pulled in together as I flipped around on all fours, emptying my guts on a closed box and on my hair.

  I looked up when I was done, drained and drowsy, and saw him standing at the top of the stairs with the same sick smile. He'd turned the lights on and took a step down the stairs before closing the door behind him and locking it then pushing the keys deep into his pocket.

  He slowly descended the stairs, taking his time now that he was sure I had nowhere to go. I crawled on my back, trying to put as much distance between us as possible and unable to look away from him, worried that a blink at any other direction would give him even more advantage on me.

  My back soon met something hard and he paused when he reached the bottom of the stairs. I took a quick look around. The room was small and tight. There was one small window at the top of one short wall, probably used to occasionally air the room. It was only slightly open, letting in the cold air. The room was full of all sorts of boxes, opened and closed, one of the opened ones contained bottles of syrup, another one contained mugs, and another had several bags of flour. All the other ones were closed. There were no broken pans or big spatulas for me to try to defend myself.