by Elle Casey
Having him stare at me like that is too much. I have to stop it from happening. “What?” I finally say, turning my head to stare out towards the road so I won’t have to see him looking at me anymore. He’s so darn earnest sometimes, and coming from him, that expression is just too weird.
“Are you really going to put your baby up for adoption?”
I shrug. “What does it matter? It’s not yours.”
“I know that. I’m pretty sure I’d remember if you and I had sex.”
He probably meant it as a joke, but it makes me shiver all the same. Sex. I’m never ever doing that again. Not that I even decided to in the first place. Ugh. Do not go there, Alissa. Focus on something else.
I look back at him and put my hands on my hips, hating where my head is at right now. Memories. Nightmares. Terrible, terrible things are coming back to me. “Listen, Colin … I really appreciate the lunch or dinner or whatever that was, but this doesn’t make us friends, okay?”
“I thought we already were friends.”
I throw up my arms. “You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me or look at me most of the time! How does that equate to friendship?!” I want to tear my hair out over this boy. He makes me lose all my good sense every time he’s in the same vicinity as me.
Even though I shouldn’t want to be his friend because he’s bad news and completely incorrigible, I want to be his friend, and that just ticks me off. Because we both know it just can’t happen. We’re from different worlds, raised in different worlds, and living in different worlds. I might be in his world right now, but it’s only temporary. After this baby is born, I’m gone. I have no idea where I’ll go, but it won’t be here and it won’t be with him.
“That’s not true,” he says, but not very convincingly. “I don’t avoid you.”
I start walking again. “See? Even you don’t believe yourself.”
He jogs to catch up. “Okay, fine. That might have been true for the past few weeks, but it’s not true anymore.”
“Why? What’s the big change for? Is it your birthday? Did you confess your sins at church and now you have to repent?”
“No. None of that. I don’t know.”
“Lie. I can tell you’re lying.”
“I don’t lie.”
I won’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, I snort. Dammit. I’m potbelly pigging again.
“I might be fibbing, but it’s for a good reason. My mom used to say white lies aren’t real lies.”
“A lie is a lie is a lie,” I say. “Liars must die.” I’m burning with anger right now. I’ve known one particular liar in my life who’d I’d happily throw in front of a train if I had the strength. The thought of it clouds everything else out. All I can see is him. His face. His hands. His body. All I can feel is him. His weight, pushing down on me. His strong arms wrapped around me. His hands, pressing into my body. Lying, butthole, jerkface, hurting, sneaking, … I don’t say the last word that almost comes to mind. I can’t even think it clearly, and I could never say it out loud.
I’m crying now and as close to running as I can get while eight months pregnant. My belly swings uncomfortably from side to side as I huff and puff to breathe.
“Hey, slow down, little penguin! You’re going to bust something,” Colin says, jogging next to me. He’s barely having to move his feet to keep up.
“Shut up! Leave me alone!” I sound pitiful, but I can’t help it. He’s confirmed my fears about looking like a graceless, flightless bird and it’s possible a sun-stroke is in my near future. I just need to get away. Back to the couch. Back to my books. Back to ignoring the rest of the world around me.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, taking me by the elbow and slowing me down, “why are you crying? Is it because I called you little penguin? I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”
“Just go, Colin, okay? Just go.” I yank my arm back and continue walking super fast. I’m almost to the Rebel Wheels parking lot when I realize I’m alone. He finally listened to me and did what I asked.
Perfect. Go. I don’t need you as a friend or a lunch date or anything else. Just leave. Me. Be. And stop haunting my daydreams and night dreams too while you’re at it.
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN I GET BACK TO the apartment, I pray for some alone time, but God isn’t listening. As usual, he has my requests on mute. Teagan is there with a plate of hot muffins in her hands and Quin is on the couch with headphones on.
I have to choose: either sit next to Quin or camp out in the bathroom. I start at the bathroom but quickly decide that the hard seat is worse than anything Quin could come up with.
I go back out into the main living room, choosing the more comfortable option and hoping Quin will take the hint when I turn on my e-reader and put it in front of me.
I want to let out a string of terrible cuss words when I realize my battery is dead, but of course I don’t. My lips are sealed. Maybe nobody will notice my book isn’t on the screen. I hold the tablet up in front of me and pretend to read.
“Did you just go jogging?” Teagan asks, kind of laughing. “You’re seriously out of breath and your face looks like a tomato. Here, have a muffin.” She holds out a softball-sized thing that looks like a completely rotten apple with bits of green things stuck in it. I shudder when I imagine what it must taste like.
“No. Thanks. I took a walk and had lunch at a fast food place up the street. It’s hot outside.”
Quin leans over and taps my screen. “Seems to be broken.” She looks at me with her head twisted and tilted to the side, a crazy grin on her face.
I put the tablet on the coffee table, my ruse obviously not working against Quin’s evil powers of observation. “Yes, it’s out of juice.”
“Were you trying to charge it with your wifi brain-connect?” Quin asks.
I know she knows I was faking on purpose, and right now I hate her for that. She can never just let things go. That’s why I’m living here in the first place. And maybe I should be grateful for the roof over my head, but right now I’m just finding it suffocating.
“No,” I say, totally annoyed, “if you must know, I was just trying to have a little private moment without having to go sit on the toilet to get it.”
Teagan sets the plate of scary-looking muffins on the table and lowers herself into an armchair, staring at me. Quin sits up straight and does the same. Neither of them says anything.
The pressure mounts to the point that I cannot stand it anymore. I have no idea what exactly happens to make me snap, since neither of them is saying anything, but suddenly words are pouring out of my mouth and I can’t seem to stop them. There is no filter between my brain and my mouth anymore.
“I can’t get a moment to myself in this place! I’m under your radar and your thumbs twenty-four seven! And if I have to eat another one of those things you make, Teagan, that you would like to call food but they are definitely not edible, I’m sorry, but I’m probably going to go into labor. I wish you’d quit trying to make me eat them because they’re beyond horrible! They taste bad, okay?! And I’m sorry I have to be the one to say it, but if you check the houseplants you’ll find large pieces of your food in all of them and I’m not the only one putting them there, either!”
I pause only because I’ve run out of breath and take in the shocked expression on Teagan’s face. Then it hits me what I just said. I slap my hands up to my cheeks, horrified at myself. I want desperately to apologize, but my mouth just keeps opening and shutting like a fish out of water.
“Well, somebody got her Wheaties shit in, that’s for sure,” says Quin. “Was it Colin? Do you want me to talk to him for you? Straighten him out? He can be a bit much sometimes.”
“Gah! No! It wasn’t Colin! It’s you, Quin … and you,” I point at Teagan. I stand up all of a sudden. “Oh my god,” I say, half whispering. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I’m having a breakdown.”
Retreat. It’s all I can focus on. The look
s on their faces … stunned. I have to get out of here.
Once more, I run from the apartment.
I run and run and run.
It feels like I’m running a lot, but I guess I’m not. I’m only halfway across the floor of the garage when a slicing pain goes through my side and stops me short.
“Ohhh … ahhhh!” I gasp, unable to keep the sounds to myself.
A big bang sounds off to my right and I look up, moaning through the pain, to see Colin coming out from under a car’s hood. He’s rubbing the top of his head as he takes in what he’s seeing. Then his expression goes from confused to starkly fearful. He’s back to being scared doo-doo-less of me.
I want to explain, but I can’t. The pain. It hurts. I’m dying.
“Ohhhh, shhiiiippp,” I moan. I pant a few times to work through the pain. “Shiiipp, ship, ship, ship, ship…” Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do this. Is the baby coming? Am I going to give birth on the floor of this dirty place? Please, God, I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, but could you please at least not let me have a baby in Rebel Wheels? I don’t want that on her birth certificate.
Colin is suddenly at my side. “What’s going on? Is the baby coming?”
“No, stupid.” I can barely say the words. I’m huffing and puffing. It feels like someone stuck a knife in my left side.
“How do you know?” His hands are hovering all around my body, but not actually touching me, like he’s afraid to get too close.
“I don’t,” I growl out.
“Come on,” he says.
The floor switches places with the ceiling and I yelp in fright. “What are you doing?!”
Suddenly we’re flying through the garage, the office, and then out the door. Colin only puts me down on my feet again when we’re at the side of his car.
“What are you doing?!” I scream again, battering his chest. I don’t know why I’m doing it, but it does help me forget the pain a little, so I keep it up. I even nub him a little for good measure.
“I’m taking you to the hospital, what do you think I’m doing?!” he yells back, ducking a little to avoid me but not really doing anything to stop my abuse. He’s not mad at me. The panic in his voice is unmistakable; our tones match perfectly.
“No, you can’t do that!” I stop beating on him and grab his arm, squeezing it tightly. “Don’t bring me there!”
He takes me by the upper arms and gets two inches from my face. “Then where should I bring you?!” He’s still yelling.
I have to close my eyes to protect them from the spittle that’s coming out at me in a jet stream along with eighty thousand decibels of freaking-out man-volume.
“To the clinic,” I whisper. “Take me to the clinic.” The pain is leeching my strength. I just want to lie down and wait for it to be over.
I hear a door open and I’m airborne again. Colin deposits me onto the front seat with surprising gentleness and buckles me in. And then before I know it, he’s getting in the other side of the car and starting the engine.
“You know where it is?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I don’t know how he knows, but I don’t really care right now. I just want all of this to go away. I want to be twenty again and getting ready to celebrate my twenty-first birthday. I want to be innocent to the ways of guys and the things they’ll do to stupid girls who don’t know any better. I want to start my life over.
But something tells me God is not listening to me anymore now than he did back then, on the day my life changed forever.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE TRIP TO THE CLINIC is a blur. Good thing I’m buckled in, since Colin drives like it’s a life or death situation. Red lights? Optional, apparently. Stop signs? Ha! What stop signs? We arrive in record time, and he picks me up to carry me in, despite my protests that I can manage on my own.
“Thank you for the ride, Colin, but you need to let me go in by myself,” I protest as he hauls me up the sidewalk.
“Like hell. I’m not leaving you here by yourself. What kind of asshole do you think I am?”
“Manners!” I screech. Everything is falling apart, and now I have to listen to that language too.
“Sorry. Like heck. What kind of guy do you think I am?”
“The kind who doesn’t want people looking at him thinking he’s the father of this baby,” I say, dropping my hand onto my belly. The pain has lessened, making it easier to speak. I’m sure this explanation will scare him off.
“Who cares what they think? We know the truth.”
My face twists up in bitterness as his words sink in. I know he didn’t mean it the way it feels, but I can’t help feeling angry and sad and powerless, and it’s awful. No one knows the truth but me. I’m the only one in the whole wide world who knows. And I will be keeping that dirty little secret to myself forever and ever, amen. I stop trying to resist his help. We’re almost to the door anyway.
As soon as the nurses at the clinic see him carrying me in, they rush over. “Is she in labor?” the first one asks. “Because if she is, she needs to go to the hospital.”
“She said to bring her here,” Colin explains, not letting me go.
“Come with me,” another nurse says, leading us into an exam room.
I open my mouth to speak, but everyone just talks over us.
“What are her symptoms?” the first nurse asks.
“Pain, I think. In her stomach or the place where the baby is,” Colin says, placing me on the exam table on my back.
I struggle to sit up a little. I have a hard time breathing with the baby lying on my diaphragm.
“Contractions?” a nurse asks. “How far apart? Have you been timing them?”
“Hello!” I yell. “I’m right here! How about asking me?!”
Everyone stops moving and talking and stares at me. Colin’s hand freezes just as it’s about to go to my shoulder.
I brush my stringy hair out of my face and take a breath to collect myself. “It’s a sharp pain on my left side that feels like someone is stabbing me. It’s better now, but not completely gone.” A dull ache remains where before I thought I was being torn apart.
A person I know to be a midwife comes in the room and stops the conversation from going further.
“Sounds like round ligament issues,” says one of the nurses, looking at the newcomer.
“It’s not a ligament,” I say, annoyed that she’s acting like it’s no big deal. “Something is wrong. Ruptured or ripped or something.” The pain was too much to be a minor issue, and I can tell by the nurse’s tone that she considers this a false alarm. I don’t do false alarms.
The midwife comes over and smiles at me. “Just lie back and let’s see what we see, okay?”
I suddenly feel a lot less tense. This woman is a master at what she does, I can tell by looking in her eyes.
I nod. “Okay.” Lying back, I stare at her, putting all my faith in her diagnosis. She’s probably going to say I need surgery. The pain was bad. I have no idea how I’ll pay for any kind of treatment, let alone a trip to the operating room.
She presses near the center of my belly with both hands. “How does this feel?”
“Fine.” No pain. Maybe I won’t be dying today.
“And here?” she asks, going over to my right side.
“Nothing.”
She moves over to the left side. “How about … here?”
Pain slashes though me like a thousand volts of burning electricity, all focused on my side. I slap her hands away while simultaneously screaming, “Get the fuck off me!”
The midwife slowly draws her hands away and the nurses turn their backs to us.
Colin starts laughing and talking at the same time. “Holy shit … that was awesome. Guess you found the spot, doc.”
I’m furious at both him and the midwife. “Shut up, Colin!” I want to tear his face off, but he’s too far away now and my nubs can’t do that much damage anyway. I turn my ire on the midwife. “What d
id you do that for?! You made me swear!”
She steps back, smiling, unfazed by my tirade. “You have round ligament pain, typical in this stage of pregnancy. We’re almost to the end, so you should expect more of it.”
“More?” This does not compute. Nobody told me this was going to happen. How is this fair? “Are you kidding me?!” I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I’m so tired of being pregnant and uncomfortable and now I’m going to be in pain too? I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t sign up for any of this.
She pats me on the hand before walking out. “Give her the info sheet on it so she can treat at home.” As she’s walking out the door she says, “Rest. Keep your feet up. Use heat to ease the pain. Let your boyfriend do all the work. Orgasms are great pain relievers, by the way.”
I’m left with my mouth hanging open as she shuts the door behind both herself and one of the nurses who follows her out; the stupid wench is still giggling out in the hallway. The other one who stayed in the room is fishing around in a drawer, flipping through papers with her back to me. I can’t look at Colin, so I stare at the wall that has a poster of a woman’s vagina on it.
My alleged boyfriend clears his throat.
“Don’t say a word,” I growl. I’m biting the inside of my cheeks now, trying to keep from saying anything else. I’m pretty certain I’ve said enough for one day.
“Who me?” Colin asks. “Oh, believe me. I’m not saying anything. Not one word. I’m afraid.”
I look at him. It’s impossible not to. He’s barely holding in a laugh.
“I don’t see what’s so funny.” I’m trying to hold onto my anger, but his stupid beet-red face is making it very difficult. He’s way cuter when he’s not trying to be.
Then he starts laughing hysterically, and I change my mind. He’s not cute at all.
He has to bend over and hold his stomach, he’s so out of control. The nurse hands him the paper she was searching for and leaves the room, but he keeps right on laughing, the paper flapping around as he waves his arm.