by J. L. White
“I’ll give you two weeks,” Mr. Williams says, apparently not feeling it worthwhile to answer my dad’s question.
“Get out of my house,” my dad says.
“Gladly,”Mr. Williams says, managing to give a dismissive look to our home, my parents, and me, all in one fell swoop. “Before I go, let me make things clear for you. Your daughter’s eighteen, correct?”
“She just turned eighteen in January,” my dad says impatiently. “What of it?”
“Well, my son is still seventeen. I can press charges against her for having sexual relations with a minor.”
Just when I thought I couldn’t be more terrified of my own future, Erik’s dad proves me wrong. He doesn’t look like he’s making an idle threat either. Being a lawyer, he’d know just how to do it, too.
“Be reasonable,” my dad says angrily. “You know it’s not like that with these kids.”
“Don’t I? She clearly has no regard for his parents’ wishes. I specifically forbade them from being together and she did what she wanted with my son anyway.”
I feel slapped. He forbid us? When did he do this? My mind rapidly works backwards. I realize I haven’t seen his parents since Erik got his letter from Juilliard and his mom made the comment about not paying for him to go anywhere else. Is that when they told him? Was he hiding that from me, or is his dad bluffing now?
But he doesn’t look like he’s bluffing. He looks pissed that his direct orders have not been obeyed.
My dad simply looks stunned.
“Oh, you didn’t know about that?” Mr. Williams says smugly. “Why am I not surprised? Why don’t you try reigning in your daughter a little better?” He exhales dismissively. “I’m done here. She can get rid of it or I can have her convicted of being a sexual predator.” He pulls out his wallet, oblivious to my dad straightening and puffing his chest.
“Are you threatening my daughter?” my dad asks.
“If you don’t have the money for an abortion, I’ll pay for it,” Erik’s dad says calmly, tossing his business card on the couch. He gives my dad a hard look. “Let me know when it’s done.”
He turns to leave and I think my dad is going to launch himself at him, but my mom grabs his arm urgently and says, “Don’t!”
Mr. Williams leaves and the front door slams and my dad is huffing like a bull. That scares me as much as anything. I’ve never seen my dad like this. I’ve never seen anything like this. I’ve never cared much for Erik’s dad, but I can’t believe he just did this.
My dad storms to the door and pounds it hard with his open hand. “Fucking asshole,” he says. I startle, blinking at him. “Those people think they own everybody.” He spins and his eyes land on me. I cringe and step back.
“Get to your room,” he says calmly, but he’s still panting like an animal ready to strike.
“Robert—,” my mom says.
He holds up one finger, silencing my mother, but his eyes stay on me. “I’m disappointed in you, Ashley. Get out of my sight.”
Chapter 10
The next day, I decide I’m not up to going to school. My parents don’t push it. They both talked to me this morning, and my dad has softened since last night. He apologized for his harshness, gave me a hug, and said we’d all get through it together. I tearfully asked him if I’d have to get an abortion and he assured me I wouldn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do.
“But what about what Mr. Williams said?”
“We’ll figure it out,” my dad said. “He probably wasn’t feeling any more reasonable about things last night than I was. I’ll give it a couple days and then talk to him.”
I didn’t turn on my phone until my parents left for work. After listening to the litany of alerts as it got caught up, I read the many texts from Erik, beginning with one he sent me when I was still walking home from his house.
Erik: It’s going to be okay.
He meant the Juilliard thing, which seems so long ago and far away now.
There were a few more texts after that, asking if I was all right, then there was a long break. He didn’t send the next text until evening: I have something to tell you. Something good.
I assume that was after he’d confronted his parents about Hartman. I can only imagine how that went. Erik may have thought he was going to do what he wanted to do, but after witnessing his dad last night, I doubt they were going down without a fight.
Then there were a series of texts—Please text or call me, and I really need to talk to you, and Can I come over?—which must have all been before he came to talk to me.
His last text was sent right after he left here last night: You won’t be alone in this. I promise. I’m here for you, Ashley. I love you.
This was when I realized our fathers maybe weren’t the only ones who didn’t know how to handle things last night. After thinking back on Erik’s reaction, I see he didn’t really say anything to indicate he was abandoning me. He was just taking it all in, and trying to find out my thoughts about the matter.
Tearfully, I sent him a belated reply: Thank you. Can I come over after school today? I love you too. I’m so scared.
But that was six hours ago, and I haven’t heard a word.
An hour after the time his school would have let out, I take a chance. I don’t have long before my parents get home, so it’s now or never. I walk along the Greenbelt and to Erik’s house, wondering what I’ll find when I get there. What if his parents are home? What if he’s home, but doesn’t want to see me?
I try not to think that. I try to have faith in his last text. But after so much radio silence, it’s hard.
When I get to his house, no one’s home. I don’t bother texting. This time, I call.
It goes straight to voice mail. I listen to his recording instructing me to leave a message—my heart aching at the sound of his voice—but I hang up.
I walk home with my arms wrapped around myself, shivering the whole way.
A couple days go by and I go through the motions at school. I don’t tell a soul. Graduation is in two months, so I won’t really be showing too much at that point. I’d rather not be that girl so I just keep my mouth shut.
Erik hasn’t texted or called me (in fact, his number is out of service), but his dad has been pestering my dad, wanting to know if “things have been taken care of.” We’ve already decided I’ll put the baby up for adoption, but apparently Erik’s dad is still being too threatening for my dad to want to say so.
I let four whole days go by before I storm over there. I know his dad is due to leave for New York soon, and I’m determined to give both Erik and his dad a piece of my mind. But they get the upper hand on me once again. The house is closed up and there’s a For Sale sign out front.
This knocks the wind out of me. Did they decide to move early? But... what about Erik finishing school? Is he all the way to New York at this very moment?
Fuck. Goddamn him.
The anger I’d been carefully nurturing all week dissolves into shaking and tears.
That’s when I hate him.
When I get home and tell my parents, my dad gets a stony look on his face.
We’re at the kitchen table. My dad is standing, seeming too tense to sit, but mom is next to me rubbing my back. I’m scowling at the old candle centerpiece in the middle of the table, leaning on my arms and balling my hands into fists.
“They’ll go to any lengths,” my dad says, “won’t they? I thought maybe his father was just blowing hot air about pressing charges against you, but I’m not so sure now.” Clearly, he’s even more skittish about telling Erik’s dad I won’t be getting an abortion.
I’m past caring.
“Lie about it then,” I say furiously. “They can both kiss my ass.”
Neither one of them correct my language. “Honey, I understand being upset,” my mom says, rubbing my back. “I am too. But... I don’t know how angry I am at Erik. I have a feeling his dad is putting a lot of pressure on him.”
&
nbsp; But I don’t care what his reasons are.
I’ll never forgive him for leaving me the way he has.
Two weeks later, I’ve had my first appointment with the doctor, who confirmed I’m almost five weeks along. My parents are still trying to figure out how to handle things with Erik’s dad. I oscillate between furiously hating Erik and missing him so much I think I’m going to die. Sometimes I find myself going through all sorts of scenarios in my head, giving Erik the benefit of the doubt. What if his dad is threatening him too? But in the end my hurt at being abandoned is too much to overcome. If he really loved me, wouldn’t Erik at least try to talk to me? What excuse could he have for that?
One last thing is contributing to my feeling that I’m in a downward spiral: I haven’t touched a piano since it happened. I could go back to the school one, and probably should, but I can’t. Everything is too black and heavy.
I can’t even hear music in my head.
I’ve taken to walking along the Greenbelt again, mainly because I just want to get away all the time and I have nowhere else to go. I walk in the opposite direction of Erik’s house though.
One day, in the middle of May, I’m a good mile and a half from the house when the cramping starts. It’s the thing that makes me turn back toward the house much earlier than I would have. I feel like I just need to lie down.
By the time I get home, I’m in horrible pain and know something’s terribly wrong. The dull cramping I felt at first has steadily worsened. There’s a sharp, hot pulling sensation in my uterus and I can’t even walk upright. My dad isn’t home yet, but as soon as my mom sees me, she rushes to my side.
I tell her what’s happening and she loads me into the car. I wonder if I’m losing the baby. I’m in too much pain to worry much about the confusing fact that I both do and do not want to have a miscarriage.
But, like everything else these days, it’s out of my hands.
We get to the hospital and they confirm I’m miscarrying. They end up putting me under for a D&C—a common procedure to scrape my uterus since I’m not miscarrying cleanly, which scares me to death—and I wake up an hour later with my parents by my side. I’m no longer pregnant. I’m no longer in pain.
I’m ultimately relieved.
But I can’t bring myself to admit that to anyone.
And I have no idea what to do about the big, gaping gash in my heart where Erik used to be.
I returned to my piano not long after that and ended up going to Hartman after all. Between scholarships and grants, my costs were just barely covered. That first year in college, though, was all about trying to fill the big Erik gash in my heart, and really not knowing how to do it. I could escape into my music some, but even that wasn’t enough. Aside from struggling that first year to keep up with all those well-trained musicians, Erik had become infused in my music and I didn’t yet know how to exorcise him.
I went a little wild, as I suppose many freshman do, but for me it was far more wildness than was good for me. The parties were fun, but both the drinking and the guys tended to get out of hand. I’d push myself past my comfort zone. Looking back on that time in my life, I think I was trying to punish myself for something, but I still am not sure what. It wasn’t that I was sleeping with a ton of guys, but the guys I slept with meant nothing to me, and having sex with them always made me feel miserable.
Which is sort of why I was doing it.
Surprisingly, it was Sam who cured me of it. Sam, my tiny little firecracker of a friend, who seemed to consider a night of casual sex as both the best possible form of recreation, and the cure for just about any ailment.
It came about when I stopped by Sam’s room in her dorm to pick her up for a frat party. Chloe and Isabella weren’t able to come to this one and Sam’s roommate—who she hated anyway—was out, so it was just the two of us.
When I arrived, Sam was blustering about her room, getting ready. She was in a form-fitting dress that barely covered her rear. Her short, blonde hair was styled in that wild, sexy way the guys all seemed to love. With one hand holding her spiked black high-heeled shoe, she was digging around the clothes all over the floor trying to find the other one. She seemed particularly agitated. Sam’s got a fiery personality anyway, but we’d been friends long enough that I sensed something else was going on.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I was standing in the middle of the room, not wanting to sit on her roommate’s bed, even though I was right next to it, and not wanting to brave the mountain of clothes to cross to Sam’s bed either. We were leaving in a couple minutes anyway.
“Oh...” Sam hedged, still digging. I wondered if she was too upset to talk about whatever it was. She unearthed the missing heel and plopped down on her bed in a huff. “I’m just a little freaked out,” she said, starting to put on one shoe. “I’m three fucking days late on my period. Apparently fucking Harry doesn’t know how to put a condom on because it broke on us a couple weeks ago.”
I couldn’t even remember which guy Harry was, Sam rotated through them so quickly. I was overtaken with fear for her, but my own history came back in a rush too. A buzzing sensation crawled over my skin and I slowly sank to her roommate’s bed.
“I think I need to go get a goddamned pregnancy test.” Heels finally on her feet, Sam huffed in frustration and stood. “All right, let’s go.”
I blinked at her, trying to keep my wits about me. “Are you sure you want to? Are you okay? We could go get a test right now, if you want.”
Sam sighed, considering. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with it if I am. But it’s been kind of haunting me all day.”
“Come on,” I said, standing. “Let’s get you one, and then you’ll know.”
So we did, and as we went to the store for the test, and later as she went to the bathroom to take it, I tried not to let my memories of doing all those things the year before haunt me. I tried not to start aching over Erik again, something I still did often even though I really didn’t want to. What kept it all at bay was my worry for Sam. I didn’t want her going through all that.
If she came out of that bathroom with a look of dread on her face, I was prepared to give her my support.
What I wasn’t prepared for was what actually happened.
She came out triumphant, arms up, big grin on her face. “Halle-fucking-lujah!”
Relief on her behalf washed over me and I jumped up, smiling too. I gave her a big congratulatory hug.
“Maybe I’ll try those birth control shots after all,” she said. “The pill doesn’t agree with me but I don’t think I want to bank on condoms anymore.”
And that was the very instant I went from smiling and celebrating with her, to completely breaking down. It was like a dam somewhere deep inside me burst and knocked the shit out of me before sweeping me downstream.
“Hey,” Sam said, furrowing her brows at what she must have thought were tears of relief, but still having a half grin on her face, “I think you were more worried about me than I was.”
My tears escalated to sobbing and I sank to the bed, covering my face. Sam sat next to me, her arm on my back. “What the hell?” she said softly. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
It all came out then. I hadn’t told anyone else on the planet my story. My parents knew, and that was it. But I told Sam everything. Absolutely everything, including how much I was still hurting about it and how nothing I did seemed to help.
Who knew it would take wild, little Sam to help me through it? She listened and commiserated with me, but it was when I talked about how I’d been with boys that she grew even more concerned.
“Listen, honey,” she said firmly, “I think you need to step back from men for a while.”
I blinked at her in disbelief. I couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d said she found sex to be an absolute bore. “Huh?”
“It’s not good for you. God, you’re like a lost little girl right now. Fucking a bunch of guys is only going to make that worse.�
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I still didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t believe Sam was saying this, but yet, what she was saying felt right. In fact, hearing those words out of her mouth felt like such a relief.
I gave her a quizzical look. “Not the Samantha Lawson advice I would have expected.”
She shrugged easily. “Look, I know people judge me for the way I am with boys, but I don’t really give a shit. It’s not hurting the guys I’m with and it’s not hurting me. I know what I’m doing. It’s fun. That’s it. I don’t want anything more than that and I look for guys who feel the same way, because I’m not interested in screwing around with some dude’s heart. But this is not fun for you. It’s destructive and making you completely miserable. You need a better way to cope, sweetheart.”
I nodded slightly in agreement. “It used to be my music,” I said. “Erik kind of...” I paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s like he’s all wrapped up in it now, and I don’t want him to be. I... I miss how it used to be with the music. It used to be mine.”
“Fuck that shit,” Sam said firmly. “It’s still yours. Your music belonged to you before he ever came into the picture. Don’t let him take it from you now. When you sit down at that piano, you find a way to make it yours again.”
It took some time, but eventually, I did just that.
I took Sam’s advice and stepped back from boys, and I kept the drinking under control. Sam was a big help there too, because even though she had a high tolerance for alcohol and could really put it away, I’d never once seen her really drunk.
I realized I’d been holding back with my music, and bumped my practicing hours up to where they should have been all along. I put in extra time after practicing my assigned pieces and—this was probably the biggest thing—I started to play around with the music I heard in my head.
I hadn’t improvised at all since Erik and I had done it together, but since the music in my head was just mine, playing it made the piano just mine again too. Whatever part of me had been huddled and hiding from the music let go, and I started making better progress in the program.