Do Over
Chapter 1: How the End Began
Everything happens for a reason, whether we like it or not.
You never think that it will happen to you until it does. I'm just enjoying the greater things in life. So I'm with my boyfriend on his bed while his parents are away. The next minute, I'm sitting on my bathroom counter staring at a pregnancy test in my shaking hands. I was honestly scared. Yah, the girl who is "never afraid of anything" is terrified. Isn't that ironic?
I mean I know that when you never use a condom you're supposed to get pregnant. I had been doing it for two years and had never gotten pregnant. I guess I just assumed that I was infertile or something. That was obviously a bad assumption. Plus, I don't like condoms. They're expensive and they feel slimy. I like the natural feeling. It brings people closer too. At least I think so. I know these are bad excuses, but it's all I've got.
Anyways back to the main story. So it's Monday (yeah, bad start already) afternoon after school. My best friend, Stephanie, snagged me a pregnancy test from her mom. Stephanie said I had to find out. I wasn't worried at first. Although now, I'm sitting on my bathroom counter scarred to death. Five more seconds... I count. One, two, three, and four- I let out a breath- five. I hear a clicking noise along with the pounding beat of my heart in my ears. A little pink plus sign stared at me. I couldn't breathe. I could barely move.
"Lace, I need to use the bathroom!" My mother yelled, pounding her fists on the door.
"Mom," I said mocking her tone, "I told you to call me Lucy. When you do, I'll get out."
"But your name is Lace! I will call you Lace until the day you die, so unlock this door!"
I sighed and rolled the test up in a washcloth. I put it in my jacket pocket and unlocked the door.
My mother stood there, arms crossed and foot taping. She looked like an angry little dog.
"It's about time." She said, flipping her shoulder length brown hair and walking past me. She slammed the door before I moved out of the doorway.
"Ow!" I mumbled, rubbing my probably bruised butt. I am the exact opposite of my mother. I have blond hair, blue eyes, and pale-skinned. My mom is dark-haired, brown eyes, short, and naturally tanned skin (from her one quarter Cherokee Indian background). Plus, if you haven't already figured it out, she's a total witch. No evil stepmother has anything on my biological mother.
I walked down the hall into the living room where my dad was sitting on the couch.
"Moms being a-" I began.
"-bitch?" dad finished for me. I smiled.
"I was going to say a witch spelled with a capital B because you said that I've gotta' stop calling her names, but that works too"
"Yeah, she's in a bad mood." Dad replied.
"When is she not?" I countered. Dad didn't say anything.
My father was the only adult that understood me. I took after him in everything looks, hobbies (Art: drawing and painting; music: rock from the 80s and 90s plus heavy metal) and even personality. The only thing I got from my mom is my clumsiness and acid tongue.
I stared off into space, wondering how I'd ever tell my father that I was pregnant. It would break his heart. Father pretended not to notice when I brought guys home. He just assumed that if I was having sex I was being responsible. I have let him down. I couldn't tell my dad. It would hurt him more than the fact that his baby girl is growing up. I felt like crying. I felt my eyes fill with tears.
"Lace?" My dad asked, noticing my defeated tears, "Lace, are you alright?" I began to cry, all the truths hitting me at once. My dad held out his arms and I let him hug me like a five year old.
"Dad," I cried, "I don't even love him. I don't love Marshall. And-and- my life is falling a part!"
"shhh… no it's not honey. You've got your whole life ahead of you. There are other guys out there. I always knew you never really loved Marshall." Dad comforted me. I was suddenly angry. If dad knew that Marshall wasn't "the one" why didn't he tell me? I stopped right there. It wasn't my dads fault. It wasn't even my mom or friends fault. It was me and Marshall's fault. It was all our fault.
So let me tell you about Marshall. He's got slightly curly black hair and brown eyes. He is Goth- eyeliner and black nails in all. He is a total sweetheart. He's nice, but a little too clingy. Plus, he's not too bad in bed. Good, but definitely not the best guy I've ever slept with (which is only three, including Marshall.)
So, he's cool but not "daddy" material. I think he's just too silly and immature to be a good father. I figured telling Marshall would be easier than telling my parents. So, I called him.
"Hey, Lucy." Marshall said.
"Um… hi Marshall, what's up?" I replied, suddenly feeling very nervous.
"nothin' much just finishing some homework." Oh yah, I forgot to mention- unlike me- Marshall is a straight A student.
"Oh." Was all I could say. Neither of us said anything for a while which was unusual for us.
"Lace, is everything alright?" I knew Marshall was sincerely concerned because he used my real first name.
"N-no." I stuttered.
"Lucy, what's wrong? Was your mom being-"
"I'm pregnant." I blurted. The next ten silent seconds seemed to last forever.
"Are you sure?" Marshall asked, now just as nervous as me.
"Well, I've missed my period these last three months, I thought I had gained like five pounds, and the test came out positive. So, yah I'm pretty fricken' sure." I didn't mean to sound so angry, but if I wasn't sure- why would I call to tell him?
"Hey, hey calm down. It's going to be alright."
"No, it's not. I've got to go now; I'll see you at school." I didn't want to stay on the phone.
"Okay. I love you, Lucy." He said. Those four words killed me.
"Marshall," I began feeling horrible, "I'd say 'I love you too', but you know that's not true. I'm so sorry. I just can't stay with someone I know I won't be with forever." I started crying again, but I wouldn't let Marshall know. I was strong, tough Lucy. Not thin, delicate Lace.
"Lu-Lucy, we're going to have a baby together! Of course you love me, you have since you were thirteen! We were gonna' graduate together and get married. I was gonna' take care of you. I was-"
"No. No Marshall, we're not getting married. The only thing we're doing is having a baby together and neither one of us is ready. I don't love you anymore." This time when I said it, I meant it.
"Fine, but Lucy- you're crazy."
The line went dead and I knew that he had hung up. He's right, I thought, I am crazy.
After I called Marshall, I was so upset I didn't feel like calling Stephanie. I spent the rest of the night crying into my pillow and cursing pretty much every ones name (including my own).
The next morning, Tuesday, I didn't feel like getting out of bed. Usually I wanted to go to school so I could see my friends and Marshall. Oh my god, Marshall. Yesterdays events all came flooding back to me. I was mad at myself. I screamed and threw my pillow at the door right as my mom opened it to get me up for school.
"Damn it, Lace! I'm just trying to do you a favor and get you up and goin'. See if I cook you breakfast now- you ungrateful brat." She slammed the door after throwing the pillow back in my face. Now I felt like crying. I was glad the pillow had hit her.
"Good morning sunshine," I mumbled to myself, "the cruel world says 'go to hell." I tossed the covers off of me and got my clothes to change. I put on jeans, a baggy T-shirt, and my ratty tennis shoes. I put on my bra and realized that it didn't fit. My breasts were swollen and tender. I was just getting a little bump on my stomach, it was a bit obvious. People would either know the truth or think I was just getting fat.
"God fricken'…" I mumbled some curse words as I searched my drawer for a bigger bra. I found a sports bra, a hand-me-down from my mom. I put it on and it fit perfectly. The tag on my regular bra said 36B. This one said 32C. I decided that I would look at this as a positive thing (for now).
After I changed and got my school bag together, I went into the kitchen. My mom was sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal. She didn't even look up at me when I walked into the room.
"Do we have any fruity pebbles?" I asked her. They are my favorite.
"Yeah, they're here on the table." She answered, sliding a box and a milk jug towards me. We ate in silence for about five minutes.
"Your father left for work an hour early this morning." Mom said, trying to make small talk.
"So?" I said, trying to pretend that I didn't care. It did bother me that dad had left early. He'd been doing it for almost a month now.
"Just thought I'd let you know." My mom said, picking up her bowl and tossing it into the sink.
I wondered if mom and dad were having problems. Mom did sound bitter when she was talking about dad and work. My parents are okay for each other.
They got married when they were fresh out of high school. My mom was 18 years old and my dad was 19 years old. A time, my dad told me, when my mom wasn't a demon. Instead of going to college, they spent the money on their wedding and a place to live. My mom said it was a stupid mistake. Dad says he wouldn't change it for anything. My dad's parents didn't mind. They were happy with whatever decision their son made, as long as it was his own.
My mother's parents, however, were very angry. Mom came from a strict Christian family who believed that their way was the only right way. So my parents kind of eloped in Colorado. They spent their honeymoon camping out on the Rocky Mountains for the weekend. My mom had her older sister, Penelope, as one of her bride's maids. Her best friend from high school (who she hasn't talked to since her wedding) was her maid of honor.
My father's groomsmen ended up being his dad because none of his friends could get out of school for the day. So the only people there was my aunt Penelope, my moms friend, the pastor, my father's parents, and of course the bride and groom. During their honeymoon I was conceived. Ugh, I don't want to think about it.
Right now, their marriage isn't too great. They only pretend that everything's okay for my sake. I can hear them arguing about things in the middle of the night. Things like, "Your snoring woke me up.", "Why aren't you ever in the mood?", and of course they argue about me.
My mom says that I have an obsession with guys and sex; my dad says that I'm just enjoying life. Then my mom argues that I'm too young to enjoy the things in life that I do. Then my dad doesn't say anything. I have to give them both credit because they're both right. I am enjoying life, but I am too young. Did I mention that I'm fifteen?