Title: Ultimate Conern
Spoiler: All of it.
Summary: It was never something Sarah considered. She could barely take care of herself and she was going to have a child. What was she going to do?
Disclaimer: Not my characters. I just play with them a little.
Part 1:
Sarah ducked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. What the hell was she doing here in this busted apartment where she didn't know anyone? She wasn't sure whose apartment this was. She'd come with some friends to the party last night by climbing up a fire escape. They'd been wasted; she'd be sober for the first time in weeks. She'd felt sick and curled up in a corner bedroom, the only empty room in the apartment.
When she finally reappeared, her friends were gone. She'd stayed at the party, not knowing where else to go. She stayed and listened to the conversations fueled by alcohol and hard drugs. Eventually, she'd gone back to her corner as people began to pass out. She fell asleep wondering what the fuck she was doing.
She woke maybe two hours later to the sounds of raised voices. The others in the apartment were getting restless. Something was missing after the party last night. She wasn't sure what or even who the people were.
She frowned as she tried to listen to what they were saying. She caught her reflection in the cracked mirror on the back of the bathroom door. She looked like a stranger. A woman with hollow cheeks, creased forehead, and heavy eyes looked back. Her hair was knotted under her beaning. At least she recognized the leather jacket.
She lifted up the corner of her sweater and then her t-shirt. Underneath, her stomach was tight and round. She couldn't deny it anymore and she would only be able to hide it a little longer.
"Shit," she said quietly, barely moving her lips.
She was not prepared for this. How could she be prepared for this? She was an orphan. What did she know about family? Of being a mother? There was also the part where she was couch surfing, had a minor drug issue, and almost no money. The last con had gone completely sideways and she'd only just managed to out of there. She was still trying to get back on her feet. Yeah, 'cause that's a good way to raise a kid.
"Shit," she said again, more loudly and cracked her fists against the sink. It wasn't properly attached anymore and it banged against the wall.
"Where'd she go? The bitch who was in here," someone on the other side of the door yelled.
"I think she's in the bathroom. But she has nothing to do with this," said another voice from farther away.
"How the fuck do you know?" The first voice was getting louder.
No one answered. Someone banged on the door, which Sarah had enough sense to lock. She guessed it was whomever the first voice belonged to.
"What the hell are you doing?" he screamed.
"Relax, yeah?" Sarah yelled back.
"You fucking have it! Get out here!"
That was the last thing Sarah was going to do. He was still high on whatever and pissed as hell about whatever was lost. She was going to stay in the bathroom until he calmed down or got bored.
"Get out here!" he repeated.
"Oi, fuck off!" she yelled back.
Not the best way to handle it, granted, but she just wanted to be left alone.
He let out an animal-like howl and started trying to force the door open. Once. Twice. The door flew open. The stranger was the big, military type. His unreasonable anger hit her as hard as the door had. He reached down and grabbed her, yanking her to her feet and out of the bathroom. She stumbled into the living room and nearly fell, but caught herself on the back of a couch.
"Where the fucking is the coke?" he yelled.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Sarah said, glad that her voice came out sounding defiant.
"We had a shit ton of coke last night and now it's gone."
"I didn't take it. Why would I still be here if I took your fucking dru—" She didn't finish the word.
He cleaned the gap between them and hit her in the face. She heard the sound before she registered the contact. Caught off guard, she staggered and almost fell again. The others leaped up and dragged the first away. He was still fighting hard and yelling.
"This is your fault," he was yelling at his roommate now. "They fucking trashed the fucking place and took the fucking drugs! We are in deep shit!"
He broke free and went towards Sarah again. Just a few weeks ago, she might have stood her ground. She might have thrown herself into a fight she knew she couldn't win. Today, a little voice said run. It said you have someone else to worry about.
So, Sarah ran. She ran out the apartment door even though the only exit was the fire escape. Half the building was abandoned. Everyone who lived here was squatting.
She ran through the dark hallway. The only source of light came from the broken boards covering a thin window at the end of the hall. She found the stairs and tore down them with her boots banging loudly on the metal grates. She still heard voices when she reached the bottom, so she kept going.
Weaving her way around some long-abandoned contraction material, she found a door boarded up like the window on the second floor. She gave it a few good kicks and it opened a little and got stuck. She squeezed out and kept running.
Sarah needed a place to go. She needed somewhere out of the Canadian cold. She needed somewhere safe. Her friends—the friends she was staying with—had left her. There probably wasn't even anyone home to let her into the apartment. They were probably still out partying. It was barely seven o'clock in the morning. She didn't know where Felix was. They hadn't spoken in over a year. She'd sort of checked out after her eighteen birthday, once she was officially out of the foster system.
She finally slowed her pace until she stopped on a corner. She had to make a choice. She had so few options. Go back to her friends' apartment and wait for someone to get home. Too cold. She could find a coffee shop. No money. She could find a pay phone and try to get a hold of Felix. Still no money.
She closed her eyes for a moment. There was only one place she could think of. Mrs. S's house. She could go crawling back. On her eighteenth birthday, Sarah had made it very clear she had no intention of coming back. She'd seen Mrs. S three or four times in the almost four years since then. She had mostly gone to see Fee while he'd still been living with her.
But the last time, there had been a fight. One of the epic fights they hadn't had in years. Mrs. S had pressed Sarah for information had her life, where she was living, what she was doing. Mrs. S had not approve of even the half-truths Sarah gave her. The battle that followed was worst then the ones they used to be when Sarah was in school.
Even then, as Sarah stormed out of the house, Mrs. S had told her the door was always open. She was always welcome.
Sarah had laughter at the thought of ever going back to that bitch's house. But she hadn't meant it. Mrs. S and Felix were the closest thing she had to family. She needed them even if she wasn't able to say it out loud.
What Sarah needed now was somewhere warm and safe. She needed a mother. Someone to show her what to do. Someone to tell that it was going to be okay. Mrs. S wasn't always the warmest woman, but she cared for Sarah in her own way.
Sarah could go to her house and be welcomed. That might change once she told Mrs. S why she needed a place to stay. But she had to try for her sake and for the little life she was positive was inside her.
Sarah set off. She had to walk. She still didn't have any money. No money for the bus. Definitely no money for a cab. So, she walked.
Over an hour later, she moved up the little walkway to Mrs. S's front door. Sarah hesitated. It wasn't her house anymore; she didn't live here. She knocked. It was the first time since she started walking that she pulled her hands from her pocket. She realized how stiff and frozen they were. Rapping her knuckles on the wood of the door was painful. Still, she knocked loudly.
There was a pause, and then Mrs. S opened the door. She was pulling a thick sweater over her shoulders. It was a weekday, but Siobhan kept her own hours. Her day hadn't started yet.
"As I live and breath," she said. "If it isn't Sarah Manning, the prodigal—" she stopped herself, getting a good look at Sarah's face. There must be a mark where she'd been hit. Mrs. S's entire attitude changed. She opened the screen door and stepped aside to let Sarah into the house. "Sarah, love, what happened?"
Sarah took one step into the house and felt the red, hot tears roll down her cheeks. Her lip quivered. Mrs. S pull a warm hand on Sarah's arm.
"Love, what happened?" said Mrs. S.
Sarah had no memory of her birth parents. There was next to no information about them. She could hardly remember anyone but Mrs. S. This gesture—Sarah had to guess—was something a mother would do. And somehow it made everything better and worse at the same time.
"I need to place to crash for awhile. Can I come home? Just for a little while?" Home. She hadn't meant to say it.
"Always, love. But you have to tell me what happened?"
Sarah remembered to pull her lip back in. It always stuck out when she was upset, like a toddler. "Can I take a shower, yeah? I have a lot to tell you."
Mrs. S just nodded.
Without saying anything else, Sarah turned and went up the stairs. She should've said it right there. Got it out in the open. She hadn't said it out loud yet. Saying it out loud made real. Say it to Mrs. S definitely made it real.
She felt unsteady as she took each stair. Probably a combination of hunger, sobriety, and her changing body. Without thinking, she went into her bedroom. How many thousands of times had she walked up these stairs, down this hallway?
The room—her old room—was at the back of the house. It was the strange mix of her childhood and her teenage years and all the stuff she hadn't taken with her. The bed was a twin with a little hutch above the headboard filled with stuffed animals, yet there were punk rock posters on the walls.
She looked down at the bed and couldn't resist. She was so tired. Not just from last night, not from her run or her long walk here. She was exhausted to her core. She couldn't live like this; no one could. It was out of control and she stood there watching the chaos. She was in the middle of it and she couldn't pull out. She didn't even try. But she had to now. Not for her own sake. She didn't matter. Her baby mattered.
Sarah dropped onto the edge of the bed. She yanked off her beanie and then her boots one at a time. She pulled off her sweater a laid it over the pillow to protect it. Then, she settled herself on the bed and closed her eyes.
She was on the edge of sleep when she heard Mrs. S knock softly. Sarah didn't move. Mrs. S pushed the door open. Sarah heard her sigh softly. She entered the room and lowered the shades. She left. Sarah relaxed and let herself rest.
She opened her eyes and it took a moment to remember where she was. Her old bedroom at Mrs. S's. She rolled onto her side. The clock on the nightstand blinked 12:00. No one had stayed here in a long time.
She had to guess she'd be asleep most of the day. The light rimming the closed shades was warm like late afternoon. She still didn't feel any better. She was still worn out. Her face hurt where she'd been hit and she couldn't quite open her eye all the way. Maybe a shower would help. Or maybe she just needed to not be such a fuck-up. That would solve everything.
Sarah slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the thin bed. She knew there were some of her clothes left in the dresser. Mrs. S had asked for her to get all her stuff out of the house. Sarah had nowhere to take her belongs, so it had stayed here. She was surprised and grateful that nothing had been removed or even touched.
She dug an old pair of jeans with ripped knees and a Clash t-shirt out of one of the drawers. The bathroom, which had once been filled with countless bottles of hair product, make up and other things—mostly Felix's—was now almost empty. It was like a hotel bathroom. Only the essentials. Mrs. S had purged everything else.
Sarah closed the door and dropped the clean clothes on top of the clean towel waiting for her on the back of the toilet. She stripped off her black jeans and then, more cautiously, her dirty t-shirt. She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. She turned to face a full-lengthen mirror stuck to the back of the door. She had the full effect now. Her cheek has a brilliant bruise on it. It was swollen too. Still, it might have been so much worse. Then, she looked down. Her stomach was round. Only a couple of inches, but she noticed it. She couldn't help it. She was so thin. She didn't eat much. Money wasn't usually used for food. She looked. She actually stared for the first time. She was brave enough. She put both hands over her belly.
She would just have to do better. No more fucking up. As if it was that easy. As if she hadn't told herself that a thousand times before. She might be able to it for the next four or five months. No. Longer. Her child was not going up be an orphan.
"Shit," she said loudly.
She had to do this. The baby needed it. She had to put herself aside for that. She had always been good at taking care of others. Felix wouldn't have made it through school without her watching out for him. Sarah knew nothing about being a mum. Nothing.
Siobhan has always been Mrs. S. She had always been a legal guardian. She had always been a foster mother. Those simple words changed everything. Legal. Foster. It meant a distance. A disconnect. Yes, Mrs. S had cared for Sarah, but Sarah had always foolishly hoped to find her real family. She'd heard other adopted kids defend their adoptive parents passionately. 'They are my real parents. Do you mean my biological family?' Mrs. S was not her real mother. But she was all Sarah had and Sarah needed her now. She just hoped Mrs. S was willing to take the role.
Sarah sniffed. She realized hot tears were in her eyes. Her lip was poking out again. She wiped away the tear and turned away from the mirror.
She finished undressing and got into the shower. When she was clean and dressed, she went to face Mrs. S.
Sarah hovered in the door to the kitchen. Mrs. S was stirring something on the stove. It was dinnertime. Sarah really had slept for hours.
"You hungry?" Mrs. S asked without turning around.
"Yeah," said Sarah, who honestly could not remember when she last ate. "It smells good."
"Thanks," Mrs. S said, turning around. A look of pity crossed her face.
"Eh, it's not that bad," Sarah said, touching her cheek where it was most painful.
"Alright, what happened?" She asked and pointed to a chair.
Sarah sat. Mrs. S took the chair next to her.
"It wasn't my fault," Sarah said. "Really. He thought I'd stolen, um, something. But I didn't. I was just in the wrong place."
"You always seem to be," said Mrs. S, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I guess I do. Um, there's something—"
The phone rang. Mrs. S held up a finger to say hold that thought. She got up from the table and got the receiver. She took it into the living room, but Sarah still heard everything.
"Hello? No, she's here in my kitchen. I wouldn't lie. I think for a little while. I won't let her leave. I can't hold her down. Come when you can. I'll ask her to wait. Okay. Bye."
Mrs. S came and sat back down.
"Felix," said Sarah. It wasn't a question.
"Of course. I told him you were here. He's been worried about you."
"Fee? No way."
"We both have been. You've gone deep, Sarah. We were worried you won't come back up."
Sarah didn't have an answer. It was true. But she going to try now. She stared at her hands, folded on the table.
"Sarah? What is it, love?"
"I'm pregnant." Her voice was quiet. She didn't look up. She could feel Mrs. S's eye boring into her. She knew if she looked up, she would start to cry. She was barely holding on as it was. She'd let everyone down. Her kid didn't have a change. "I'm sorry, Siobhan. I know this is the royal fuck up." She was crying anyway.
Mrs. S didn't say anything. She didn't move.
Sarah was starting to panic. Fight or flight. She wanted to bolt. Start running and keep running. Maybe she could out run everything, her life. She got up and started to move away. Get her things. Start running. She started babbling, "I'll go, yeah? I shouldn't of come. I'm not your problem. I'll figure it out."
She made it two steps before Mrs. S grabbed her arm. She was on her feet too. She pulled Sarah in and held her tight. Sarah sobbed into her shoulder like the lost little girl that she was. And Mrs. S just held her.
"You're safe, love. You are safe," Mrs. S said.
With those words, Sarah managed to calm herself down. Or at least begin to. She took a couple of deep steading breaths.
"Come," Mrs. S said. "Sit down. Talk to me."
Sarah let go of her foster mother and allowed herself to be led to her chair again. Her eyes met with Mrs. S's.
"Are you sure?" asked Mrs. S.
"I haven't been to the doctor or anything, but yeah. I can tell." She put a hand to her belly. Mrs. S flicked towards the moment.
Mrs. S sighed heavily. It wasn't a disapproving sigh, if that was possible. It was a resigned sigh, like when you roll up your sleeves and get work done.
"You're going to have to step up here, Sarah. You know that, right?"
"I know."
"Not just for a little while. Forever."
Sarah nodded. "I know." It was more or less what she'd been telling herself upstairs. "I'm going to need help with that."
"And I'm will to give it. I'm here whatever you decide. Whatever you need. But we do this together."
"Thank you," said Sarah.
"You don't think I'd throw you out, did you?"
"I didn't know what to think. It was bad, Siobhan. Really bad."
"Drugs?"
Sarah nodded. "I've been clean since the day the thought crossed my mind. I want my baby to have a chance."
"And then that's what we'll do."
"But, I've got nothing. I've no money. Nothing."
"You have a place to stay. You have people who care about you."
Mrs. S reached over and covered Sarah's hand with her own. They didn't say anything for a long time.
"You're a special girl," said Mrs. S at last.
Sarah looked up, surprised. It was probably the nicest thing her foster mother had ever said to her. She shook her head. That wasn't true. She was a screw up, a hustler, a thief.
"I mean it, love. You're a survivor."
Sarah didn't know what to say to that. She was saved by the kitchen timer. It started beeping and Mrs. S let go. Sarah stayed where she was as Mrs. S poured the soup into bowls and then set them on the table. Sarah remembered how hungry she was and dug in.
"And the father?" asked Mrs. S, standing above her.
Sarah shook her head. She didn't have an answer.
Mrs. S raised an eyebrow, but kept the most of disapproval off of her face. Finally, she sat down. They ate in silence. When they were both finished, Sarah got up to clear the dishes. It had always been her chore when she lived here. Habits are hard to break.
"What are you thinking?" she said, not looking at her foster mom.
"Just thinking," said Mrs. S. "Mostly about when you first came to me. Do you remember anything from that time?"
"Not really. Why?"
"I was told you couldn't have kids."
"What does that mean?" Sarah heckles went up.
"I don't know, really. You weren't healthy when you came to me. Malnourished, that kind of thing. They said it might have lasting effects, like you not being able to have kids. It was a long time ago. Clearly, they were wrong."
"Clearly," said Sarah, looking down at her belly again. "You never thought to tell me? That's something I had the right to know, yeah?"
"You never asked. Sarah, for all the years you and Felix spent wondering about your real families, you never once asked me."
She sighed. Mrs. S was right. She had spent most of her childhood wondering about her parents. What was the point of asking? Mrs. S wasn't a babysitter. Where's my mum? When's my mum coming home? Foster kids knew their foster parents didn't have the answers and curiosity led to teenage mothers, and drug addicts, and abuse, and poverty, and disappointment. No one was looking. She couldn't help but dream, though she knew no one was coming.
"My medical history would've been good to know."
"You left before I got the chance to tell you."
Again, Mrs. S was right. Sarah closed her mouth.
"I'm not trying to start a fight. You asked what I was thinking."
"I know. I just…" she didn't have a way to finished the sentence. "I'm going back to sleep. I'm completely exhausted."
"Alright, see you in the morning."
"Night. And thanks."
Mrs. S nodded.
Sarah crept back upstairs, pulled off the jeans, and slipped back into bed. She lay on her back. The room was only half way lit. The sun had only just setting outside, so only a little of light rimmed the windows. She ran a finger in a spiral around and around her belly.
"I'm going to do my best, yeah?" she whispered. "It's all I can promise."
She rolled over onto her side and curled around her stomach. She might have cried herself to sleep if she had been the kind of girl who cried herself to sleep.