Twenty minutes. It wasn't much, and certainly not when she needed time to cry and assess the situation. She didn't know where to go. There was the Bartletts' house, but she wouldn't want to bother them; she done enough to them already.
A place to stay wasn't even the worst part. Her mother more or less told her that if she had been an inconvenience, she would've aborted her. Just like the one before her, and the one after. She had always tried to be the perfect daughter – perfect grades, perfect behavior – but now that she's made a mistake and inconvenienced them, she was no longer welcome. Kill your baby, or get out. So much for parental love being unconditional.
And her father... he resigned immediately. He must've learned that he had no part in the decision making, that it technically wasn't really happening to him. Maggie had also noticed that she was never asked who the father was, as if it were totally unimportant.
She had parents who hated her, nowhere to go, and a ruined future.
I just want it to end.
That's when she began to think about all of the guns in the house.
She found herself walking into her parents' bedroom without really realizing it. When she passed the mirror by the bedroom door, she saw the smeared mascara, the tear tracks, the tender red spot on her cheek... she was so tired.
Maggie pulled the case from under the bed. She had been told where it was, just in case of emergency. Surely this qualified.
The hard black case opened with a sharp click. Inside was a pearl-handled M1911 that her father had received as a present.
The gun felt cool in her hands as she checked the chamber. A shiny little .45 caliber bullet was loaded and ready to go. As she gently pressed the muzzle to her temple, it hit her.
What the hell am I doing?
Her hands began to shake. She clumsily dropped the gun and scrambled away from it.
Bordering on hysteria, Maggie ran back to her room and haphazardly stuffed all the essentials into a big duffel bag, shoved all her books into her backpack, then took all the necessities from her bathroom. She needed to get out now.
Her vintage car – a blue Gremlin converted to run on french-fry oil – sat patiently in the driveway, ready to take her away from here. She opened the driver's side door, threw her stuff into the backseat, and drove away.
She stopped at a small park two miles from her house. It was weirdly comforting: she remembered playing here as a little girl, back when her parents loved her. Now it was just a place for her to cry loudly into her steering wheel.
"I'm so sorry, baby." Maggie cried. She apologized for having bad parents. She apologized for almost shooting herself. She apologized for not having a plan. She apologized for being so stupid.
Her phone rang, ripping her away from her musings.
"Maggie, have you told them yet?" It was Henry. "Because I still think I should tell them with you."
It was logical of Henry to hope she hadn't yet; it was only a little after 6:30.
"I already told them." She said after wiping the tears and mascara from under her eyes.
"How did it go?" Henry asked optimistically.
"My dad only told me to listen to my mother."
"And..." Henry sounded scared. "and what did your mother say?"
Inhale... exhale. "She told me I had to get an abortion or she'd kick me out."
One Mississippi... "I thought you said you didn't want to do that."
"I don't."
"... Maggie, where are you?"
She sniffled. "At the park near my house."
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"No – "
"Hold on a second."
There was silence on the other end. Maggie counted forty-six seconds before Henry picked up again.
"Uncle Bryan said you can stay here."
"No, I've done enough – "
"Maggie, either you drive yourself here or I come find you."
Being in the Bartlett's driveway made her feel worse and safe all at the same time. Maybe she could just sleep in her car. Then she wouldn't have to bother anyone.
Henry came jogging out of the house before Maggie could take the key out of the ignition.
"Let me get your stuff," he said as she opened her door.
"No, Henry, I got it. " As she rose from her seat, the light from the porch shone on her bruising face.
The sight of her – the tears, the bruise, the running makeup – was leaving him speechless.
"Henry, please. I can get my stuff."
"Um..." he looked like he didn't know whether to be sad or angry. "Okay."
Henry watched as she arranged all the bags so she take them in one trip. They walked to the door together, where Mr. Bartlett waited for them.
"Hello, Maggie," he said kindly as they came in. "Are you hungry?"
She found it difficult to look him in the eye. "No thank you, Dean Bartlett. I'd just like to go to sleep."
He nods. "You can stay in the guest bedroom. Henry, help her get situated."
The moment they reached the top of the stairs, Jasper came out of his bedroom. He looked awkward, afraid he might say something to upset her.
"Hey, Maggie, are you okay?" Jasper asked softly.
She gave him a weak smile. "I think I will be."
Maggie and Henry continued to her room. When they entered, Henry closed the door behind them.
"Do you need help unpacking?"
She uttered a brief, bitter laugh. "I wasn't given much time. There's not much to unpack."
Finally, she looked him in the eye. "Do you think you could... stay in here with me tonight?"
Henry stepped closer to her and wiped away the tear stains and mascara smears on her cheeks. "Sure I can."
They helped one another strip to their underwear and crawl into bed.
"You don't have to go to school tomorrow, you know." Henry muttered as he cuddled her close.
"No, I think I do." She nuzzled his neck, reveling in the safety of his embrace. "I need something to take my mind off of things. Something that can still feel normal, at least for a little while."
After a moment of thought, he kissed her forehead. "Okay. But just remember that I'm here for you."
