Olivia doesn't answer her. She stares at the stain, on the floor. The wheels in her head turn, as the tears trickle down her cheek. Amanda looks over, at her. She can see that Olivia is emotionally drained, and completely exhausted. She sees the dark circles under her eyes, reminding her, that her partner probably hasn't slept in months. At least not for more than a couple of hours, at a time. Olivia avoids making eye contact, as if it's the plague. Amanda can see that there is something more, something that Olivia is holding back. The light bulb flickers, in her head.
Suddenly it hits her, like a ton of bricks. Amanda swallows hard, she too fights the urge to cry. In an instant, she feels sick to her stomach. She finds it difficult to look at her partner. Her mind races, thinking of the possibility. Her nostrils flare, in anger, but she tries to maintain self control, for Olivia's sake. But, she can't control her thoughts.
The only thing worse, than knowing you could die, from a terrible disease. The only thing worse than death, was living. Living, and knowing... that despite everything you did, it wasn't enough. That when you were broken, and ready to give up, there was something, that would push you far enough, to do it. It's that moment, when you become the person, that you never wanted to be. The one person, you vowed, never to become.
Olivia can't look at her, she just stares at the rug. Amanda's eyes, fall, too. She goes to the place on the floor, that is covered by the rug. The place, she knows hides the stain. The stain, is kind of like a scar. You can cover it up, but you can never truly hide it. It's always there. No matter, what you try, it will never go away. No matter how hard you try to scrub it away, it doesn't go anywhere. It is something, inescapable. It's a visual reminder, of a painful past, you want so desperately to forget. The stain, is like, a single moment, that will change your life, forever.
Amanda takes a deep breath. She tries to come up, with the best way to ask. She swallows down, her own urge to vomit, as her stomach twists into knots. Finally she decides, the best way, is just to do it. She realizes there is no best way, only the way that it comes out.
"You're pregnant," she says, in a small voice, more of a statement, than a question.
Olivia doesn't say a word. She continues to look at the rug. It reminds her of her own life. To the naked eye, no one would pick up, on the flaw, at least, at first. After a while, though, you peel back the rug, or, in her case, a thick layer of denial, and there it is. No matter how you try to cover it up, it's still there. Even when you try to forget, or deny it, you can't.
She swallows down her feelings. Her mind begins to wonder, about the lady, who left the stain. She chooses this topic, instead of one, too close to home. She contemplates what secrets the woman had been hiding. What had happened, that night, that the stain got there. Were her secrets too much? Was the rumor true? Was the apartment cursed? She shakes the thought, because dying, would be better, than this.
"Olivia?" Amanda calls out.
Olivia looks up. She sees Amanda's face. She sees that Amanda is close to the verge of tears, herself.
"Hm?" she returns to reality.
"You're pregnant?"
Olivia simply nods, numbly.
"How long have you known?" Amanda investigates.
Olivia swallows hard, in disbelief, and shock, "Since this morning."
"And, not before?"
"Amanda, I am forty-five years old. It was the last thing on my mind," she says, with a hint of disgust in her voice.
"Not the last," Amanda corrects.
"Close to it."
"You're sure?"
"I would like to say that I'm not, but they ran the labs three times."
"Oh," is all Amanda can manage to say.
"Do you think that this was the plan, all along?" she wonders.
"No," Amanda responds quickly, unsure whether she is lying, or not.
"I should have known," Olivia admits.
"What are you going to do?"
"This wasn't supposed to happen."
"I know," Amanda admits.
"I don't want to deal with this."
"You have to."
"I can't..." she looks at the folded piece of paper.
"You can't, what?"
"Eighteen weeks ago, I was raped, repeatedly. I was held captive, in my own home. I thought that was the worst thing, that could ever happen, but I was wrong."
"I'm sorry."
"It's too late, for me to do anything."
"Not according to the law," Amanda reminds her.
"I can't. No matter how much I want to. Even though the thought of being pregnant turns my stomach, I can't."
"I don't understand."
"This is my worst nightmare," Olivia explains.
"So why would you want to keep the baby?"
"I don't. I don't want to keep it. I don't even really want to have it..." she trails off.
"Then don't."
"Eighteen weeks, is a long time. It's not as if it is just a couple of cells."
"So you object, because intellectually, you know it's more than just a few cells? If it was born right now, it wouldn't live."
"That isn't the point."
"How can you even consider, doing that?"
She shakes her head, "I don't know."
"Why would you want to put yourself through that? You haven't even dealt with the rape. How are you going to deal with being pregnant with your rapists baby? People will find out, eventually. Then, what? How is that going to work? How are you going to carry a baby, for nine months, and give it away? I..." she trails off.
Tears trail down Olivia's cheeks, "I don't know," she admits.
"How can you make a choice, like this, and not know why?"
"It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
"My mother..."
"I know about your mother."
"I do not want to be my mother. My entire life, I wondered what my life would have been like, if she had just loved me. As an adult, I realized that wasn't really possible. I asked myself, who I would have been, if she hadn't been so selfish. Why couldn't she just give me up for adoption? Why couldn't she give me, to someone who would love me."
"You are not your mother," Amanda reminds her.
"My mother was a drunk, and..."
"You are not her. Things are not like they are, now. She didn't really have a choice, not to have you. You have a choice. You have options."
"I am angry, that this happened. I am even angrier at myself, that I couldn't stop it. I am angry this is the result, despite all of the pharmaceutical advancements. I am angry, most of the time. I don't think that it would ever go away, if I didn't do this. Maybe this is some cruel, demented way, for me to figure out how to deal with all of this."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe it is the one good thing, that can come from it."
"I know what you're thinking."
"What's that?"
"What would have happened, if your mother never had you? I just don't know, if..."
"I should let history repeat itself?" Olivia wonders.