~20~

~Chapter Twenty~

Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters, too

~John Mayer, Daughters~

My father is sitting at the kitchen table, hands clasped in front of his mouth, a frustrated expression on his face. Something is very off. Actually, a couple of things aren't adding up. Dad is supposed to be at his office, working overtime. And he isn't going about his usual after-work routine. There is no newspaper spread out in front of him. He hasn't brewed any decaf coffee. His old, ratty slippers aren't on his feet.

The room is dark, too, which is very odd for a sunny afternoon. My dad is big on letting the natural light illuminate every room in our home. My mother painted the kitchen bright yellow to "make the room happier," as she puts it. But today, the yellow-and-white checked curtains are closed. Gone is the uplifting atmosphere. I feel like I've stepped inside an interrogation room.

"Come have a seat, Bonnie Shelia Bennett." He points to the chair directly across from his.

I wrack my brain. I haven't done anything to warrant the use of my full name, have I? The last time either one of my parents pulled that card I was thirteen and they had caught me with a pack of Caroline's cigarettes.

I shake my head. "Can't Dad. I've got college applications to finish."

"Now!"

I drop my bag on the floor and hurry over to the hot seat.

"What's up?" I ask, "Did I leave a candle burning or something?"

My father raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "This is far more serious than forgetting to blow out a candle."

"I'm not following…"

"What is this?" He slides something across the table. It is a small square, lying face-down.

Please don't be what I think it is. I flip the card over.

Staring back at me is the ultrasound I've been carrying around. It is supposed to be with the rest of my school supplies in my bag.

And then my eyes land on the purple notebook wedged underneath Dad's elbow. It had been hiding amongst my English notes.

"This would be an ultrasound image."

"With your name on it."

I nod. "That would be correct."

"Honestly, I don't know what to say!"

"I understand," I say quickly, standing up. I've got to get out of here. "But those applications won't write themselves."

My father had other ideas—unfortunately. "You are not going anywhere, young lady."

I return to my chair, defeated.

"I don't know what's worse: the fact that my teenage daughter is pregnant or the fact that she hid it from her parents for two months!"

"I didn't hide it for two months."

If my father's eyebrows could go any higher, they would fly right off of his face. "I can read, Bonnie. That thing says nine weeks in the corner."

"… It's old." I reply, shrinking into the chair. I wish a black hole would appear in the middle of the kitchen and swallow me whole. "It's closer to four months."

"Four months!" My father yells. "You've been lying to us for four months?"

I flinch. "I technically didn't lie. I just didn't tell you guys."

"I'm not going to argue semantics with an eighteen-year-old!"

I nod slowly.

"How did this happen?"

I immediately picture Damon. He would have some… interesting… answers to that question. "I made a mistake."

"That's an understatement! We didn't even know you had a boyfriend!"

Fuck. This just keeps getting more and more uncomfortable. "I don't. It was a one-time thing."

"That's lovely, Bonnie. What were you thinking?" The anger in my father's voice is turning into sorrow.

"I wasn't." No need to mention the amount of alcohol that was involved.

"I can't believe you were so thoughtless. I want to know who the…" he squeezes his eyes shut, rubs his temples. "Who did this to you?"

I don't point out that it takes two to tango and I was a very eager participant. "… Damon Salvatore."

"And you both thought having a baby in high school would be a good idea?"

I shake my head fiercely. "No! I didn't wake up and say 'I know what I want to do today! I should get pregnant! Mom and Dad will be so proud!" I sound like Damon and my flippant response has incensed my father even more.

"It wouldn't matter if you did! How did you think we'd react?"

I'm at a loss for words. Like this is my first answer, but the vein bulging in his forehead warns me that I shouldn't dig my grave any deeper.

He pauses, waiting for my reply. I say nothing, my silence adds to the tension overtaking the room.

"So, what is it, Bonnie? Do you actually think you can have a baby and do all the great things you're capable of?"

My eyes are beginning to burn. "I don't know."

"It was your dream to study biophysics." Dad sounds heartbroken. "To move away from Mystic Falls and make a name for yourself!"

"That's your dream. I didn't get a choice. I don't get a say in much, but I know what I want—it just doesn't match what you want perfectly. It never has!"

"You're just saying that because you don't want to admit how badly you screwed everything up."

I'm really beginning to hate the version of Bonnie who thought she could please everyone, make everyone happy, and that her feelings didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

The version of Bonnie who took everyone else's hopes and dreams and pretended they were her own.

"I'm not," I insist. "I'm confused… I don't know what I should do… I just couldn't… I…"

"Well, you better figure it out, kid. And you better do it soon because I'm not going to do it for you. I'm so disappointed in you, you had the chance to do whatever you wanted! I can't even look at you right now!"

The choked noise that comes out of my mouth is startling. The truth of his words hit me like a ton of bricks. The quiet fury is written all over his face and I say the only thing I can come up with that might mean anything to him. "Dad… I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"So am I."

Well, it's official. I'm fighting a battle that I cannot win. Universe: one; Bonnie: a big, fat nothing. I have gone from being Mystic Falls highest over-achiever to the world's biggest disappointment in a matter of hours. I've never had a habit of making the wrong choices and, well, that's all I seem to be doing now.

After my father's rant, he sent me to my room to "think about what I've done," as if I were a small child. And he's completely in the right. I suppose I have a lot more to figure out than I'm ready to admit. I have been putting off making a bunch of essential decisions. All while pretending that I had everything under control—simply because I refused to believe that I was capable of fucking up even further. Having drunken, unprotected sex with Damon was a brief lapse of judgment. Getting pregnant was an unfortunate side-effect. But I would do the right thing because that's what I've always done.

And I had been so sure I knew what that was.

But I had been thinking with my heart, not my brain. Damon and I had been avoiding the hard topics. Like children. Scared, dumb children. Maybe I should have gone through with the abortion… I almost wish that Damon hadn't given me that get-out-of-jail-free card. Why had he been so understanding? So not Damon.

I roll over on my bed and try to pull my knees up to my chest—to no avail. My body has changed just enough to make bending over and sobbing in the fetal position very difficult tasks. The crying itself comes very easily, though. And the longer I cry, the more confused I feel. I'm so wrapped up in my misery that I don't hear my bedroom door open, don't realize my mother is here until she's standing right in front of my bed.

She nudges my leg. "Scoot over."

I sigh and push myself up into a sitting position.

"I seemed to have missed a lot in the past few months."

I sniffle. "I guess so."

She puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in for a hug. "Catch me up, then. Start at the very beginning."

I shift away from her and tug at my sweatshirt uncomfortably. My mom is saying all the right things, but there is a lack of warmth in her words, making them sound meaningless. And she knows it. Abby Bennett is frazzled. She looks like she just had the wind knocked out of her. I can't really fault her for it either. She wasn't expecting to walk in the door and be greeted with the news that her teenage daughter is pregnant.

"Um… it started with a challenge."

"A challenge?"

I selected that particular word because I thought it was the most innocuous option. I kind of forgot that my parents are only semi-aware of my antagonistic relationship with Damon. They, for some unknown reason, assumed that we had grown out of our rivalry—which we hadn't… at the time.

"Damon and I… we were trying to… I don't know…" deal with our family's blatant disregard of our existence seems inappropriate, so I settle for the ever-simple and overused, "have fun."

"And?"

"And… one thing led to another and you know the rest of it."

She thinks this over and I can see her working through my explanation, making sense of it all. "I… didn't know you and Damon were more than friends. When did your relationship… change?" she's struggling to find an acceptable way to describe it as I'm sure she can't picture a version of her daughter brazen enough to engage in casual, unprotected sex.

"We're not, we never were." I look away. "Obviously, it was supposed to be a… singular incident… and it was."

"You didn't think to use protection?" My mom furrows her brows. "That doesn't seem like you."

"I wasn't in a normal frame of mind," I explain. "And then, we went to take care of it and- I- I couldn't- do it." The reality of what I'm telling her is staring me down and the fact that I don't know my next move makes it all the more terrifying.

I didn't want to make that appointment. However, I should have gone through with it because I am so lost, but I didn't. Now I finally have to face the fallout.

"And what does Damon want to do?"

Well, that's a question I'm driving straight past. Damon's feelings are complicated and when I think about the direction his comments have taken me in, I end up pondering my burgeoning affection for him, the picture that I'm beginning to paint in my head.

Because I kind of like it and that's dangerous. He might think he wants something, but it's Damon. He doesn't like being locked into anything. And anyway, he's been acting odd the past few days. So, maybe he's already regretting our choice or lack thereof.

I can't relay that information to my mom. If I say it out loud, I might realize how chaotic my approach is.

I wipe my nose on my sleeve. "I can't go to any of the schools you guys want!"

"What is it that you want, then? I didn't realize we weren't on the same page on that subject."

"I don't even know. I just… got attached, I guess." I turn to look at my mom in the eyes for the first time. I expect to see the same hopelessness in her irises that I saw in Dad's. But I don't. Instead, I see worry. Pure, unadulterated worry.

"Bon, this isn't something you figure out at the last minute. This is a big deal and it doesn't just affect you—it affects us, too. And if you do choose to do this, I'll support you, and I'll… help you, but it's your responsibility to make it work." She's silently begging me to do anything but keep it.

"I will," I assure her.

I knew I wasn't going to get a warm response. No congratulations or exclamations of joy. I knew they were going to want me to choose a route that would ultimately circle back to a biophysics degree from insert the name of a Top Five school here. But they were supposed to outright say that.

Dad was supposed to say you need to see your original plan through.

Mom was supposed to echo that sentiment.

All this time I've been doing what they asked of me, without complaint, and now that I need some real guidance I'm finally told to do something without any of their say-so.

How backward is that?

All this time I just wanted everyone to be happy. I never wanted to hurt my mom or dad, I never wanted to upset Elena or watch Care try to ping-pong between us.

But I do want Damon in my life. I know I want him by my side when the dust settles. If he wants to be there when it happens, that is.

And it sucks that wanting that is going to cause pain to someone I love. And if I don't get it, I'll be left holding all the responsibility. But if Damon and I want to do this our own way, shouldn't we be allowed to try? Shouldn't we get some advice? Maybe if someone gave me some insight, I could get him to stop being so distant.

Why is that such a difficult request to fulfill?

And why does his absence make me feel like something is missing like someone took a chunk of my flesh from my body and hid it somewhere I can't find it?

I wish Grams were here—then I might have gotten some meaningful advice.