Chapter 19

-0-0-0-

Two weeks into my junior year, I begin to put the pieces together. I haven't had a period in a while—although maybe that's normal? Aside from worrying about its effects on my skin, I've never really given my cycle much thought.

Nothing tastes good anymore, except for grits with lots of salt and butter—but then that's pretty much all I ate over summer break, so maybe my malnourished body has finally adjusted?

Angela won't shut up about how huge my boobs are—but I am sixteen, and I've been waiting years for something to happen there.

It's not until I begin to notice the sensitive tautness in my lower belly that I start to really worry. It can't be possible, I tell myself again and again. It just can't be.

But it can, and it probably is, and no amount of chanting will undo the hardness beneath my fingers when I press them against my belly, palpating the firm bulge that wasn't there before. No mantra will reverse the blue veins in my breasts or the bile in my throat, a result of the powerful odor seeping through the school's vents near lunchtime.

A quick internet search confirms my biggest fear and a pregnancy test in the CVS bathroom makes that fear a reality. Sorrowfully, I drop my pants and hang my head. Despite the test's instructions to wait several minutes for results, my two pink lines appear boldly before I've even finished peeing. Just positive wasn't enough; my positive is eager.

There's no way this is happening to me. Like an out-of-body experience, I watch myself, my old life and this hellish reality, colliding together in a dirty public bathroom. There's a brown-haired girl—a child, really—crumpled against a cold, metal stall divider, but she's not me. Her heart is breaking and her life is ruined. Thank God that she's not me.

-0-0-0-

I can't waste any time; I have to tell Edward. Aside from Angela, he's the only one who knows what we did, and I'm anxious to seek his help. Just a few days of keeping this secret to myself has been enough to nearly break me. My parents—busy helping Emmett pack for school— have been blissfully distracted. No one notices the delicate way I brush my teeth just to keep my breakfast down or the sleeve of Saltines that sits near my bed. More than ever, I attempt to simply fly under the radar in own home.

My only experience with Edward has been the product of sneaking around, and he's avoided me like the plague for the past few weeks, so I'm unsure about how to get him alone. Thankfully, I don't have to worry long. His mom's car—the same car that unknowingly played a monumental role in all of this—sits parked in our driveway when I get home from school one Tuesday. It's been three days since I saw those two pink lines, and I'm beyond ready to tell Edward. He'll know what to do, and if he doesn't, he'll know who to ask.

I don't get the opportunity to catch him alone until late that night, after my parents are asleep. He and Emmett are carrying boxes from my brother's room to the garage—a path that takes them right in front of my bedroom door.

"Edward," I hiss when he passes by, trailing Emmett with a large, cardboard box marked VIDEO GAMES.

He pauses warily outside my door, looking as if he hoped he'd be able to sneak by without having to speak to me. Silent, he simply raises his eyebrows in question. The teenage boy equivalent of What's up? Make it quick.

"I have to talk to you," I whisper, glancing up and down the hallway in search of Emmett. We don't have long until he returns to his room for the next box, and I know he'll think it's weird if Edward's hanging around outside my door. "It's really important."

"I'm loading our stuff," he says, lifting the box slightly as if to prove his point.

I roll my eyes. "Obviously. But this can't wait. Can you come back later? Tonight?"

Pausing, he considers my request. He seems hesitant to agree, afraid I'm going to get clingy or needy right here on the spot.

"Please," I beg. "We have to talk."

Nodding, he turns away. "Yeah, okay," he mumbles, already heading down the hallway. "Later."

Later looks like 2am, and by that time I'm already fast asleep. My tired body needs all the rest it can get these days, I guess. I'm usually asleep early and awake late, another obvious sign that I'd ignorantly overlooked.

Edward doesn't slide into my bed this time. He doesn't press his body against mine or move his hips just so. He doesn't even whisper me awake. "Bella," he murmurs sharply, shaking my shoulder. "Bella, wake up."

In my sleepy-dreamy state, I'm momentarily confused to see him standing by my bed, hovering over me. I smile at him and my stomach flutters in that way it always does when he's in my room. But when reality seeps into my thoughts, and I remember why he's here and what I have to tell him, the butterflies in my belly start to flap their wings for all the wrong reasons.

Climbing to my knees, I balance myself on my mattress so that I can see Edward's face. His eyes follow the path of my too-big sleep shirt as it slips off one shoulder and slides down my arm. "Emmett's still up," he whispers, glancing over his shoulder worriedly. "I tried to wait him out, but I don't think he plans on sleeping."

Nodding, I hop down and cross my room to close the door softly; the poster tacked to the back fluttering along behind it. My pink helmet hangs off the doorknob and there are stickers on my light-switch plate that I put there when I was twelve.

A measly four years ago.

Edward's sitting on the edge of my bed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else but here. I stand in front of him, shifting my body weight between my feet, debating how I want this to go. "I didn't get my period," I blurt-whisper when I can't keep the secret any longer. "I took a test and…I think I'm pregnant. I…I know I'm pregnant."

I'm not sure he's heard me, because his face remains unchanged and he's perfectly still, save for the twitching at the base of his jaw. Eventually, his eyes tighten at the corners as he narrows them in confusion. "How?" he whispers.

"What do you mean how?" I ask sardonically. I laugh even though there's absolutely nothing funny about any of this.

Standing, he takes one, large step until he's directly in front of me. Face to chest, what used to make me feel small and adored suddenly makes me feel childlike and inferior. "I thought you were on the pill or whatever," he hisses down at me.

"Why would you think that?" I demand, taking a step back from him. "Ive never even been to the gynecologist!"

"Fuck," he breathes, scrubbing his hands over his face. Then again, louder. "Fuck!"

His reaction scares me. It's not like I expected him to be happy, but anger never played a role in any of the scenarios I've spent the past three days envisioning.

"I didn't know what to do," I tell him meekly. "I thought you'd know—"

"Why didn't you say anything?" he demands.

"I just found out," I say defensively. "A few days ago."

The vein in his forehead begins to pulse, the shadows in my room making it look alive. "Not about that," he growls. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't on the pill?"

My stomach rolls, the sudden anger I feel toward him taking my entire body by surprise. "Why would I?" I demand. "It's not like I get fucked in cars on a regular basis."

"You fucked my sister?"

Edward's eyes widen and his rapid-breathing chest halts its movements. Turning slowly, I hold my hands out in front of me as if to call off a wild animal. My brother stands just inside my room, the pale light from the hallway outlining his silhouette and detailing his clenched fists and tense shoulders.

"Em," I say gently, my hands still lifted in some type of worthless peace offering. "Just cal—"

"You fucked my sister?" he growls again, advancing slowly to where Edward's standing near my bed. Stepping forward, I place my hand on his chest, silently begging him to see me there, to calm down. Nearly twice my size, his body pulsates with rage as his dark eyes pin me down. "You're pregnant?" he whispers, his desperation to be proven wrong making his question sound more like a plea.

I'm too terrified to answer him directly, but he must find all the answers he needs in my face, because he moves me firmly to the side, stepping up so that he towers over Edward. "You fucked my sister!" he roars, pushing hard against his chest.

Edward falls awkwardly back against my bed, one arm bracing his fall, the other held up in defense, willing my brother to listen. "Come on, man," Edward pleads with him. "Chill out for a minute."

Emmett jabs his finger at his friend. "You shut the fuck up," he spits. His body is vibrating with adrenaline, and I'm terrified of what he'll do. I've never seen him this angry; not at me or for me or near me.

He's like a wild animal, caught between fear and rage, but when he turns to me again, I see only sadness in his face. "Pregnant, Birdie?" he questions desperately. The sound of his disappointment forces a painful sounding sob from my throat. I don't know what to do. About him, about Edward; about this…life, in my belly. I'm just so utterly and completely…sorry.

"What have you done?" he wails.

"I don't know," I weep, covering my face with my hands. "I don't know."

Emmett hangs his head while I stand helplessly before him, half dressed; miserable and scared and so very alone.

Edward, having moved from my bed, places his hand on Emmett's shoulder. "I didn't know, man. I just found out, too."

Emmett shrugs his hand off. "Get the fuck off me." Spinning, he grabs his friend by the collar of his shirt, balling it up in his fist as he pulls him flush with his face. Nearly nose to nose, Edward flinches as Emmett's words spray his face with spittle. "You did this," he growls, shaking Edward by his shirt. "Fix it."

"I said I didn't know!"

"You didn't know you fucked my sister?" Emmett slams Edward against the wall, shaking the shelf above my bed. "You didn't know you fucked my baby sister!" he screams in his face.

Shrieking, I place my hands over my ears to block out the sound of my brother's anger, then fall to the ground, burying my face in my knees. I'm no match for Emmett's rage; there's no talking him down or pulling him back. He's determined to make his best friend pay.

"You're scaring her, man!" Edward yells.

"Tell me how you're going to fix this," Emmett hisses, holding Edward to the wall with his forearm against his chest. "She's sixteen, you asshole!"

"I don't know! I need time…I can't think…"

Slamming his friend against the wall once more, Emmett's forearms shake with rage. "Get the fuck out of my house, you worthless piece of shit. You could have had any girl…why'd it have to be her?"

My brother's voice breaks on the last word and, devastated, my heart breaks with it.

-0-0-0-

After Edward leaves, Emmett helps me right my room. His shoulders are heavy with the weight of my news, and his normally bright eyes remain downturned and dull. Selfishly, despite all my nervous planning and anticipation the past few days, I never once stopped to think about how my news would effect my brother. Not only is Edward his best friend, but they'll be college roommates in a few weeks, and now—in one night—he's learned that we messed around behind his back all summer, and worse, I'm carrying a constant reminder of our betrayal.

Emmett awkwardly adjusts the sheets on my rumpled bed, lifting them from the floor where they'd been pushed during his and Edward's scuffle. "Are you keeping it?" he asks quietly after several moments of silence.

I'd hoped Edward and I could make this decision together. I don't know how he feels about…that, but I'm pretty sure I know—without even having to give it much thought—that the idea of going in one door with this hardness in my belly and coming out another door without it, isn't something I can do. I've never known anyone who had a baby they weren't happy to have, and even though the thought of an actual baby being the end result terrifies me, I can't imagine erasing it forever.

Impatient, Emmett continues without my answer. "Because, I hate to tell you this, Birdie, but you shouldn't count on Edward for any of this. He's my buddy, and I've known him forever, but…he's got issues."

"Like what?" I ask quietly.

"His dad's a real tool. He's always riding his ass about…everything. Nothing he ever does is good enough. He's been waiting to get out of here for a long time."

"It's not like I planned this, Em," I say defensively. "I wasn't thinking…we weren't thinking."

"Yeah. No shit."

"I'm counting on him to know what to do, because, I mean…I don't even have a car. I don't have a job or any money at all. I don't ev—"

"Bella, Edward doesn't have any of that stuff, either. His dad's got him by the balls. Says the only way he'll pay for his college is if he studies law or whatever. I'm fucking telling you…you're crazy if you think he's going to magically be able to pull you out of this shit."

There's a physical link to him growing inside of me, yet Emmett's words remind me that I don't really know much about Edward at all. I've never met his family or any of his friends. I don't know what he wears to bed or what he looks like when he sleeps. We've never even spent time together that wasn't the result of sneaking around to see how fast and far we could go.

I gather the sheets from my brother's hands and lay them aside. "I'm sorry, Em," I say quietly, feeling small and childish beside him. "I'm sorry I disappointed you."

Standing, he heads for the door, shaking his head sadly. "Don't worry about me," he murmurs without turning around. "You still have to break the news to Mom and Dad."

-0-0-0-

I notice that Emmett stops carrying boxes by my door in the days following our conversation. He doesn't leave his room much, so our paths rarely cross. It's probably for the best, I convince myself. He needs time to absorb all of this—and there's a lot to take in.

I've been picked on by my big brother my entire life. For as long as I can remember, he's in every memory I have; pushing my buttons, taunting and teasing—it's how I knew he loved me. His sudden silence and cold indifference is the most painful part of all.

The weekend before Emmett's scheduled to leave for college, Edward shows up at our house. It's midday on a Saturday, and he's boldly standing in my bedroom doorway. After months of late night visits and secrets behind closed doors, seeing him here during the day takes me aback, and I fight the urge to shush him and hide him quickly out of sight.

We haven't seen each other since I told him about my…pregnancy, and I'm not really sure what his absence means. My heart tells me he's spent the past week accepting and planning and mapping our future, but my brain tells me my heart is stupid.

"Hi," I say eagerly, waving him inside the privacy of my room. His face is unreadable—stoic, even—and his hands are fisted deep in his pockets as he crosses cautiously to where I'm sitting on the edge of my bed.

Grabbing my desk chair, he turns it around and straddles it, crossing his arms and leaning forward. "How's it going?" he asks softly.

"Okay," I reply. "I've felt better, but it's not so bad, I guess."

He looks uncomfortable at the mention of the changes going on inside my body. "Listen," he says, avoiding my eyes. "I don't know if you've…um…decided, or whatever, but…are you going to…to…"

"Am I going to what?" I push him to finish.

"Keep it." He rushes on, staring at a spot just above my left eyebrow. "Because I've got some money saved up, if that's what you're worried about. I can help you out."

"Help me out," I repeat numbly.

I'm momentarily relieved that he's not offering to pay for the procedure that will undo what we've mistakenly done. Instead, this boy—the one I let kiss my mouth and my neck and my soul—wants to know if he can simply help me out.

My stomach rolls and my cheeks flush with heat—from anger or disappointment or mind numbing sadness, I can't really be sure. "What does that even mean," I whisper.

He looks at my left eyebrow, confused. "What?"

"What you said—help me out—what does that mean?"

"I don't know." He looks as overwhelmed as I feel. "Just…like…with money, or whatever."

"You can't even acknowledge what we've done, Edward. You won't even say the words, and you want to, what, write me a check and just hope I'll go away? Pretend like I never happened; like this never happened?"

He scrubs his fingers through his hair angrily. "What do you want me to do, Bella?" he snaps. "I'm supposed to leave for school in two days. I can't do thi—"

"And I can?" I hiss, throwing my arms out wildly. "I haven't even finished high school, Edward. I'm sixteen! How am I supposed to take care of a baby?"

"I don't know," he replies helplessly. "I don't know what to do." He looks miserable sitting across from me, and for the first time I notice his disheveled appearance. His normally bright eyes are tired and dull, and his skin looks ashen and sickly. I wonder if he's slept, if he's eaten…if he's shared our secret.

We stare at each other awkwardly for several moments, an action that seems absurd in the face of this heavy situation. He chews on his lip and avoids my eyes, but I recognize the moment he finds his resolve; determination tightens the corners of his eyes and straightens his back.

"I have school," he says, firmer this time. "I'll get a job and send you everything I have…but…I can't stay here. I have to leave."

I think I knew this was coming, but thinking it doesn't make hearing it hurt any less. "I don't want your money," I say, crying openly now. "I need you."

"What am I supposed to do, Bella?" he says harshly. "Marry you? Stay here and play house? Do you honestly think that would fix any of this?"

"No," I lie.

He leans forward, meeting my eyes for the first time since this awful conversation began. "You don't understand," he pleads, shaking his head. "My dad will kill me. I'll send you everything I ca—"

"Emmett said you'd do this," I snarl, my words mangled by the tears in my voice. "He told me not to count on you for anything. He was right," I sob. "He was exactly right."

The pain that flashes across Edward's face at the mention of my brother feels sickeningly good. I want him to feel, to hurt the way that I do. Because while he goes to college, my heart will be breaking. He'll take classes and have friends and work a part-time job, carefully pocketing money for beer from the envelopes of cash he sends me every couple of months, and I'll be here, alone, growing this life in my belly.

Gathering my courage, I make my way over to the door, leaning heavily on its knob. "I don't want your money," I repeat, my words sounding hollow in my head. "If you leave…I…I never want to see you again."

As if he was simply waiting for permission, that's exactly what he does.

-0-0-0-

I don't say anything when Emmett joins me at the table for breakfast the following Sunday with swollen hands and bloody knuckles. In some sick, twisted way, I take comfort in knowing that Edward didn't make it out of town without hurting at least a little. It's my brother's face that breaks me, though. Unmarked, it's not the physical pain of a fight between two friends that mars his features, it's sadness at the loss of future and friendship that turns his eyes down at the corners and marks a crease between his brows.

I pretend it's morning sickness, not guilt, that keeps me married to the toilet that afternoon while Emmett carries his college boxes from the garage, back to his bedroom. My brother traded his future for mine when his best friend wouldn't, and that's a debt that can't be repaid.

We sit side by side that night and deliver my news to our parents. Their daughter will be a mother at seventeen and their son gave up his life to help…it's not easy for any parent to hear, and ours are no different. My mom sobs, breaking what's left of my already shattered heart with her disappointed wails. Anger is my dad's emotion of choice, and he slams his palms against the table in outrage when I refuse to tell him who's responsible for the position I'm in. I wonder what he'd say if I told him it was me?

I feel numb when Emmett and I trudge upstairs to our rooms after our mother has cried herself to sleep and our father has locked himself in his study with a bottle of Jameson. Was it really just a few weeks ago that I worried about whether or not I'd fit in at school this year? My life is no longer recognizable. The firm bulge in my belly and the heavy weight of my brother's arm across my shoulders are the only proof I have that I'm not completely and totally alone.

Thank you again and again to Rochelle Allison, whose kindness knows no bounds. Thanks also to Aaliia, Alliz, Tarbecca, Fran, and everyone who so sweetly shared or encouraged my words. And to Tiff, my lovely friend; I am so very thankful for you.