Once again, underlined words equals crossed out words. I hope it makes sense.
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The Bearer of Baby News
I'm not sure what's worse, wanting the second worst day of your life to never come, or wanting it to come faster because you're still living out the consequences from the first worst day of your life.
Whichever it is, Monday hits me like a sledgehammer. I'm exhausted. Exhausted from dodging my mother's disappointed stares and random bouts of crying. Exhausted from my unsuccessful quest to garner some kind of positive response from my father. Exhausted because, well, because I'm pregnant.
The ride to school is surprisingly silent. I thought for sure my mother would grill me about making sure that I tell the father, and that she wanted his details when I got home. Instead, she says nothing, until we are stopped at the front of school and I have my hand on the door handle, ready to make a swift exit.
"Izzy?"
I turn to her and I'm surprised to see a look of empathy in her eyes. She leans over and pulls me into a hug. I hug her back with one arm; the other still firmly grips the door handle.
"Good luck," she whispers, before letting me go.
"Thanks, mum," I mumble.
The moment I turn and make my way to homeroom, my heart slams into my stomach. I have no idea how I am going to go about this. Hundreds of high school conversations become one constant buzzing sound in my head full of thoughts. They twirl around and around, spinning so fast that nausea begins to build in the pit of my stomach. The noise gets louder, my thoughts spin faster until … it all suddenly goes quiet.
It takes me a few moments to realise that every student body in the hall has in fact stopped talking. Not only that, but they're all staring at me. Without even realising it, it seems that I had been the topic of everyone's conversations the whole walk to homeroom, but now? Now they are silently waiting. Why? Because right in front of me, standing by his locker, is a God Edward.
I feel the familiar prickling of panic crawl across the surface of my skin, bringing with it the heat of shame. I don't know what is expected of me, but my feet seem to be glued to the floor and my throat is much too dry to talk. We stand and stare at each other like some kind of awkward Mexican stand-off, while half of the student body watches on. It is a reality T.V junkies dream, but it is my own living nightmare. Do I really have to tell him in front of all these people? Do I have to tell him at all? It's obvious that everyone knows now. Maybe I could just go on obsessing over ignoring him and he could go on ignoring me.
The shrill of the school bell startles me and the tension in the air dissipates almost instantly. No one moves, though, they all continue waiting for the drama to unfold. That is until Mr Banner walks down the hall and tells everyone to get to class.
I watch Edward slam his locker and walk by me. He doesn't even glance in my direction. I continue to watch his back for a few seconds, before looking down at my feet and shuffling into class.
My shoes are suddenly super fascinating and I somehow manage to get from one class to another without even looking up from them. Although I'm doing well to ignore people's stares and snickers, I'm still hearing what they're saying, and the rumour mill is running a million miles an hour with this one. By lunchtime I've heard that I'm pregnant with twins. That I'm already six months so it can't be Edward's, but then maybe it is. That one of the teacher's is the father. And quite possibly the most horrific one is that I don't know who the father is because I had a threesome that night.
I shudder at the thought.
I avoid the cafeteria and the quarry at lunch and instead find an empty room in the music block. As I'm getting my lunch out of my bag I hear the door open. I look up to see Edward in the door way. He takes a step inside, but then hesitates. The look on his face tells me that he wasn't expecting to see me. Seconds feel like minutes as another Mexican stand-off ensues and I feel the need to break the ice somehow.
"I'm just hiding away from the vicious rumour mill. Did you hear? I don't even know who the father is because I had a threesome that night," I laugh humourlessly.
He physically cringes and murmurs a "wow" before the light bulb moment hits him.
"So it's true? You … You're …"
"Pregnant? Yep." I have said the word to myself so many times over the weekend that it doesn't seem nearly as strange to me now.
"And I … I'm …"
"The only person I've slept with … ever." I look down at the table as a weird sense of shame comes over me, but then I realise that this is stupid. I should be happy that I'm none of the things those assholes are calling me, and I look back up at him.
He's looking at me with an expression that I can't quite decipher, but then his attention is snapped away from me and an internal turmoil begins. I sit quietly and watch him pace the room and pull at his hair in frustration. I remember being here myself a little over a week ago and I find myself sympathising with him. After about five minutes of mumbling to himself and walking a hole in the carpet, he turns to me as if he's had an 'ah-ha' moment.
"You're not keeping it, though, right? I mean you're sixteen … I'm seventeen, we can't have a baby. You could just get rid of it and it'd be like none of this ever happened. Right?"
Hatred. I feel nothing but extreme hatred as I glare at his asshole hopeful expression. I stuff all my things back into my bag and shoulder past him, out the door, letting it slam behind me.