Destructive Silence (The Destructive Series) (13 page)

“No, I just graduated high school and I’ll be taking a year off before I begin college. Are you in college?”

“Yes, John’s Hopkins.”
Holy fucking shit!
That school is hard to get into and if you’re lucky enough to get in, I hear the workload is insane. I nod my head, still shocked.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Oh, his breath just brushed my ear and sent goose bumps down my body. Crap, I forgot.

I shake my head no. He is staring at me intently reading my features. It’s making me nervous. “Do you?” I ask him.

He leans in to say, “No,” and then brushes his lips on my cheek. Ah, damn
, that was nice. He and I finish our drinks and look out onto the dance floor, frequently catching glimpses of each other. Leaning back into me he asks, “Would you like to dance?”
Oh my God!

I nod so
that I don’t have to strain my voice. Devon pulls me into his arms and we dance against each other. There isn’t any bumping and grinding, thank heavens! I appreciate his regard for my dignity; I wish I could say the same about Caine.
Dammit,
what the hell am I doing?

An hour or so later, Becca and I are ready to leave. Devon and his friends walk us out. We talk for a little bit and plan to meet at the club on Thursday,
which is five days away. I’m not ready for anything serious; and I am happy he isn’t asking me for my phone number or giving me his. We hug goodbye and he gently kisses my cheek as we pull away from one another. Becca was completely thrilled I met someone who I’m willing to see again. Granted, not go on a date, because I’m not ready for that, but to meet at the club. I am happy. This was just what I needed to help move me in the right direction away from douche bag Caine.
Caine!
I still have to face him Tuesday. I don’t want to ruin my blissful state. I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

Becca and I head back to my parents’ house. I crash as soon as my head hits the pillow.

The next day, I’m still on my high thinking of those blue eyes. I'm able to get a lot accomplished. I feel as though I have a bounce back in my step. As evening approaches, Becca and I don't feel like doing much, but need to find something to eat. Mom isn’t feeling well so we decide it’s ‘every man for himself’ tonight. We’ll resume our Sunday family dinner next week.

“Are you hungry?” I ask Becca.

“Yeah, let’s see what you’ve got,” she says, following me into the kitchen. I open the fridge to inspect the contents. I see left over spaghetti, meatloaf – yum- mom fixes the best meatloaf, and a couple slices of pizza from last night. I quickly close the door, feeling I might give in and eat something with too many calories.

“Lacey are you window eating
again?” Becca snickers walking past me to investigate the refrigerator contents herself. I go to the cupboard and grab my supper of choice, a can of green beans. I set about opening the can to place the beans in a microwavable safe dish. Becca blows out a deep breath, “Well since you clearly have no intention on eating the pizza, I’m going to snarf it.”

Mom walks into the kitchen with Cinnamo
n trailing behind her. “Mom, I’ll go to the grocery store for you if you have a list made,” I offer. I know my mom isn’t having a good day. I bet her neck is giving her a lot of problems.
Poor thing.
Mom is so brave because she is in a lot of pain most days. She recently started getting migraines on top of everything else. After mom hands me the list of things she needs me to get, she goes back to bed with Cinnamon on her heels. Becca and I head to the grocery store.

I maneuver us through the store picking up the items on the list. We round the corner and I have a sudden impulse to pick up donuts for breakfast tomorrow morning, secretly knowing I would taste one when we get back to the house, but Becca doesn’t need to know that. I catch a glimpse of cakes as we leave the bakery. "My mom loves this cake!" I tell Becca. Heck, I love this cake. Becca gives me this funny look and I ignore it. Many
times, we communicate just by a look. It works out great when we are around our parents and don't want to divulge too much information. It's one of the great things about having a best friend who truly understands you. We have this down to a science.

We are just about through the list and approaching the checkout lane when I stop suddenly. "Ugh, I forgot something," I tell Becca, backing up the cart to turn around. I am due to have my aunt in town and need to stock up on supplies. Okay, my aunt really isn’t coming to town. Thank
the Lord! Because I feel the same way about her as I do my God-awful period. That's how I came up with the ‘code’ term. It's easier on the ears to hear my aunt’s in town than I've got my period, on the rag, or whatever other crude phrases used to describe the inevitable monthly fiasco.

I pick out the necessary items needed to get me through my agonizing seven days of repulsiveness.
I scan the aisle looking for my preferred brand, all the while observing the other items stocked on the nearby shelves. I glance over at the condoms, that lube stuff (Yuck!), and pregnancy tests. Hmm, I have this feeling come over me that causes me to grab one. I get a look from Becca.

"What?" I ask her. "I'm two days late
... why not?" She gives me another look. We both know how unpredictable my monthly unwanted guest can be. I probably just caught her off guard. I’m hoping it is the stress of my soon –to-be-ex-joke of a boyfriend causing me to be late.

After the store, I suggest, "I want to take this test quickly. I am nervous about my mom finding out. Do you mind if we stop at my parents’ store?" It’s on our way back to my house, anyhow.

“That’s fine. You’ve got me nervous as shit girl. I want to get it over with,” she agrees. We slip inside my parents’ store to quickly ease both of our minds.

After peeing on the
stick, I place it on the back of the toilet seat and wash up. As I grab a paper towel to dry my hands, I glanced over at the stick.
Nooooo!
The walls begin to close in and I feel like I'm suffocating; I can't breathe. Opening my mouth to take a breath, I also try to get Becca's attention, but I can only whisper. Becca runs in breathlessly, hearing my discomfort. The color immediately drains from her face. "OH MY GOD Becca! What the fuck is that? Please reread the instructions. There is something wrong with this test!" If I remember the directions correctly we, I mean, I am in trouble.

FUCK!

There is a problem with this one. That's it! It's a defect. I think maybe I should send them a letter asking for my money back. Then I snap, "We need to go back to the store!"

“Lacey, this is fucked up. This cannot be happening. That bastard just can’t let you go
, can he? Mother fucker!” Becca says shaking her head. “This is something that is supposed to happen when the condom breaks on prom night. It’s not supposed to happen now. That turd is going to pay for this shit.” Oh dear Becca’s on a roll.

We arrive about ten minutes later at the grocery store. Of
course, I insist we go to a different store, just in case. Becca looks at me stunned. “What the hell Lacey? We need to get this shit over with sooner rather than later. We don't have time to traipse all over town to different stores. There is no fucking way you are pregnant.”

All I can think is that there is something wrong with that store’s home pregnancy products. I wonder if I should return the other items I purchased earlier - when my life was simpler. There is something clearly wrong with that store. That's all it is. It's the store’s fault.

I jump out of the car as soon as we come to a complete stop and have thrown it into park. “I’ll be really quick Becca, you don’t need to...”

“Like hell I don’t need to come in. I’m going to make sure you get the right fucking product. We both know you aren’t thinking clearly right now. Hell, I don't know if I'm thinking clearly
right now.” Becca says exhaustedly. "Damn, I'm prexhausted. All this thinking is too much for my brain."

“Fine, hurry,” I call back to her.

“I can only walk so fast in my heels, love.” I roll my eyes at her reply.

“You know they look fabulous with these jeans. Whoa
, little miss wallblocker." She says. "There aren’t any sudden stops allowed in front of me."

“I just wanted to thank you Becca.” I stop and pull her into a hug, “Thank you for trying to lighten the mood. I’m going out of my fucking mind.”

“I know love, let’s go get some rockin’ tests,” she says and we both start laughing. I run down the aisle and grab another test. I turn around to head to the checkout, almost trampling over Becca again.

“Wait, what if there
’s something wrong with this one too?” Quickly I turn around and grab three more tests. “Clearly one of these is bound to be accurate.” And it looks like a couple of them are double packs.

After paying and rushing back to my parents’ store, twenty more minutes have passed. Becca rips open all of the packages. “You pee on all of them,” Becca instructs me. "And then wait outside the door and I'll let you know what they say.” I hesitantly walk out as I hold my stare on the six tests on the back of the toilet seat, waiting to tell me what lies ahead. How can a plastic stick cause someone’s life to change so much?
Damn technology.

I hold my breath as Becca exits the bathroom and looks at me. She doesn't say anything. She just has this look on her face.

“No, no, no!” I yell at her. “No way can seven tests be wrong! What are the chances? I read one of the boxes. 97% accuracy. Ok, I'm clearly in the three percent margin of error. Right?” Becca knows the gears are turning and I am in serious denial. “Yes, sweet Jesus. They are all wrong!”

“Lacey honey, relax and stop babbling. I don’t think seven tests can be wrong. I believe you just might be pregnant, love. There is no reason to have a quarter life crises
over this. We’ll figure it out.” She tries to reassure me that things are going to be okay.

Tears are trickling down my cheek, “No, no, no! Things won’t be fine Becca!
" I say as my voice is getting louder. "I'm breaking up with that douche bag." After a moment of getting myself together I ask, "How can this happen? Do I tell him?"
No.
I definitely can't. Becca doesn’t say anything. I know she is trying to process this as much as I am. I can tell she is worried about saying the wrong thing. Thank God, I have her to help me figure this out.

I bend over, putting my head in my hands. I want to go back to the moment earlier this evening when I urgently wanted the box of donuts. Becca and I were joking around. I was on
cloud nine and looking forward to seeing that guy at the club on Thursday. I didn't have this overwhelming weight on my shoulders. I didn't have all of these thoughts running through my head that I wanted to escape from. It was in that moment I felt as though I could breathe as life seemed so simple.

The drive back to my house was a blur. I know Becca was talking and trying to reassure me, but I cannot remember any of it to save my life. I was just trying to breathe. I don't remember putting the groceries away. I don't remember anything other than thinking of how my life was about to change. How I might not live through this. How can I? I'm nineteen years old. Who gets
pregnant at this age? What kind of mother can I be when I clearly haven't grown up? I smoke an occasional cigarette for God's sake. What am I doing to this thing inside of me? Oh my God! I have something inside of me!
OH. MY. GOD!
This thing has to come out... where? I can't do this. No, I'll just go to sleep and when I wake up tomorrow, this nightmare will be over.
That's it!

I lay in bed, staring at the bunk bed above me.
Bunk beds.
I am fucking nineteen years old and have bunk beds. I am pathetic. I am also pregnant. Well at least there is another bed for the baby.
What the hell?
What am I going to do? I cannot tell my parents. I’m supposed to be a good Catholic girl and look at me. I’m knocked up. My parents are going to be so disappointed in their daughter’s ruined reputation. They are going to separate Caine and his nut sack from one another, and feed it to Cinnamon. This thought puts a smile on my face. Oh dear, I think I’m going to hell for the comfort I find in this image. No, Cinnamon is too good to eat that shit. After all, his mother is the one that told me he couldn't have children due to a football accident he endured as a child, and he confirmed it. He apparently wasn't sterile like he and his mother said!
Oh was I naive.
Who the hell believes that bullshit? Apparently, someone like me! I’m such a dumbass.

I was on birth control when I met Caine. I tried to remind myself to take it. I could never remember to take the damn pill to save my life. I thought my mom was going to have a coronary when she found out I had taken five days’ worth of the pills at one time. Since I could never remember to take the pill and Caine couldn't have children, why not go off the pill? Safe, right? This poor kid is going to have me as a mom. I can't even make a sound decision to protect myself, much less remember to take something every day.
Oh my God!
I'm going to forget this child somewhere! People like me shouldn’t be allowed to have kids!

It's not
as if I can blame the pharmaceutical company, or the makers of the condom he was wearing the day this little one was conceived. No. I am to blame. The dickhead, whom I still need to break up with, and I are the cause of this.
Fuck.
I have to deal with his shit on Tuesday.