She was only sixteen.
She and her boyfriend had been together for nearly a year and a half, now… and in her eyes, was time plenty long enough to be able to sort out her feelings. She was in love, and he loved her too. Many times already, they had shown each other.
This time, however, was different.
Fast forward to three weeks after the event.
Over the toilet her head hung, hair matted to her temples from the sweat, dried tears streaking just beneath her lower lashes and new ones forming in the corners of her eyes, the taste of fresh bile in her mouth. Her heart had dropped into her stomach a week prior to this toilet fiasco—the week when she was sure she had missed her period.
He came over that day, paranoid yet skeptical, not quite sure how to react and clearly trying to convince himself that the news couldn’t possibly true. He was only seventeen. But she had offered him the proof on the plastic stick that had been placed onto the counter. Her eyes were puffy and red from the tears, her cheeks sticky and her lips twisted into a grimace. He held her, kissing her hair and drying her eyes, telling her that everything was going to be okay.
Fast forward to one month after the event.
Slowly but surely, a little mound has begun to grow underneath her shirt. She would not be able to hide her pregnancy much longer. Today, she would tell her parents.
In a fit of anger, her father had backhanded her boyfriend across the face, his wedding ring crushing against his cheekbone. Horrified, the girl’s mother lifted him off of the floor, however, she did not say anything else.
The two left the house and went to a nearby park. Whatever happens, he tells her, I’m here, and I’ll always be here. I won’t run away, and I’m going to stay by your side. He holds onto her from behind as she sits on a swing, her heart heavy. She collapses into his chest, and he holds her, hoping to keep her together.
Fast forward to two months after the event.
She has realized that her financial situation is not enough to support her child. She knows that her parents will never be able to accept their grandchild due to his or her conception at such a young age. Though her boyfriend was there to support her and would surely continue to do so, she knew that carrying out this pregnancy would heavily tax both families; they would not be able to support the baby themselves. She had just grown old enough to get a license, however not old enough to hold down a steady job nor get enough hours to be able to keep the baby from growing hungry.
Every night, she was horrified at the fact that her child would have to go hungry each time there was a financial slip or if she didn’t get enough hours at work. Terrified that the baby would have no one to count on, for neither parents of she or her boyfriend gave them their blessing or support.
Two months and one week after the event.
The news has spread around school and she is bombarded with accusations of being a slutty, disgusting bitch; sixteen and pregnant. What a fucking whore. The words echoed in her head, however she did not have the strength to defend herself. Any attempts at defense were rewarded with plenty more accusations, name-calling and Biblical references. Her teachers frowned upon her for her choices, her friends shunned her for her status. She gave up. Her boyfriend received many comments a day from other males: You shouldn’t have done that, man. Now you’re stuck with the bitch for life.
None of them, her parents included, took into account that her boyfriend was the only boy that she had ever made love to. That they had both lost their virginity to each other. None of them took into account that they loved each other dearly… that, No, you’re sixteen. What could you possibly know? and No, you don’t know what love is. None of them took into account that they had always used protection. Not once had it failed them until two months ago. None of them took into account that she had cried herself to sleep every night, thinking about the ridicule of her child for being the son or daughter to a teenage mother. That she was deathly scared for the fate of her child.
Every night, she prayed to the Lord, telling Him that she was sorry, so sorry for what she was about to do. She asked Him to take care of her baby in Heaven despite her sins, asked for His forgiveness or at least the forgiveness of the child, begging Him to keep the child safe and happy, like she was incapable of doing.
Three days after.
Both she and her boyfriend met at the park they had sat at the day they had confessed the pregnancy to her parents. He had a look of blank sorrow in his eyes. Both of them had split the bill—a sign that both of them had agreed to proceed with the operation. He looked into her eyes. She was an empty shell, canyons carved beneath her eyes from the lack of sleep, skin sallow, body brittle and weak. He could see the regret, the pain, the agony, the suffering. He suffered, too, but not as badly as she.
I love you, he murmured, but maybe we should take some time apart from each other to think about things… think about what happened. She nodded her head. Both of them were far too distraught to pursue the happy relationship they once had.
I love you, too, she sighed as a tear left her eye. The tear was not for him… nor were the three words. She prayed that the baby would hear her somehow.
Her heart was crushed under the weight of the hardest decision she’d ever had to make in her entire life.
The same thoughts crossed their minds as they said goodbye.
Perhaps we are too young to be able to create something beautiful, according to what we have experienced. Perhaps the world is too unforgiving, according to what we have witnessed. Perhaps what we did was a stupid mistake, according to what the Bible tells us. Perhaps our child will never forgive us.
Softly, he kissed her forehead and walked back toward his car.
They would never get back together nor speak to each other ever again, for three days before, a part of their hearts died. Their love died, alongside the death of their unborn child.
tagged as fiction. her. him.
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