She walks over to her medicine cabinet and pulls out a pregnancy test. This makes me give her the same eyebrow treatment in return.
“Cool it. I’m not knocked up. Saint made me take one a few weeks ago. I couldn’t get the guy to wear a condom if my life depended on it and sadly, once he gets me hot, I let him do whatever he wants to my body. But little does sweet Saint know, I’m on the pill.” She takes the test out of the wrapper and hands it to me.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“It’ll be fine. Whatever the test says we’ll get through it together, just like everything else.”
“I meant I’m scared about your boyfriend trying to get you pregnant,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
“You and me both,” she says on a nervous laugh. I can tell we’re both feeling anxious.
I stare at the test, take a deep breath and then do what I have to do. And then we wait. I think normally you’re supposed to set a timer and then look, but Jeanette and I just stare at the thing like it’s going to get up and walk away.
Two pink lines come up way freaking faster than it says they should.
“Oh my God,” we both say at the same time.
“You’re pregnant!” Saint barks behind us, and we both scream, not realizing he’d opened the door. He looks at Jeanette, not me. She shakes her head and I raise my hand a little sheepishly. It’s then I notice Justin standing behind him with a shocked look on his face.
I look back to Jeanette and ask the only thing I can think of: “What am I going to do?”
Part of me is excited that I’ll now always have this connection to Carter, but just as quickly that’s replaced with shame. My silly little brain had a quick thought of him coming back to me, but who wants a man to be with them only because they’re knocked up.
Fuck that. Who knows where Carter is or worse, who he’s with. That thought makes me turn to the toilet and throw up again.
“Oh Lays, calm down. We have options here,” she whispers, and I think only I can hear her.
“You can go ahead and shut that shit down,” Saint says, matter-of-factly. “Carter would lose his fucking mind if he found out you had an abortion.”
Spinning around I point my finger at Saint, “I’m not going to have an—” and it’s then that all of his words catch up to me.
I look over at Jeanette and I see her catching up as well. When her eyes meet mine, they’re full of pain. She closes them and shakes her head, answering my question.
I switch my focus back to Saint and glare at him with all the hate I have inside me. “How do you know Carter?” I snap.
“Fuck me,” is all he says and his eyes go to Jeanette. She’s staring off into space and just shaking her head in disbelief. You can see the moment it all starts to snap into place.
He’s Carter’s man
“Why?” I ask, bringing his eyes back to me.
“I can’t answer that for you, Layla,” Saint says.
“Because you don’t know or because you won’t tell me?” I question.
“A little of both. But I do know he loves you.”
“You don’t know shit,” I spit. Why have Saint here watching me if he loved me? Why isn’t Carter here himself? I want to scream until my lungs burst.
“If there’s one thing I know about Carter it’s that.”
I can’t do this anymore. The hope that was still dangling there for Carter slips free. I won’t do this anymore. They have to let me go, let us go.
“Why won’t you guys just let me go? He said I was free. Just give me my freedom!” I yell at him.
“You’ll never be free of Carter. Never. Even more so with his baby inside you.”
Bullshit, I think to myself. If he truly cared he would’ve been here for me. I went to see him in prison and he took my first kiss and told me to leave. He came back again, taking my virginity this time. Maybe he was just fulfilling his needs with me. I’m just not getting how I fit into all of this. My mind can’t take it anymore. Nothing is making any sense to me. If he loved me, he would’ve told me what the hell is happening. He knows I can’t remember and that it’s driving me crazy. Does he really think keeping me in the dark will help me?
Why does he keep ripping this scab open? I’m not dumb. I know I’ll always wear the scar of Carter’s love on me, it’s part of why I got the tattoo. But they won’t even allow the wound to heal. They keep ripping it open and making me bleed. They’ll keep doing it if I let them, until it consumes me.
“You’re just like him,” I say. “Filled with lies. He doesn’t love me. Does a man leave the woman he loves? Does he rip her to shreds and then leave her to pull herself together alone? If that’s your guy’s kind of love, I don’t want any. Keep it.”