【Draft 2】Mirror（1）Abby
I’ve been called many different things since I was a child, mostly offensive, but ineffective by now. But since Chase and I start dating a year ago, the names are getting more creative, my favorite one being “Prince and the Ghost”, which Chase changes to “Prince and the Snow Princess”. Quite romantic, and I like it. What I don’t like, is that people think I don’t deserve him.
“That hot guy told the nurse he was her boyfriend? Get out of here!” A girl bursts out laughing in a high-pitched voice.
“Shhhhh...she’s right behind that curtain!” Another girl says, lowering her volume.
The bitch snorts, “No, seriously, he's got to be an idiot to date her.”
My eyes flutter open, and I wake to this hateful comment. I cover my eyes with my hands, shielding them from the blinding light from the ceiling, before I look through my fingers to check my surrounding. There’s nothing but a blur of white. I roll to the right, push one elbow into the bed, and get into a sitting position. Bringing my wrist to my ear, I press a button for the time.
“Three twenty four.” Pinky tells me. It’s what I call my talking watch because, of course, it’s pink.
Feeling disoriented, I shake my head, trying to recall what happened and where I am. I am not even sure if I hear that earlier conversation correctly.
Then I remember. I am in a clinic, waiting to be seen for a terrible cramp. A cramp in the middle of the second time Chase and I are having sex!
To be more precise, it is my second. Chase has never been lack of female companionship. Me? I attract lots of attention too, but the negative kind. Most of the time I can ignore people’s reaction at the sight of me, male and female. But now that Chase and I are together, things sometimes get out of hand. I can understand other girls’ feelings, I totally do. It's hard not to get jealous when the hottest guy in school dates someone else, a “freak”, no less. I try not to let that bother me though. Every relationship faces some kind of challenge, and ours is no different.
Anyhow, six weeks ago, I gave Chase my V card. It was long overdue after one year of dating, so when the moment hit, we sort of just let it happen. I was honestly surprised he managed to hold this long, I just wished we were more prepared, because the stupid condom broke in the middle of the action. Apparently latex didn't like being kept in the wallet for too long. He apparently didn’t pay attention to the wrinkled edges and expiration date on the wrapper. Painful and messy don’t even begin to describe my first time. So I decided to give it a couple weeks before we gave it another go. We’ve got all the logistics figured out this time, fresh condoms and all. I even brought scented candles. And then this embarrassing disaster popped out of nowhere, ruined our perfect planning, and landed me on this exam bed in an urgent care clinic.
I lick my dry lips, and notice a metallic taste in my mouth. Oh, I think I bit the inside of my cheek too, and a little bit of the tongue. Great.
It seems like the murderer has finally decided to leave me alone though, thank god.
“Chase!” I call out in a low voice.
No one answers.
“Chase! Where are you?” I call again, a little louder this time. For some reason, I don’t want that bitch to find out if Chase is here with me or not.
Still nothing.
Wasn’t he with me in the waiting room after he took me here? Why? Why is he not here?
I feel around me, finding nothing but a thin sheet of blanket. Sitting on the bed, I contemplate the success rate of catching him without any aid. I feel fine, and what’s the worst that’s gonna happen? Without giving it much thought, I yank off the sheet to get out of the bed, when I feel a light pull on my wrist. I trace the source of the sting, and discover a tiny plastic tube taped to the back of my right hand. Must be an IV tube. I sigh, defeated.
Soft footsteps approach, accompanied by some low chattering of two female voices. I quickly sit back as quietly as I can manage, and listen.
Neither of them come any closer, but the sounds continue. My guess is that we are separated by some kind of barrier, like curtains. Judging from their conversation, they are nurses, but not here to check on me.
“Kids these days,” one of the nurses says, her voice deep and filled with concern.
“What happened?” The other nurse asks. She sounds much younger than the first nurse.
I strain my ears to find which one is the backbiter, but neither one of them sounds like the bitch.
“A girl in my daughter’s school was raped and got pregnant,” Deep Voice takes a sad pause, “by her boyfriend.”
Young nurse gasps, “Oh my god! Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. The school sent us a note about it yesterday. The boyfriend part was a gossip my daughter heard from her friends.”
“Did She get rid of the baby?” Young nurse asks with genuine interest.
“I have no idea, but if I were her mother, I would make sure she did,” Deep Voice responses firmly with a rhetorical Question, “what good is it to keep it?”
Young nurse is quiet for a couple seconds, so Deep Voice continues, “I just hope it wouldn’t happen to my daughter.”
“But she’s only 13, right? Does she have a boyfriend already?” Young nurse asks like it’s a big deal. Jesus, she couldn’t be that much older than me, and I hear these a lot in school. I don’t understand why she sounds so surprised.
Another pause. Or maybe a silent sigh. “Most of her friends do. The problem is, there’s not much I can do to stop her ‘cause she wouldn’t listen to me anyway. And age doesn’t matter either. It’s not like abusive guys never tattoo the word ‘rapist’ or “sadist” on their forehead. You just don’t know what happens behind your back.”
I feel sick. The thought of what this girl is going through right now makes my chest ache. Literally. But I don’t want to call the nurses. The reason for this trip is mortifying as it is. I don’t think I am ready to take any questions yet.
Why isn’t Chase when I need him the most?
Oh no. Has he left, scared that he may be found responsible for inducing the cramp? What kind of jerk would do that to his girlfriend? I just lost my virginity to him six weeks ago, damn it!
Now I am officially pissed. It means a lot to me. Unlike most girls in school who can jump on any boy that pays them any attention just to get it over with, I have fewer chances of meeting a willing partner that actually likes me for who I am. Well, not exactly. He likes me for what I make him think I am anyway. People may think someone like I can’t afford to be picky, but that’s exactly why I am more cautious when it comes to finding the right person to offer my first time to. I’d much rather die a virgin than being a charity case. That’s the reason why his current absence causes so much disappointment and resentment. Do I mean so little to him?
I grit my teeth, the pressure builds up in the back my head threatening to transform into tears. No, I won’t cry. The most appropriate action would be to kick him in the nuts when he comes close to me next time. The thought of Chase rubbing his groin in pain pleases me too much. I wish this accident would scar him for the rest of his sex life!
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of curtain sliding on a metal rod. Someone slips inside, and closes the curtains swiftly.
“Abby!”
It’s Chase. “Thank god you are okay. You scared the shit of out me! Wait, let me get the nurse.” He rushes out before giving me a chance to respond. 30 seconds later, the curtains open again, bringing with it a breath of air that does nothing to cool my agitation. The chair squeaks as Chase sits down beside me.
“Where have you been?” I ask accusingly.
Realizing I am irritated but not in pain, he takes a couple seconds to stop his panting before he explains, “Sorry, I just went to fill out some check-in forms. Jesus, the form goes on forever like an exam. Your health history, medication, allergy, and your menstral period. I hope I didn’t get them wrong.”
Okay, that makes sense. “How do you know all that stuff?” I ask, curious.
There’s proud in his voice when he answers, “I have an excellent memory when it comes to everything about you.”
My anger meter dials down by 50 degrees, and I bite my lip to hold back a smile.
“Fine,” I approve, more satisfied, “you could’ve come back sooner.”
“Sorry,” he agrees, his voice soft and sincere. Just as I think he’s taking a moment to crack a joke like he always does to lighten my mood after a fight, his hands suddenly pick up mine, but drops them just as quickly as if his touch is lethal. Before I can ask him why, my cheeks are cupped by his warm palms, his touch tender and gentle. I hear him inhale a long breath, then his forehead is pressed to mine.
Darn it, this gets me every time. I am defenseless against his touch. He smells fresh, the sweet scent of peppermint in his breaths filling my lungs, like he’s been chewing gum to calm his nerves the whole time. So I stay still, closing my eyes to enjoy our closeness, and wait for his next move. A kiss, a good one I hope, is all I need to forgive him for getting us into this mess.
My heart starts to pound faster, harder, as I recall the kisses we shared at our first night together and all the places I want him to touch me again.
Patience, Abby. Patience. You are a girl. A good girl. Let the guy lead. I order my horny brain, and hold my breath for that lovely moment.
A couple seconds pass. Chase pulls back, and I am confused.
“Good, you don’t have a fever” he announces after a long sigh of relief.
“What?”
“The forehead check. My mom taught me this in case my sister had a fever when she was away. It works really good.”
Oh. So all those dirty thoughts are all in MY head. I peel his hands off my face with more force than necessary.
“Something wrong? Are you okay?” He asks.
“No! I am Pissed!” I scowl. “Where have you been? Why did you leave me here alone?”
But I gave you six weeks to study this one subject and you couldn’t even nail down the missionary position. I couldn’t have done anything wrong lying there like a starfish. It had to be you!”
“No!” Chase protests, but comes up with nothing.
“I was expecting an orgasm this time, not excruciating pain! How would you feel if your guts get turned upside down when someone sticks his...” I lower my voice, pointing to source of his voice angrily with my restrained hand and reaching the free hand to grab him. My nails may not be sharp enough to cut through denim, but I can do a mean pinch.
My bed shakes slightly, followed by the sound of wheels rolling away. Chase must’ve successfully escaped my attempt by pushing his feet at the side of the bed on a rolling chair. I grab the pillow behind me and throw at the general direction of the sound, before I hear another swoosh of the curtain sliding open again. We both freeze at tthe interruption. the doctor waltzes in with a clipboard in hand. I quickly resume my pre-pillow fight position.
“Ahem,” The intruder says, “Hi Abby. I am Dr. Morris. How are you feeling?”
I manage an awkward smile. “Much better now.”
“What about the pain?” Morris glances at the chart, the tip of his pen dancing on the paper as he scribbles.
Just to make sure, I press my lower abdomen and squeeze my thighs before replying, “It’s gone now. Is there something wrong with me? It hurt really bad.”
“We don’t know yet,” he replies politely, and continues the cross-examination. “Are you on your menstrual period, or have any bleeding?”
“No.” I say, a little too quickly. Seriously, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place if I were.
“Have you had similar cramps before?”
“No,” I shake my head to emphasize this time. “My cramps are pretty mild.”
“Um.” Dr. Morris’s pen knocks on the clipboard like a time bomb before it goes off.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
I watch him nervously. Chase has come to stand at my bedside now, his distress mirroring my own.
“Have you felt any pain in your lower back lately?” He looks at me intently as if the reaponse to this question would solve the mystery.
Okay...I think for a moment, not sure what this has to do with my cramp, but answer anyway, “Nope.”
Dr. Morris nods, then pops an unexpected question, “are you sexually active?”
Caught off guard, my face heats up instantly. It can easily be the color of a boiled tomato now. This is why I hate my pale complexion. My entire body can literally go from pink to red in a split second when I blush. I stammer, “I, I, um...”
Chase comes to my rescue, “Ugh...we’ve had sex twice.” He throw me a quick glance before amending his statement, “I am not sure if this one counts, because we just started.”
The doctor gives another nod. “You said this was the second time. How long ago was the first time?”
“About six weeks.” I supply, trying to be helpful.
“Did you use any contraceptive the first time?” This question is directed to Chase.
“Yes, but...it broke.” Chase’s gaze drops to the floor, shoulders slumped.
Dr. Morris’ takes a long, meaningful breath before returning his focus to the chart to write some more. After what feels like a full minute, he stops the pen and drops the bomb. “It’s very likely that the cramp was caused by a miscarriage.”
“WHAT?” I shriek, terrified beyond belief.
“Severe cramps can be a sign of a miscarriage, even if there’s no bleeding.” He explains.
“No, I am not pregnant!” I snap, “How is this possible? The condom broke halfway so he pulled out!” I argue, grabbing Chase by the arm for backup.
Chase’s head alternates between bobbing and shaking like he can’t decide how to answer without putting it in words. I bet he’d flag the stained sheet to show the doctor the mess we made on the bed that day if I haven’t washed it.
“Theoretically, the chance of getting pregnant using the withdrawal method is 4% if done correctly. But in actuality, it fails 22 times out of 100.” Dr. Morris pauses, his face calm and cool, but what he’s not saying is loud and clear. “Even we grown-ups can screw this up. How do you kids know how to do it right?”
When he speaks again, Dr. Morris’s voice sounds almost robotic. “When was the first day of your last period?”
I look around for my phone to consult my trusted MC tracking app before realizing I couldn’t find it earlier. “Where’s my phone?” I asks Chase.
“June 1st.” He replies the doctor in two seconds, eyes unblinking.
Dr. Morris seems a bit impressed. My mouth forms a perfect “O”, but recovers as the doctor continues in the same professional tone, “was the flow similar to your regular period?”
I pick up a strand of hair and start twirling it as I think. “Mmm...it WAS lighter than usual.”
Knocking the clipboard with his pen casually, Dr. Morris tells us like he’s lecturing in a class. “If you were indeed pregnant, that could be spotting, which is not uncommon in this early stage.”
My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach. The idea makes me want to throw up, but I remind myself that if I did, that’d just be another proof of my current “condition”.
“We don’t know yet, of course, until we confirm it with some test results.” He gives me a small smile that offers no comfort at all before disappearing behind the curtains.
And that’s when the panic strikes.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
I can’t be pregnant. I don’t want any kids, ever. I can’t bring a new life to this world knowing what’s like to be me. Scientifically, the probability is low for this baby to be a “freak” like me, but I can’t chance it. I don’t know if I can take it when people call my child a freak, or any of the ugly names I’ve been called. My parents’ protectiveness makes so much sense now.
And my fear doesn’t stop on the physical level. For once, I want to be selfish and enjoy being a normal, lucky teenager that steals the heart of the golden boy. I can’t change how I look, so I redesign myself to a better person, one that’s worthy of his love. Resilient, brave, independent, confident, carefree, smart, passionate. These are the qualities I program into my brain since I met him. I can be all of these things, and I was. Now? I am feeling anything but.
So here we are, the beginning of our end. I know we are never meant to last in the first place, but why does it hurt so bad to see our relationship cut short by this incident? Still, a lie is a lie is a lie. Once the glass is broken, a mirror can’t be fixed no matter how good it’s taped up. While I don’t mind being forgotten—I actually prefer him to erase me from his memory once I am out of his life if my departure hurts him in any way—a child we make together will make it difficult. I am a Band-Aid that can be rip off with just a little burn, but a baby and I will be a tattoo he can’t easily remove without going through a painful procedure. Trapping him this way is unfair, and the last thing I want to do to him.
This is not happening, not happening, not happening, not happening, not happening......Sweat drips down my forehead and dampens my tank top. Goosebumps break out all over my body under the Giant's sweatshirt Chase puts on me, making me shiver. I want to wipe it off, but my hands are too numb to do the job right. The sheet is on the floor, so I hug myself to fight off the chill. I hug so tight I can hardly breathe.
“Abby, are you okay?” Chase dips his head to look me in the eye, his face just as pale in the florencent light.
No, I am not okay, I am the opposite of okay. I need a hot shower, or a hot cocoa, or my favorite comforter. I roll to the other side of the bed, and the pole holding the stupid IV bag tips over with a loud clatter. I peel the tape on the back of my hand and pull out the needle. It doesn’t even sting.
And then, I bolt out of the room.
【Draft 2】Mirror（2）Chase
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