What She Didn't Say

It’s been four months since that awful night in Jody’s room and I haven’t spoken to or seen Harley since. Sometimes when I walk to the library or anywhere else in town I’ll absentmindedly glance into windows of coffee shops or any other store I pass to see if he’s in there. I’ve not a clue what I would do if I were to actually spot him somewhere, though. Would I go in there and ask him what the hell his problem was that night? I need answers, but it seems totally out of line to randomly go up to him and demand them. Besides, what if he was only drunk at the party and he didn’t know what he was doing? Maybe he didn’t know I was trying to push him away due to too much alcohol in his system. I do not know what was going on with that boy that night, but I do know that he left more behind than he probably bargained for because now I’m four months pregnant with his child.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to tell my mom. The look on her face when I broke the news to her still clouds up my mind sometimes if I’m not careful enough to keep my mind occupied with other things. When I told her, she started to tear up and the disappointment she was feeling was pouring out with every tear drop she shed. Her eyes reflected her disappointment even more and it hurt me to watch like when someone reflects the sun off of a mirror. My mom and I pulled each other up into a big hug and cried. We were both scared because we knew this wasn’t something either of us had ever planned for myself. I was even more nervous, though, about her asking who the father is. I didn’t want her knowing I was raped. She would just get even more upset and disappointed and I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it. My mother and I are just way too emotional for that.

When she finally decided it was a good spot in our conversation to ask who the father is, I froze up. My smile turned over and I pressed my lips together as I looked at her face. Her features remained emotionless as she waited for my answer. I was silent for a moment longer. I didn’t trust my voice when she had asked me. “Mallory,” she had demanded. I had looked away from her stone-like eyes and down to the floor. I closed my eyes and took in a big gulp of air and then exhaling it. “I’m…not sure who it is,” I had said.

I had lied to her. Straight to her face.

The next expression her features pulled into that day was the worst of them all. She looked like she was full of guilt along with more disappointment and the rest was anger. I didn’t know if it was anger towards me for not knowing who the father is or anger towards herself for not teaching me the right the way. Either way, I had wished she wasn’t angry at all. I did know better and she had taught me right. I had never wanted to have sex until I was married with that perfect prince charming like I’ve been planning since I was a little girl. I remember wanting to tell her so much that she had been the perfect mother. It was me who did the wrong by letting Harley lead me to a room during a huge party. I should’ve known better enough to know what he wanted because the signs were all there in black and white.

Even though it has been almost three and a half months since I had that conversation with my mother, it’s still been a little awkward talking about my pregnancy around her. She looks at me with a pair of eyes that are full of so much emotion it is overwhelming.

When people ask me questions about how I told my mom I was pregnant and how I felt when I first found out I was pregnant, I always have to think about it because it was way different for my mom and me than it usually is for a normal teenager and her mom. Besides, I don’t have a guy on my side to help me through any of it. I don’t even want the father by my side because it would awkward and scary to see him again. That’s one of the reasons I’m terrified to tell my mom I was raped. She would force me to go to Jody’s house and find out who this Harley boy is. She would raise hell over it. And it’s not just the fact that my mom would tear his brains out, but also because I was never truly with this guy. That night at the party was the first time I had ever seen his face. Why would I honestly have sex with somebody I just met if I knew it could end up with them being in my life for eighteen more years whether I liked it or not?

All summer I’ve been trying to hide my pregnant belly as best as I can. The bigger I get, though, the harder it becomes to hide my big stomach. The other day when I went to the supermarket to get my mother some chicken noodle soup and milk, ran into one of my classmates. Her name is some weird Indonesian name I can never get right, but she kept looking at me differently as if she knew something was up. It must’ve been because I was wearing a jacket in eighty degree weather. Either way, she knew I was up to something. I ended my conversation with her rather quickly because I could tell which road she was going down when she asked me about my new “boo”.

Anyone who knows me knows for a fact that I don’t typically date. I read too much statistics that say the average high school couple doesn’t last beyond graduation. When a princess is on a mission to find her prince charming, she doesn’t let something as silly as high school trip her up. If I have to wait until college to find my prince charming, then so be it.

* * *

Hiding the fact that I’m over four months pregnant is getting to be a bit difficult. It used to look like I was just getting fat, which I didn’t mind. I would most definitely people rather think I look fat than pregnant. Unfortunately, not it is starting to show a lot more and my stomach is more round than it first was. My stomach is beginning to bust out of even my extra large sweatshirt. I looked over by my bed where I put my newer hoodies. They were all the same size: extra large. I heaved a sigh and fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling thinking about what I’m going to do now. My mom walked in at the same time and leaned against the door frame while crossing her left foot over her right foot. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me. I raised my eyebrows at her, hoping she’d get the point that I was trying to ask what she wanted without using my voice.

“Why are you trying to hide it, Mallory?” she asked in a monotone voice. I just stood there, ignoring her question. She sighed. “I know it’s embarrassing walking around with a big belly, but why are you trying to hide it as much as you are?”

I remained silent, afraid that I would say too much if I decided to answer her question, even if I did so vaguely. But while I was silent on the outside, on the inside I was screaming my heart out. I was begging my heart to let me tell anybody who wanted listen how my life has gone down the wrong path. I want to tell people how much I really didn’t have control over when I conceived my baby.

“…Are you ashamed?” my mother pressed harder for answers.

I sighed feeling trapped and confused as to what to do. Of course I was ashamed. But I was ashamed for all the opposite reasons she was thinking of. She had no idea what was going on, but could I blame her? What mother in her right mind wants to believe her daughter was raped? I looked down at my feet and observed every inch of my socks as I felt her gaze dig deep into my hide. I didn’t know what to say. I knew that if I admitted I was ashamed she would ask why. If she would ask why there would only be another awkward moment because how can I answer that with an answer she’ll believe and doesn’t reveal what happened that night?

I suddenly started to cry. I didn’t even feel it coming. A tear just slipped out of my ear without warning and even more spilled out after that. They slid down my cheeks leaving streaks of eyeliner and making my eyes puffy. I could only imagine how terrible I looked. I looked up at my mother who had begun to cry too. I didn’t know why she was crying, but I knew she thought she knew why I was crying and that only made me cry harder because I wish I could tell her. I’m lost without a guide or a clue of what to do. I’ve never been in any situation similar to this.

“Mommy, I’m scared.”