Little hope

Blue was my favourite colour, but then, it was the one I wanted least to see. Hands shaking, my worst fears were confirmed. I flung the innocuous object, the bringer of bad news, against the wall and slumped onto the cold ceramic toilet seat. Jaw set in denial with my thumbs pressed painfully against my temples, my eyes darted frantically behind closed lids, searching for an alternate option, an escape. No, no, no, no. It could be wrong! It must be wrong. Please, no, I’m too young for this. I nodded vigorously to myself.
"It must be wrong."

The next day, I took the pregnancy test again. Positive. The taunting blue line mocked me and my utter stupidity. Repeatedly I ran my fingers through my honeycomb hair, in a state of absolute hopelessness.

"I’m pregnant." I whispered to myself, as if to taste how the words sounded. It was all wrong. I was only 17, a child myself, a little immature at times, and certainly in no fit state to be a mother. ‘I can’t tell anyone; they’ll say it’s my fault. I don’t even blame them – what was I thinking?’

≈

I was one of those quiet, hardworking girls who spent her time doing homework and reading. I was smart and had big aspirations - my dream was to go to university, study law and become a lawyer, and be one of those pretty, mysterious women everyone was fascinated by. It was the end of the school year, and I had been invited to a house party at my friend’s house. She knew I wouldn’t go if I knew quite how many people would be there, so she made it out like it would just be a small group of friends. We had just got our exam results back the previous week, straight As for me, so I felt like celebrating.

Twirling my softly curled hair and perfecting my sweeping eyeliner, I left the house and walked the short distance to my friend’s place. As soon as I walked through the gate, I could see it was not what I expected. There were people pouring in and out the door, filling up the garden, and the whole house seemed to be pulsating with heavy bass. I knew immediately it was a mistake to be here, this was not the sort of person I am, but people were already jostling me from behind and I found myself being pushed towards the house. The following hours were mostly a blur, but I remember snippets clearly. I couldn’t find anyone I knew, or even recognised, until I managed to fight my way past the solid wall of people into the kitchen where my friend stood.

“Hey Izzy! Having fun?” She half-screamed over the sea of people and alcohol, throwing me an air-kiss and turning away. I was shocked. I could see broken bottles discarded on the floor, ornaments had been unceremoniously knocked off her mantelpiece, and she didn’t seem to care at all.

“Honey, calm down. My parents are away; I’ve got this under control. Just relax and have a drink.” She smiled at me and my fingers closed around a bottle of foul smelling clear liquid.
I don’t remember what happened next, only a delirious giddiness as I melted into the tangle of people moving as one to the music. I stopped caring, and it felt good.

Light penetrated my eyelids and stung my eyes. My hand instinctively covered my face and I turned away from the source of light. I came to the conclusion I was lying down, and something heavy was covering me. When I opened my eyes in blurry confusion, I saw I was in a bed. It was warm and the white duvet was pillowy and soft, but it wasn’t my bed.

I sat up suddenly in shock, wondering where the hell I was and why I was in their bed. A piercing pain shot through me and I folded over, gasping. Oh my god. With trepidation, I moved the duvet off me. Blood. There was blood. ‘Oh god. No... no. Please, no.’ I knew immediately. I’d been raped.