You Can't Break My Heart If It's Already Made of Stone
Chapter 6
Sunday passed by with a bit of a struggle. I stayed in my room, my mind overflowing with thoughts. I alternated between crying and thinking, debating what to do with my life.
At school the next day, something felt wrong. Instead of simply ignoring me as usual, people were staring at me, pointing and whispering. Then on my way to lunch, some guy came up to me and asked, raising his eyebrows, “You wanna come to my house tonight? Or does Roger have you all booked up again?” He laughed and elbowed his friend, then walked away.
I sprinted away to the bathroom, breaking down in to a fit of tears as I realized what had happened. Roger had told everyone, and now everyone thought I was some easy slut for them to get with.
I cut all my classes that day, hiding out in the bathrooms, too afraid to face the hungry boys and the judgmental girls.
But when I got to my locker after school ended, about four guys came up to me. One of the guys, who I recognized as Dan from math class, pulled me to the side and smoothly, “Let’s go down to the basement…” And before I could protest, I was whisked through a door and down a flight of stairs.
When we got down the stairs Dan pulled me to him, and about five minutes later, it was over. I was breathing heavily, knowing that what just happened was classified as sexual harassment. Not that I was going to do anything about it.
The next thing I remember is three more guys coming down the stairs, all wanting the same thing as Dan, some of them not as pushy, some pushier. I just let them do what they wanted. At that point, I really didn’t care.
I got home that day feeling like I had hit rock bottom. I couldn’t sink any lower. I had had sex with five guys within three days.
But it was then and there that I made a pact. If I was already labeled as the easy slut, that’s what I was going to be. No more crying and feeling sad, no more resisting. If I wanted to feel something, this is what I would feel. Time to take some action. After all, it was better to be known as something bad then to be completely ignored.
That night I called up Roger, hot and breathless. “Oh Roger. I want more. What we did on Saturday night was fun… let’s try it again.” So the next time Roger’s parents were gone for the night, I climbed out my window and off to Rogers house I went, feeling, or rather, acting, pretty good.
That night I threw myself in to it, didn’t just let my body go limp. But it still didn’t feel good, the way it looks in the movies. It felt weird, awkward, wrong. But I pushed on, hoping for that spark to ignite, and soon it was over.
I lay in Rogers big bed, waiting until he fell asleep. When the snores set in, I picked up my stuff and hurried home.
I fell asleep quickly that night, not allowing any bad thoughts penetrate my mind. And for about a week, everything was going pretty well. Went to a few other guys’ houses, had some fun.
But then I realized something. My period days had come and gone… with no period. I didn’t panic. I knew what it could possibly mean, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
It was bright and early on Saturday morning when I walked over to my nearest convenience store. It was almost empty, which was good, because I had already had enough people staring at me at school… I didn’t want to be the slut here too.
I picked up about four different brands of pregnancy tests, then walked over to the nearest cashier. When I placed them on the counter, she arched one eyebrow at me.
“They’re, uh, uh, for a friend…” I stammered, then paid and ran out. When I got home, my parents were still asleep. I threw the pregnancy tests under my bed and went downstairs to get some breakfast. My mom came down, stretching, and half-smiled at me. “Good morning.”
I looked at her. “Morning.” And that was all we said before I darted back to my room with my cereal. After I was done, I went to the bathroom with one of the tests. I closed my eyes and when I was done, I waited before looking at it. I wanted to prepare just in case. When I finally looked, my stomach dropped. There it was. The little pink plus sign.
I started breathing heavily, on the brink of hyperventilating, not knowing what to do. The world blurred a little bit, and the room started spinning. I half-fell, half-sat down on the floor, burying my head in my knees, the pee-stained stick still in my hand. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I’d check with the other tests.
That night, I went to bed sobbing. The three other tests had turned out positive. What was I going to do? I could hide it for a couple of months… but then… what were people going to think?
And then, a really scary thought hit me, making my heart stop and my hands flail for something to hold on to, even lying down in bed. Who was the father? I had done it with like, ten different guys. Everything suddenly came in to strikingly sharp focus as I thought about my options.
I thought about an abortion. But in my heart, I knew I wouldn’t do that. I was intensely pro-life, and taking away a growing baby’s life just didn’t seem right. But that left the only other option, having the baby. I didn’t want to keep it though. I would give it to a family who wanted it, put it up for adoption.
But before I did all that, there was only one thing I could do. Tell my parents. They, or at least, my mom, could help me. The sooner, the better, and the next night, I would tell them over dinner. I gulped. It would not be easy.
I spent the next day in my room, listening. Trying to figure out if my dad was in an okay mood. He seemed alright. Not great, but alright.
Dinner that night was strange. Even before I told them, the room was thick with tension, and I was afraid to increase that tension.
But I had to. And I decided to just blurt it out. I looked up. “Mom, Dad? I’m pregnant.” Forks and knives dropped and clattered noisily in the utter silence. The next moment passed in a blur as my dad got up and slapped me across the face. “Whore,” he spat out bitterly.
I got up and ran upstairs, crying, not being able to take it anymore. I grabbed my suitcase from my closet and filled it with all the things I needed. I was going to run away, but just as I opened my window, my mother came in to the room.
“Sarah, wait. If you’re going to run away, do it with me. I mean, I have a car. I’ll explain later, let’s just go.” I got my suitcase, and my mom got hers (which was, surprisingly, already packed) and we ran down the stairs and out the door without a second look to my father. We jumped in to the car and sped away, until our house was gone, just a tiny speck in the distance.
At school the next day, something felt wrong. Instead of simply ignoring me as usual, people were staring at me, pointing and whispering. Then on my way to lunch, some guy came up to me and asked, raising his eyebrows, “You wanna come to my house tonight? Or does Roger have you all booked up again?” He laughed and elbowed his friend, then walked away.
I sprinted away to the bathroom, breaking down in to a fit of tears as I realized what had happened. Roger had told everyone, and now everyone thought I was some easy slut for them to get with.
I cut all my classes that day, hiding out in the bathrooms, too afraid to face the hungry boys and the judgmental girls.
But when I got to my locker after school ended, about four guys came up to me. One of the guys, who I recognized as Dan from math class, pulled me to the side and smoothly, “Let’s go down to the basement…” And before I could protest, I was whisked through a door and down a flight of stairs.
When we got down the stairs Dan pulled me to him, and about five minutes later, it was over. I was breathing heavily, knowing that what just happened was classified as sexual harassment. Not that I was going to do anything about it.
The next thing I remember is three more guys coming down the stairs, all wanting the same thing as Dan, some of them not as pushy, some pushier. I just let them do what they wanted. At that point, I really didn’t care.
I got home that day feeling like I had hit rock bottom. I couldn’t sink any lower. I had had sex with five guys within three days.
But it was then and there that I made a pact. If I was already labeled as the easy slut, that’s what I was going to be. No more crying and feeling sad, no more resisting. If I wanted to feel something, this is what I would feel. Time to take some action. After all, it was better to be known as something bad then to be completely ignored.
That night I called up Roger, hot and breathless. “Oh Roger. I want more. What we did on Saturday night was fun… let’s try it again.” So the next time Roger’s parents were gone for the night, I climbed out my window and off to Rogers house I went, feeling, or rather, acting, pretty good.
That night I threw myself in to it, didn’t just let my body go limp. But it still didn’t feel good, the way it looks in the movies. It felt weird, awkward, wrong. But I pushed on, hoping for that spark to ignite, and soon it was over.
I lay in Rogers big bed, waiting until he fell asleep. When the snores set in, I picked up my stuff and hurried home.
I fell asleep quickly that night, not allowing any bad thoughts penetrate my mind. And for about a week, everything was going pretty well. Went to a few other guys’ houses, had some fun.
But then I realized something. My period days had come and gone… with no period. I didn’t panic. I knew what it could possibly mean, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
It was bright and early on Saturday morning when I walked over to my nearest convenience store. It was almost empty, which was good, because I had already had enough people staring at me at school… I didn’t want to be the slut here too.
I picked up about four different brands of pregnancy tests, then walked over to the nearest cashier. When I placed them on the counter, she arched one eyebrow at me.
“They’re, uh, uh, for a friend…” I stammered, then paid and ran out. When I got home, my parents were still asleep. I threw the pregnancy tests under my bed and went downstairs to get some breakfast. My mom came down, stretching, and half-smiled at me. “Good morning.”
I looked at her. “Morning.” And that was all we said before I darted back to my room with my cereal. After I was done, I went to the bathroom with one of the tests. I closed my eyes and when I was done, I waited before looking at it. I wanted to prepare just in case. When I finally looked, my stomach dropped. There it was. The little pink plus sign.
I started breathing heavily, on the brink of hyperventilating, not knowing what to do. The world blurred a little bit, and the room started spinning. I half-fell, half-sat down on the floor, burying my head in my knees, the pee-stained stick still in my hand. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I’d check with the other tests.
That night, I went to bed sobbing. The three other tests had turned out positive. What was I going to do? I could hide it for a couple of months… but then… what were people going to think?
And then, a really scary thought hit me, making my heart stop and my hands flail for something to hold on to, even lying down in bed. Who was the father? I had done it with like, ten different guys. Everything suddenly came in to strikingly sharp focus as I thought about my options.
I thought about an abortion. But in my heart, I knew I wouldn’t do that. I was intensely pro-life, and taking away a growing baby’s life just didn’t seem right. But that left the only other option, having the baby. I didn’t want to keep it though. I would give it to a family who wanted it, put it up for adoption.
But before I did all that, there was only one thing I could do. Tell my parents. They, or at least, my mom, could help me. The sooner, the better, and the next night, I would tell them over dinner. I gulped. It would not be easy.
I spent the next day in my room, listening. Trying to figure out if my dad was in an okay mood. He seemed alright. Not great, but alright.
Dinner that night was strange. Even before I told them, the room was thick with tension, and I was afraid to increase that tension.
But I had to. And I decided to just blurt it out. I looked up. “Mom, Dad? I’m pregnant.” Forks and knives dropped and clattered noisily in the utter silence. The next moment passed in a blur as my dad got up and slapped me across the face. “Whore,” he spat out bitterly.
I got up and ran upstairs, crying, not being able to take it anymore. I grabbed my suitcase from my closet and filled it with all the things I needed. I was going to run away, but just as I opened my window, my mother came in to the room.
“Sarah, wait. If you’re going to run away, do it with me. I mean, I have a car. I’ll explain later, let’s just go.” I got my suitcase, and my mom got hers (which was, surprisingly, already packed) and we ran down the stairs and out the door without a second look to my father. We jumped in to the car and sped away, until our house was gone, just a tiny speck in the distance.