Confusion and Desperation

Why was this happening? How could I be so stupid? I was in shock. I couldn’t see anything; I couldn’t hear anything but the roaring in my ears. All I could think about was the fact that I might be heading towards FML, I’m Pregnant St.

“We need to get a Morning After Pill,” I heard myself say.

Damien’s eyes widened like everything was just then hitting him. “Okay, okay… I’ll take you to CVS or something.”

***

I walked into my house with the Plan B package in my hand. Damien had just dropped me off, making me promise to call him if I needed him.

I instantly heard the crying.

“Where have you been?” I heard my mother’s voice come from the living room.

I quickly hid the box behind back as she appeared in the foyer. Her hair was tousled, she was wearing a robe, and she had dark circles under eyes. Was she worried about me or something?

“Is that Angel crying?” I asked. I knew it was though. I would recognize any noise he made. “Why are you down here while he’s upstairs crying?”

“He has kept me up all night. I had to cancel my date with Steven because you weren’t here to watch your brother!”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Sorry I kept you from another night of pathetically throwing yourself at the rich doctor.”

What happened next shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was for me. I watched her advance towards me in slow motion like a lion about to attack her prey, and in the next millisecond, I felt the sting of her hand on my face. I knew that it would probably bruise.

Then my mother brought her face closer to mine and she asked, “What’s behind your back?”

For a second, I was confused. What did that have to do with anything? And then I backed away. I knew that I should have taken the pill the minute I bought it, but I was still reeling over the fact that I slept with Damien. Plus, the whole thing seemed so weird. I felt like I wasn’t there the whole time. Like I wasn’t really sitting there in the passenger seat, holding the Morning After Pill box as Damien drove me home.

I was feeling that way again. I wasn’t standing there in the foyer as my mother yelled at me. I was sitting in the audience, eating popcorn and laughing at the girl’s stupidity.

“Nada, mamá,” this wasn’t my voice. It sounded so absent, so quiet.

“I saw it in your hand when you came in, and now you are hiding it. Why? ¿Qué es?” She didn’t wait for me to reply; she just reached behind me and snatched it away.

I didn’t put up a struggle. There was no point.

For a long moment, my mother just stared at the box in her hand. I could see that her brown face was starting to turn a bit purple, though.

Finally, she spoke, “I am so sick and tired of you. I want you to go upstairs, pack your things and get out.” She brushed past me to the kitchen, slamming the door behind herself. I winced and tried not to let my tears go. I refused to cry because of that woman.