Fifty Two Weeks

She is stood in a cramped, grimy cubicle of one of the toilets in the bar. She holds herself slightly above the disease infested seat as she pees onto the little plastic stick that she has already grown to despise. She attempts to balance herself as she shuffles her feet in disgust over the piss soaked floor.

She had regretted that night as soon as it happened. Even as she was riding the bony bastard, his broken, grubby fingernails snatching greedily at her skin, she had wondered why on earth she was even there. In the end she was forced to close her eyes, to shut out the tattered curtains and his greasy hair.

And that was even before she felt that little twang inside her, the twang that caught at her heart as she picture that small barrier between her and the junkie beneath her snapping ever so slightly. He didn’t like it when she stopped in shock, he groaned and flipped her over so all she had to do was lie there and stare at the cracked and mouldy ceiling above her until he grunted in satisfaction and rolled off her.

In the morning as she was hurriedly pulling her clothes back on again, she turned back to him, she didn’t even care to remember his name, and asked tentatively, “You didn’t- you didn’t feel anything last night did you? I mean, you didn’t feel it- you didn’t feel it break, or anything?”

He laughed raspily before being forced to cough, “Nah, you’re good, don’t worry.” And then he rolled over so his back was facing her and she left quietly. Why had that imbecile’s grunted words been enough for her? Why hadn’t she taken the pill?

After that night, she had pushed it to the back of her mind until she forgot all about it. She decided that she had sunk as low as she could go and she didn’t have any more nights out like that. She took double shifts at work to fill her time; God knows she needed the money. She worked hard at school; her grades had been slowly sliding up into Bs. In that last blissful month of ignorance, she had thought she was making those first few tentative steps towards a better life.

Then she had missed her period.

She had held her breath and hoped it was just late, even though she had never been a day late in her life. But when another week had come and gone she was forced to face what could possibly ruin her.

She had scavenged a few pounds from her meagre earnings and hid her face under a hood as she went to the drug store on the corner to buy the stick. She ran through the hammering rain to the nearest bar and shoved her way into the toilets before hurriedly opening the packet with shaking fingers.

And this is where she found herself. Sat on a piss-covered toilet with graffiti surrounding her, a piece of plastic shoved immodestly between her legs.

She stood up and consulted the instructions on the box. After two minutes you can read your result.

They made is sound like some sort of test, something you can get a grade in, this is her life, her whole future, not just some stupid test! This’ll change if she can go to college, if she can ever get out of this tiny shit-for-all town. She doesn’t want a baby; she’d be a terrible mother.
She barely had parents, how could she be one? How will she be able to look after a baby if she has to look after herself? She doesn’t know how many times a baby needs to eat, or when it needs to sleep. She doesn’t know about nutrients or what sorts of chemicals are bad for their skin.

She can hardly go to its dad for help; she wouldn’t even know how to contact him let alone what kind of a parent he would be.

Why did this have to happen to her? Why now, when she was just getting better?

She closed her eyes and held on tightly to the little hunk of plastic. She didn’t ever want to open her eyes; she wanted to stay like this. If she didn’t know about it then it wasn’t happening.

Why the fuck did she have to be a girl? She didn’t want a baby, she didn’t want to go into labour, she didn’t want to have an abortion. She shivers slightly at the thought of all three.
Was it too much to just be able to get out of this town, go to college, get a job and a boyfriend and just live? Live just a normal life where people aren’t out of their minds on drugs or finishing off their third bottle of whiskey.

Was it too much to have a child that she wanted with someone she loved?

She takes a deep breath, her chest feels heavy and there is a lump in her throat. She steels herself and slowly, slowly opens her eyes to look at the stick.

The sign is blurry at first through the tears threatening to spill. But then she sees it, she sees it oh so clearly.

It’s negative.