Ignominy
disgrace; dishonor; public contempt.
“I'm pregnant,” she said. “I don't know what to do.”
“It's okay,” he said. “I'll figure it out.”
And she believed him because she had nothing else left. She let him gather her up in his arms as she sobbed, staining his shirt with black eyeliner and mascara. He held her close, treated her more gently than he ever had before, than he ever should have, because fuck buddies shouldn't become fathers.
-
“I'm pregnant,” she told the doctor. “I need help.”
He scoffed. “There's not much you can do now, besides living with the consequences.”
“I tried to not let this happen,” she said. “You wouldn't let me get the pill.”
“I'm not responsible for your bad choices, and I'm not going to give you license to make bad choices. It would be like giving an alcoholic a bottle of brandy.”
“Make all the analogies you want, but I need help,” she pleaded.
“I'm not a murderer,” he said and left, slamming the door behind him. She stayed in the room, on the table, and wondered,
Could I be a murderer?
-
“She's pregnant,” he said and took a drag of his cigarette. “But we'll figure it out.”
His friend scoffed. “You better get out of that shit while you can. I bet it's not even yours.”
“She wasn't sleeping with anyone else. I know, she would have told me.”
“I bet she told you she was on the pill too. Lying bitches. You can't trust anyone anymore, you hear? You get out while you can, say it's not yours, and you can get back to having your carefree life. You stay with her, and you're gonna lose everything.”
He flicked the ash off his cigarette and thought about loss, losing everything, change, commitment. His feet led him to her front door.
-
“I'm pregnant,” she said softly to herself as she stood in her underwear, looking at her body in the mirror.
She was still thin, her breasts still small. Her hips were far too narrow for childbirth, that terrifying event that would bring the life inside her to the outside world.
She turned to the side and pushed her stomach out as far as it would go. It didn't seem real.
She wasn't ready for a child. He wasn't either.
She put her clothes back on and waited for him to call.
-
“I don't want to be pregnant,” she said. “I can't do it.”
He held her like he did the first night, warm and gentle and chaste. He didn't love her; he couldn't love her because he didn't know her soul, just her body. He wasn't supposed to feel this way about her, wasn't supposed to care this much about her well-being and emotions. This was supposed to be an emotionless arrangement, perfect for them because they wouldn't have to care.
“I can't do it either.”
“It's okay,” he said. “I'll figure it out.”
And she believed him because she had nothing else left. She let him gather her up in his arms as she sobbed, staining his shirt with black eyeliner and mascara. He held her close, treated her more gently than he ever had before, than he ever should have, because fuck buddies shouldn't become fathers.
-
“I'm pregnant,” she told the doctor. “I need help.”
He scoffed. “There's not much you can do now, besides living with the consequences.”
“I tried to not let this happen,” she said. “You wouldn't let me get the pill.”
“I'm not responsible for your bad choices, and I'm not going to give you license to make bad choices. It would be like giving an alcoholic a bottle of brandy.”
“Make all the analogies you want, but I need help,” she pleaded.
“I'm not a murderer,” he said and left, slamming the door behind him. She stayed in the room, on the table, and wondered,
Could I be a murderer?
-
“She's pregnant,” he said and took a drag of his cigarette. “But we'll figure it out.”
His friend scoffed. “You better get out of that shit while you can. I bet it's not even yours.”
“She wasn't sleeping with anyone else. I know, she would have told me.”
“I bet she told you she was on the pill too. Lying bitches. You can't trust anyone anymore, you hear? You get out while you can, say it's not yours, and you can get back to having your carefree life. You stay with her, and you're gonna lose everything.”
He flicked the ash off his cigarette and thought about loss, losing everything, change, commitment. His feet led him to her front door.
-
“I'm pregnant,” she said softly to herself as she stood in her underwear, looking at her body in the mirror.
She was still thin, her breasts still small. Her hips were far too narrow for childbirth, that terrifying event that would bring the life inside her to the outside world.
She turned to the side and pushed her stomach out as far as it would go. It didn't seem real.
She wasn't ready for a child. He wasn't either.
She put her clothes back on and waited for him to call.
-
“I don't want to be pregnant,” she said. “I can't do it.”
He held her like he did the first night, warm and gentle and chaste. He didn't love her; he couldn't love her because he didn't know her soul, just her body. He wasn't supposed to feel this way about her, wasn't supposed to care this much about her well-being and emotions. This was supposed to be an emotionless arrangement, perfect for them because they wouldn't have to care.
“I can't do it either.”