Sweat cascades down my spine as I lift my fist and knock on the door. It swings open, and I gasp.
“Er-Eric,” I stammer. I can’t seem to speak; the words are lodged in my throat. That night after Eric took my virginity, I passed out and woke up with dried blood streaking down my legs and him gone. He’s given me the cold shoulder since. I figured it was a one-night stand and brushed it off. I was so fucked-up I could barely remember any of it anyway. Don’t get me wrong, it sucked knowing my first time was a one-night stand and not some love-struck moment you see on TV. But look at where I grew up—shit like that doesn’t happen here.
“What do you want?” he questions, his tone harsh. He leans against the doorframe, one arm resting above his head. He’s not wearing a shirt, and that six-pack I thought he had weeks before is definitely not a six-pack. Gotta love the fairytale effect alcohol can give.
“I need to talk to you,” I reply meekly. I look past him and see a bunch of his buddies eyeing me. Buddies who used to join in with him bullying me in high school. Insecurities shift in my head, and I swallow hard.
He looks over his shoulder then back to me with a crooked smile. He knows I’m uneasy and is getting off on it. Asshole.
“Just spit it out and get the fuck off my porch.” His words shoot straight to my heart like cancer. My blood runs toxic and my lips curl. Total prick!
“I’m fucking pregnant!” I snap.
His eyes go wide, and his friends go quiet. Eric glances over his shoulder with a look of embarrassment, and walks out of the house, slamming the door.
“What the fuck do you mean? You weren’t on the pill?” He strides up to me, his body way too close.
I hold my hands out and push him away from me.
“No, I wasn’t on the fucking pill. I was a virgin, you dumbass.” I throw the pee stick at him.
“I don’t want anything to do with it - with you.” He holds his hands up and walks backwards like the baby growing in my belly might jump out at any minute.
“I can get an abortion or something,” I mutter, not really thinking. My brain feels stuffed, like it’s at max capacity and pushing against my skull. All of this is happening at once and I can’t deal. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead trying to ease the pain, the racing thoughts.
“What? Jesus, Lindsay. I guess you can just put me first on a long list of those, huh? They’ll know you by name in a couple years, I bet.” He chuckles, his tone back to that bully in high school. My hands clench, and I want to rip his smug face off his head. I don’t want to give the baby up, I’m just nervous and word vomited before I could really think about what I was saying. This baby has a piece of me, and I would never harm him or her.
“But it’s probably for the best looking at who her mother is,” Eric clips. My heart sinks, knowing he would want to cause harm to our child just because of me though.
“Yeah, know what? I’ll keep it and get your ass for every fucking dime.” I turn to walk down the stairs and he grabs my arm.
“You wouldn’t dare.” His face holds a deathly promise, but I don’t falter. Eric’s real mother left his dad when Eric was young, after she bled his father dry for years. Everyone around the trailer park heard the fights late at night. I knew saying I would take all of Eric’s money would spark his wick of anger.
“Try me, ass-wipe,” I grit. He digs his hold into my arm, and I whimper.
“You don’t want to mess with me. I know people, Lindsay Cole,” he threatens. I bring my knee up and slam it into his balls. He instantly lets go of my arm and drops to the porch. If I learned anything from my piece-of-shit father, it’s that the balls are your best option when you want to get away.
“You don’t want to mess with me. I don’t need people to do my dirty work, Eric. I’ll just fucking tear you to shreds myself.” I step over him, a smirk of pride fitting my face.
“I’m not scared of you, freckled-face Lindsay Cole.” His voice is laced with a screech from the amount of pain he’s in.
I walk down the steps and flip him the bird. “Then you’re one stupid motherfucker!”
10 Months Later
“Judge, Mr. McCormick is an unacceptable guardian for the child. He-”
“I’m going to cut you off right there, counselor. Looking at Ms. Cole’s file here, I would have to beg to differ,” Judge Calhoun interjects. I swallow the dry lump in my throat, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. A nervous sweat breaks out on my forehead. Judge Calhoun is an older man; his hair is curly and mostly white, with a few specks of black sweeping through the back. He’s wearing rimless glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose, and he has that ‘don’t give me shit’ look down pat.