Running Away

chapter three: contradictions are hot

"It's not that, Taylor," Is cut me off abruptly. Leaning back on my heels, I stared at her, watching as a multitude of emotions crossed her features—frustration, agitation, apology, sadness, nervousness. Before I could try to calm her again, she blurted, "I'm pregnant."

My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates before I could even attempt to stop them. She was... pregnant.

"I know. I know, Taylor." She murmured, dropping her face into her palms. Her following sentences came out garbled, but I fought to make sense of them. "I haven't told him. I'm scared to. What will he... what will he think? He's been dating this girl for almost a year and a half, and he's ready to tie the knot with her, and then—then she goes and gets pregnant?"

"Is it not his?" I screeched.

"Oh, shut up." Isabella scolded, glaring at me suddenly. "Of course it's Kane's. But—but he told me he doesn't want to have kids until he's at least twenty-five. That's—that's a while away. And I'm not ready to be a mom, Taylor. I'm... I'm only twenty-one, for God's sake." She dissolved into strangled sobs after that, and I was left speechless.

"Isabella!" Paul's yell shattered the silence we had fallen into, and I leapt up onto my feet.

Rubbing at her cheeks, Isabella pushed herself off of the sofa. Winding her arms around me once more, she said, "I'm sorry I just sprang this onto you. It's ridiculous, I get it."

Pulling away brusquely, I glowered at her, my tone bordering on murderous, when I said, "Don't you dare apologize to me, or say that this is any less important than it is."

"Right," she confirmed, laughing lightly. Patting her stomach, she smiled at me, "Maybe Kane will be happy about this. Uh, hopefully."

"He will be." I assured her.

"ISABELLA ELOISE O'DONNELL!"

"Shit, that's the middle name." Is smirked, hiking her purse higher up on her shoulder. Spinning on her heels, she stalked to the door. I was about to call goodbye to her one last time, when she turned around once again. "Almost forgot—" Isabella rummaged around in her bag for a minute, her eyes squinting as she searched for something. Finally, her hand emerged with a small box clutched in its grip. Tossing it over to me, she winked. "Happy birthday, Taylor."

Gratitude swelling inside of me, I popped the lid off, gasping when I recognized what was nestled between the velvet inside the square container. It was a delicate silver chain, complete with a tiny, cursive, diamond-encrusted I dangling from the center. Lifting it from its case, I held it up to the light, where the letter glinted.

"It's beautiful," I breathed.

Is beamed at me. "You're welcome, kid. Besides, I've got one, too." Plucking the collar of her jacket away from her skin, she pointed to the hollow of her throat, where a sparkling T was sitting amid the cluster of other necklaces that completed her outfit.

"Thank you—"

"ISABELLA, GET OUT HERE, BEFORE I—"

"BEFORE YOU WHAT, DAD? I'M COMING, DAMMIT!"

. . .

I fidgeted in front of the garage door, a pair of keys jingling in my grip. There was a slew of expensive sports cars for me to pick from, and all of them seemed to be conveying the same message; hurry up, dumbass, and pick one, before Paul and Janelle somehow mysteriously come back and lock you into your room for the rest of your life.

Alright, that was a bit of an exaggeration. But the point was the same. I needed to hurry.

Hitching my duffel up on my back, I wandered between Paul's two favorite vehicles; a glistening, fire engine red Ferrari, and an obnoxiously bright yellow convertible Lamborghini. He loved both of these monsters more than he loved even Isabella. There wasn't a single weekend when he wasn't out in the garage, polishing the damn hoods of these things. It was ridiculous, how much attention my father gave to materialistic items.