Synthetic Safety

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Drake hugged me. Wow.

But don’t worry; I don’t like him or anything like that. It’s just great to meet him. But I’m happy with T as my boyfriend—I don’t need anyone else.

Drake’s kind of shy at first, and I start to think that he doesn’t like me. But then he starts being nice, and asking me if I’m okay.

“You alright?” He asks once more as we eat. I nod and smile. His hair is thick and curly; he’s wearing casual clothes—dark blue jeans, custom-made Jordans, and a dress shirt.

T doesn’t talk to me much as we eat. He just looks really happy to be around one of his guy friends. I laugh with them when they make jokes, and involve myself in their conversation a lot. But I’m not too pushy. I want T to enjoy some time talking to someone besides me. When he starts telling T about what he’d been through for the past few days, I feel kind of bad.

“She went crazy and shit,” T says to Drake, “I almost got my ass killed man.” Drake laughs and so do I, but I start to think that he’s making us sound like a freak show. I mean, Camilla did go crazy, and we did almost get killed by her. But still—you don’t tell people that kind of stuff so up front, you know?

Soon, we’re sitting upstairs and listening to Drake just talk about a lot of different things. Actually, I’m listening to Drake talk about a lot of things, because I’m the one who keeps asking. I mean, the guy was just gorgeous. But like I said, I would never cheat on T—again.

While I’m sitting next to Drake, practically drooling over him, and T’s having a heated discussion with his manager on the phone about receiving too much fan mail, he suddenly hangs up the phone.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to run out to meet Ricky,”—his manager—“at the corner. I’ll be back.” He says. He and Drake bump fists and he leans down to kiss me, and then he’s gone. It’s just me and Drake. Now I’m telling him about myself, about life at home and how I feel about my mother.

But it’s getting harder and harder to talk when there’s a pukey feeling crawling up your throat.

In the middle of saying something, I gag a little bit. I hope Drake doesn’t notice.

“You okay?” He asks, and I look away. Right now, honestly, I’m not so okay. And I’m dying to tell someone, anyone, about what I’m feeling. About the pain and this new life that’s getting a bit hard to get used to. I just want to let it all out.

So I do.

I begin to tear up as I say: “No, I’m not okay actually. Nothing’s been okay for the past few months. I’m worrying all the time. I’m trying to be the best girlfriend I can be to T. My family and friends are gone; I have no one.  I mean, sure, I made some new friends, but if I think about for a while, I realize I don’t like them. It’s not about them, it’s just about the fact that they’re so new. And as the months go by, the school season is creeping closer. I can’t decide if I want to go back to school or not. I feel pain every day, physically and mentally. I sometimes have this dreadful feeling that T doesn’t love me anymore, but maybe it’s just the hormones.”

When I say this, Drake looks up at me, something he hasn’t done in a while. 

“What kind of hormones?” He asks. Then I realize I wasn’t supposed to say this. I wasn’t even supposed to think it.

I wipe my eyes.

“I think…I think I might be pregnant. And I’ve been trying to ignore the thought, but it’s there in the back of my brain. I think that T’s the reason that I’m trying to deny the fact that I’m pregnant. I’m scared…I’m scared that he’ll leave me.” I start crying when I say this. I realize that T actually might leave me if I’m pregnant. I would practically die if that happened.

Drake holds me, and I just cry for a while. All my thoughts go away, and I just cry and cry and cry. He’s silent, but he just rubs me and comforts me.

Then he lets go.

“Can I tell you what I think?” He says in a soft voice. “I think that it would be pretty okay if you were pregnant. It would actually be beautiful. Of course, you’re a teenager, and people would think you’re irresponsible. But who cares about what people think? I can tell after the first time meeting you that you’re not irresponsible at all. You’re mature, and if you had a child I think you would adapt to it quickly. But Tyga? Well, I don’t know about him being so mature.”

I laugh when he says that.

“But, he would just have to cope. And he would never leave you if you got pregnant. It would ruin his career, and he’s too nice to do that. And most of all, I would kick his ass if he did.”

I laugh again, and we hug.

That night, a person I met for the first time just made everything better. It was like my life had taken in a breath of fresh air.

That same night, after Drake left and when T got home, we had somehow managed to go from almost asleep to making love. And it was just beautiful, and I couldn’t care less if I was pregnant or not.

Our relationship has been going well since then. Everything has just been really happy. We went to Florida, and Gator, Honey, G, and Tony came to see us there. It was so great to see them—I hadn’t even thought about them in so long!—and it just made everything better.

T tells me he loves me a lot more often. And I tell him the same.

We laugh together, and every time we kiss we’re smiling. We’ve forgotten about all of our problems, and we’re focusing on our relationship. It’s healthy for us. I don’t know what made us so happy all of a sudden (it’s probably the fact that Love Game, the song he wrote me, is making millions worldwide).

But all of that happiness and joy and stuff stopped dead in its tracks on August 17, a Saturday night.

T was on the beach with Gator and I was in our beach house, relaxing in the air conditioner of the living room. I was sitting on the couch sipping juice when all of a sudden there was a knock at the door. No one really knew we were here, and T and the others said they’d call before they came.

So who could it be?

I got up and opened the door, only to see a girl younger than me, about fifteen, wearing a navy blue Postal Service uniform. She had a small box in her hands. She was staring at me funny, but I was used to it. T and I had been all over the news lately; everyone knew me.

“Yes?” I ask after a few awkward moments.

“Um, hi. There’s a package for you here.” She says, nervously handing me the box. I take it, sign her clipboard, and close the door when she leaves.

The package doesn’t say who it’s from, just some address in Chicago. I rip open the cardboard box with a knife, and find another tiny box and a lavender colored card. The card has rushed, scrawled writing inside. I open it and read:

You’ll need this gift.

That’s all the card said. No name, no explanation. It was just too simple.

I open the box and find yet another purple box. But my heart nearly drops when I realize what it is. I just can’t think of why someone would send me this. Did somebody know? That’s impossible, because I’m not even sure.

There was only one way to find out.

Hesitantly, I take the package with me upstairs to the bathroom. The bathroom upstairs is my favorite; one of the walls is tinted glass, so it let in a breeze while preventing you from being seen. Everything in the bathroom is white. I sit down on the glossy-seat toilet and stare at the little purple box in my hand.

After a few minutes of mustering up the courage, I decide to try it.

There’s a mini fridge in here; I take out a couple bottles of water and drink them until I’m ready. Then, finally, I take the test.

And this is one thing I learned for sure: pregnancy tests are scary. 

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