I paced the bathroom floor. It was just reaching one in the morning and I was on the verge of having an anxiety attack. I clenched my fist over and over. I gripped at my hair. I had been in here since twelve. I kept the shower running so no one would bother me. I looked at the box sitting on the back of toilet and I just couldn't do it. A pang hits my chest. I couldn't. But I needed to. I had to. This whole ordeal was driving me to the brink of insanity. I take a deep breath.
You have to do this.
•••
A hand on my shoulder was shaking me awake. Roughly. I nestle myself deeper into my covers but then moments later the shaking begins again along with the urgent whisper of my name. I groan and crack open an eye. The room was still relatively dark with a faint hint of light coming in. It was morning. I could tell. I feel a weight on the bed. I twist around and surprise flits across my features when I see its Rylie.
His eyes met mine and then surprise turns into worry. His leg was bouncing he was gnawing on his bottom lip, "What?" I sit up and rub my eyes. He only gives me brief seconds of eye contact before his eyes look every where else. It was like he couldn't concentrate.
"Rylie, what?" I press the question again my voice still thick with sleep.
He swallows, his Adams apple bobs. He gets up quickly and closes his door locking it. My brows furrow and on instinct my body locks and I feel on guard. He sits back down and gives me an expression of what looked to be concern. Also fear. I go to speak but he does before I can.
"Y-you left this in the bathroom," he stumbles over his words and I note its truly the first time I've ever seen Rylie actually flustered. My brows draw together then I look at his outstretched hand and go rigid. My heartbeat spikes. The hairs on my arms stand at attention.
"Where did you get this?!" I hiss as I snatch the stick from his hand. I was careful to keep my voice down not wanting to alarm the other men in the house.
"I just told you, you left it in the bathroom," he gives me a somber look. I felt like I was going to be sick.
How could I have been so careless. How could I have been so stupid. After I did my business I was feeling tired. Cameron came pounding on the door exclaiming that he needed to relieve himself so I quickly tossed it into the trash. He was bleary eyed and surely wouldn't notice it. I went back to the bedroom as to not look suspicious but what turned out to be just a few minutes of me waiting for Cameron to finish using the bathroom somehow turned into me getting hours of sleep.
Now it took another turn I didn't expect.
"It was laying on the floor," Rylie explains to me, "I thought it was our thermometer so of course I picked it up and then..." He looked at me somberly.
"Oh god," I groan, "What did it say?" I ask shakily and he bites the inside of his cheek.
"I didn't look," I hold it my hands. Tight. I was sure it could turn into dust, "It's not...It's not Carters or Cameron's is it?" Rylie's question catches me off guard and I almost want to throw up again. In fact. I did. I grabbed the the small trash bin he had next to the bottom bunk and gagged before the contents of my stomach came up.
I heave out deep breaths, "Absolutely not," I go to speak again but another round comes up. Rylie hands me a room temperature bottle of water that was sitting on his nightstand when he thinks I'm done. I take it with a quiet word of thanks. My answer seemed to relieve him though there was an amused look on his face.
"I know my brothers are utterly repulsive at times but I didn't think they were that repulsive," he snickers at my state and I sigh over the small trash bin. I wasn't in the mood for jokes. Rylie takes notice and quickly apologizes.
I feel his warm hand on my arm. He chews his lip, "You have to look."
I swallow. He was right. I did. But I felt like my hands turned into lead. I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. Rylie sees my distress. He was too wise for his age. He takes it from my hands. He looks at it. It was brief. His hand that never left my arm squeezes gently. I felt pathetic for taking comfort from such a young boy.
"It's positive."
I couldn't breathe.
Positive.
I throw up.
Pregnant.
Rylie's door handle jiggles and I snap from my reverie. Mr. Phoenix's voice sounds from the other side accompanied by loud knocks, "Ry, time to get up and why is this door locked?" His tone was suspicious and Rylie eyes me carefully.
"You can't tell him."
He nods before getting up. I stuff the stick under my pillow and feign sleep before he opens the door. I hear their idle chatter. Mr. Phoenix says he was surprised to see him up before it was time and then asks why the door was locked. Rylie gives him a believable excuse that its a habit of mine. Which in reality it was. He tells him to start getting ready and to be courteous as not to disturb my slumber. Not that he needed to. I was already awake and even if I wasn't I never wake up while Rylie busies himself with the daunting task of preparing himself for school. He was light on his feet I suppose and always has his things packed and clothes laid out the night before.
He tells his father he had taken a shower last night so he only has to tend to his oral hygiene and a few other things and then he'd be ready. He closes the door and breathes out a sigh leaning against it, "What are you going to do?"
What was I going to do? Hell if I knew. I was probably going vomit again. Then cry. Then cry while vomiting because I can't stop my insides from coming back up. I would also have a panic attack along with a mental break down. Cry some more. Pray that this was all a joke. Hope that he had read it wrong. Take the second one to be sure while they were out.
"I don't know and I'm sorry for dragging you into this," I respond after a beat of silence. I lay back down pulling the covers over me, "You should get ready for school. Don't worry about me."
I stare the wall while Rylie rustles around his room. My chest still felt tight. The stick under my pillow was screaming in my ear to acknowledge it. This was real. This was happening. A tear falls from my eye once it clicks into my mind. I was going to get kicked out. Mr. Phoenix wouldn't take care of me and my bastard child made from a man who took my frightened and hopeless silence as affirmation to do what he pleased.
How was I going to take care of it? Would I take care of it? We'd both be homeless. We'd both be hungry. I'd be depressed. Resentful. How could I keep a rape baby and be happy? I wouldn't. I'd probably take the same fate as my mother. He or she would grow up the same way I did. It was an endless cycle of despair and loneliness. This was no way to live. I could barely do it. I was holding on by one measly lone thread that was eager to be burnt away.
What am I supposed to do?
"Talk to my dad," I hadn't realized I said that out loud. Rylie's voice startles me and I twist around. He was in his uniform and looked to be just about done.
I suck in a breath and stare at the bottom of his bunk, "What do you think he'll do?" I loll my head to the side. Rylie's expression was thoughtful as he took me in.
"Knowing my dad, I'm fairly certain he'll be frightened by the news," he mulls the words around in his head, "But ultimately he'll leave whatever decision you choose to make up to you. He can't choose for you, Aaron."
I wanted to scoff. That's not how this works. It didn't work like that last time and it surely wouldn't this time but could I do that again? The answer was no, I couldn't. It's too taxing and never did I get the proper aftercare. It was emotionally draining, Mentally disturbing and physically painful after being numb. But I can't keep it. I can't put it in foster care. I can't kill it.
I throw up.
Rylie grimaces and hands me a tissue and the same bottle of water before taking the soiled trash bin saying he'd dump it out. I shake my head at myself once he leaves the room. How did I bring a twelve year old into my drama? Why did he have to find the damned stick? This may have been the only time I was grateful for Rylie's matureness and articulacy. Someone else would have blurted it to their parent by now. Still, he shouldn't have to lie to his father because I chose to be weak and let Steven violate me.
Then I think of Steven who did this to me. Immature, repressed, adulterine, unhappy, Steven. I wanted to hurt him. Murder him. Make him take care of this thing himself. Somehow transfer it from my body to his. It was his. It was ours. And then I felt like wailing until my throat felt raw. This was his spawn. He did this to me. He was ruining my life without even being apart of it anymore. He was thirty five I was only sixteen. How could I confess this to anyone if they were to ask.
Rylie comes back into the room. The trash bin had water dripping from its side. He sets it down next to me before sitting on my bed once again, "Are you going to be okay?" He regards me with a somber expression and I look towards an empty space behind him. His father calls him from downstairs and he hesitantly rises from his spot.
No.
I muster up a fake smile. Rylie was only twelve. Extremely smart. Highly mature. Very intuitive. Still, he was a child. I couldn't let him be burdened with this mistake. It was by accident that he found the stick and if he hadn't he'd be on the outs and just like his brothers and father he wouldn't know a thing. So I pretend to be alright. I pretend to not be bothered. I pretend that I'm not shattering from the inside out.
"I'll be fine."
And when he left I fell to jagged pieces.
•••
I've been so excited to write this part of the story! I had this done in my mind before I had anything else and I'm ready to put it into words and expand.
Relationships are going to bloom between the Phoenix children (especially Rylie) and Aaron (all platonic of course) and the reality of the situation is going to set in. I'm trying to make that and all of this as realistic as possible.