The Boy with the Whiplash Tattoo

Thirty four

We were hiding out in the bathroom. Aaron stood by the door, his face an unreadable mask, but his eyes were wide.
"Isn't it done yet?" He grunted.
I stifled a nervous giggle. Somehow it didn't seem appropriate.
I was staring at it as if I could influence the results with my eyes.
First one, then two strips of colour appeared.
I felt my heart sink and fly in exactly the same instant.
"It's positive," I whispered.
"What? Speak up Camilla," he snapped.
I flinched.
"I'm pregnant."
His mouth dropped open. He tried to speak but no words came out.
He turned, flung the door open, disappeared.
I sat back on the toilet lid and hid my face in my hands.
I didn't quite believe it. My body was numb. I felt like I should cry but for once I couldn't.
I didn't know how I felt about it. Half of me wished that he'd been happy with the news.
But surely that was expecting too much. I had to be fair.
There was a sharp rap on the bathroom door.
"Camilla?"
I rolled my eyes.
"Yes mother?"
"What are you doing in there? Aaron stormed out. Come out and tell me what's going on."
As if she didn't already know. As if she wasn't waiting with her clawed fingers to wrap them around my unborn baby's soul.
I sighed and sank further down into the toilet bowl, wishing it would just suck me up and whisk me away.
She knocked again, louder and more urgently.
"I'm coming," I snapped, braver than usual, as if already sensing that she'd let me get away with so much more now.
I pulled my leggings up and grabbed the pregnancy test from the sink.
"Here," I grunted as I swept past her. "You wanted this, you keep it!" I shouted as I shoved it into her hands.