Secrets Revealed
I ran to my room, fighting back the tears and clutching the kicking mound in my stomach. I heard Anya’s sneakers rushing after me and Kristie waddling after her. Why the hell did he have to come here? Why the hell would Sylvia tell him where I was? Why was I still in this messed up reality that was my life?
I carefully flung myself on my bed and covered myself with the white crocheted quilt. Anya burst through the door about five seconds after I did and I knew what was coming. The explanation that I never wanted to say, the part of my life that I had kept secret for so long, the words that I swore would never pass my lips- it was all going to come out.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, breathless.
“None of your damn business”
“Isabelle, who was that?” Kristie asked as she walked through the door.
“It was Carl, my cousin.”
“Isabelle, I saw what he was doing to you- that’s no way cousins should touch each other,” Anya said.
“I know.”
“Then why do you let him do it?” she argued, getting angry with me. “Wait-“ she gasped, “He’s the guy isn’t he?”
“What guy?” clueless Kristie asked.
“Isabelle, he’s the guy who got you pregnant!” Anya’s words echoed in my head until it was just a whisper. Then I was left with silence. Silence that was only broken by the shattering of the protective walls I had built in my brain. It broke with a single statement. Fifteen years of molding the fragile glass wall was suddenly shattered by Anya’s words banging at the surface.
And I broke down. Tears flooded out of my eyes and my breathing came in jagged gasps.
“Yes-s-s-s it was,” I stuttered.
“Then why the fuck won’t you say anything?” Anya growled.
Nobody would ever understand my relationship with Carl. I despised him, with every fiber of my being, but I also felt bad for him. I couldn’t tell anyone what Carl did. I couldn’t to that to my family.
My dad’s side of the family recently went through a large fight, and at the end of it one of my aunts basically divorced the rest of us. My grandmother was devastated. She had lost a daughter and many grandchildren and great grandchildren. My father lost a sister that day and my mother lost one of her good friends. The argument lasted over a year until the tensions rose so high that everyone started yelling at each other and storming out of the house.
I couldn’t do that to my relatives again. I couldn’t tell them that their favorite nephew, grandson and even son, was a rapist. The accusations would fly. My aunt would dramatically cry and say I was always jealous of her son, Carl, and that I was a whore pregnant with some other high school guy’s baby, trying to put this all on her precious baby boy. She would say I had two motives- the first, to take him out of the picture so I was the favorite grandchild, the second to put him in jail so I would be more successful.
My father would finally crack through the perfect politician disguise he wore and he would yell that I wouldn’t lie about something this important. My mother would come to my defense saying something ridiculous like I didn’t need to put Carl in jail to be more successful than him. My aunt would storm out of my grandmother’s house, dragging Carl behind her, and speed from the curb. She would drive into the black hole of night, never to be seen again.
Nana would walk out of the kitchen. She wouldn’t have had her hearing aid in and wouldn’t know anything until my father delicately placed it back in her wrinkled ear. He would tell her that her granddaughter had accused the perfect Carl of rape. Nana would drop her fresh-from-the-oven peach cobbler on the floor. The glass pan from the antique store we had bought for her seventieth birthday would shatter and the pie crust would splatter on the walls. Nana would only have her two sons left. My dad would only have his brother, and my uncle would be the new medium for anger between siblings.
“I couldn’t do that again to my family,” I whispered.
“Do what again, Isabelle?” Anya yelled.
“Tear my family apart! You have no idea what position I’m in! I’ve tried to tell my mother what was happening but she refused to believe me, no one will ever accept the truth. I cannot tell anyone. Once this kid is out of me, I’m moving away and never looking back.”
“What do you mean you can’t tell anyone?! Isabelle, he raped you! That’s a crime,” Anya argued.
“Anya, stop it, if Isabelle doesn’t want to tell anyone, we can’t make her,” Kristie interjected. I felt Kristie sit down on my bed and put her hand on my torso. “Isabelle, dear, come on out.”
“I’m fine, Kristie, just give me a moment,” I replied. My breathing slowed to a normal pace and I slowly pulled the blanket off of my face. “Anya, I know you don’t understand,” I started. She made a sarcastic face and opened her mouth to speak. “But,” I cut her off, “I really can’t tell anyone.”
She shrugged. Somehow, I knew the shrug meant she thought she was better than me. That was a common theme in Anya.
“I noticed something,” I half smiled, trying to lighten the mood, “you finally called me Isabelle.”
“Don’t take it to heart, New Chick,” she said with a joking smile. The bell for lunch rang and we left the room with linked arms. Kristie was in the middle, using us as crutches. We walked towards the smell of the cafeteria.
It was the next day, during breakfast, that Elizabeth’s voice came over the small P.A system to say, “Hello, dears, it’s Elizabeth. Whoever is in my group please grab your coats and come to the lobby.” My whole table quickly rose in excitement. We ran, or waddled in some people’s cases, to our rooms and tugged on our jackets. Kristie met Anya and I outside of our room, and we ran with our arms linked to the lobby, like three little girls on Christmas morning.
Elizabeth was standing in the main entryway. Her small frame was covered in a thick white parka and her grey hair peeked out of a white knitted hat. The others in our group were already in the lobby and we quickly piled into the van. I paused before I entered the back seat. On the side of the white van, in the same calligraphic script as the mural in the Rec Room, were the words “Veneta’s Young Mother’s Shelter”. I sighed. I did not want to be seen in this van, it was so embarrassing.
“Come on, New Chick,” Anya said. I slowly stepped into the van and took my place next to Kristie. She squeezed my arm and gave me an understanding look. I quickly found myself acting like I was in the third grade again, while we started to sing songs and dance in the seats. Elizabeth even joined in, well, when she knew the words.
“Yo, Elizabeth, where we goin’?” Rochelle asked.
“You’ll see,” Elizabeth smiled. She turned into a small parking lot and we hurriedly exited the car and entered the building. I studied the sign above the door, it was a family owned ice cream parlor.
Elizabeth led us to the counter and helped us get onto the bar stools. I sat between Kristie and listened to the 50s music coming from the jukebox. The parlor was sports themed. There were framed jerseys and pictures mounted on the wall. I looked at the jersey on the wall in front of me. It was from my old high school and it had the number sixteen on it. Next to the green jersey, there was a picture of a guy in a football uniform with his arm wrapped around a familiar looking cheerleader. Above the jersey, in neon blue lights, the name Solomon’s was written. I blushed. Peter may be here.
“Isabelle?” Kristie called, “Isn’t that you?” She was pointing to the picture of peter and I next to the jersey. Before I could answer, a large muscular man who looked like an older version of Peter came from behind the counter. I dropped my eyes, when Mr. Solomon came closer.
He politely talked to the other girls, asking for their orders, then came to me. He tapped him pen on my shoulder. “Miss?” I slowly lifted my head, praying he wouldn’t recognize me. Though he kept his voice even, I saw the shock in his eyes. He knew I was peter’s girlfriend, and he now knew I was pregnant. I quietly ordered a small cup of coffee ice cream and draped my hair over my face.
“Hello, ladies,” a joyful voice said. It took me only a second to know it wasn’t mr. Solomon who had spoken. The girls made their happy replies, I kept my face down. Peter passed out the ice cream cups to the other girls and gently placed the cup in front of me. My cheeks burned. “Miss, if you don’t eat soon, it’ll melt.” He gently lifted my face. “Hey,” he whispered.
“Hi,” I quietly said.
“How are you?” His face was inches from mine. He hadn’t changed much since I last saw him. His hair was in need of a trim, the mocha strands were shadowing his green eyes and he had a faint stubble on his cheek.
“I’m seventeen and pregnant,” I said, as if that defined my mood. He blinked, his Adam’s apple throbbed as he swallowed. I dropped my gaze and played with my spoon. “How are you?” I mumbled, knowing I wouldn’t get a response otherwise.
“I’ve missed you,” he passionately said.
“Then why didn’t you visit me?” I snapped, tears pouring out of my eyes. “I haven’t seen any of my friends since I got here! You could have called me or emailed me. Peter, you could have even written me a letter! Why didn’t you?” I cried. Tears were flowing out at full force and the girls in my group were staring at me, but I couldn’t stop.
“I was scared, Isabelle!” he yelled.
“You were scared?” I incredulously asked, “I’m pregnant!”
“Yeah, with another guy’s baby!” He took off his apron and slapped it on the counter. Fury was in his eyes while he walked around the counter and rushed to my side. He roughly pulled me of the bar stool and pulled me behind the counter into the backroom.
Elizabeth started to get up to follow, but Anya stopped her, mumbling some words to the other girls. I don’t know what she said. Peter pulled me into a room with a large steel freezer and a small desk. The room only had the light from the door, which was quickly fading. I watched as the small triangle of light grew slimmer and slimmer, until we were in complete darkness. I couldn’t see Peter, and I couldn’t hear his breathing over the hum of the freezer. My heart rate accelerated as I remembered the last time I was alone with a guy in the dark. Something in the room clicked and a large fluorescent light filled the room, making my surroundings pale. Peter was leaning against the freezer and I was practically sitting on the desk.
“Isabelle,” he sighed, “you won’t even tell me who he is. When you were still at school, I thought I was your boyfriend-“
“You were,” I interrupted.
“Then that baby shouldn’t be anyone else’s but mine.” He and I knew there was something majorly wrong with that statement. Our physical relationship only went as far as make-out sessions; there was no under-the-sheets-clothes-off intimacy. He was always very willing, but I could never bring myself to it. I couldn’t imagine having sex with a guy after The Night. Then his statement clicked.
“You’re jealous?” I incredulously asked.
“Do you expect me not to be? You obviously liked his guy well enough to have sex with him and not care about the consequences and you never even let me touch you. You loved him more. Just tell me who he was.”
“I can’t,” I cried. He closed the distance between us and clasped the tops of my arms. His face was three inches from mine. His hot breath singed my face.
“Why not?” he growled.
“Because you’ll kill the guy.” His features quickly transformed from anger to hurt. He gently released my arms and took a step back.
“I’m not going to hurt the guy because you slept with him and not me, I’m not that shallow.”
“I know you aren’t,” I said stuttered through the tears.
“Please, just tell me who you slept with,” he pleaded.
“I didn’t sleep with him,” I whispered. I breathed heavily, staring at his face, watching the words sink in.
“What?” he finally asked. “Did the guy…you know?” I nodded. “You were raped?” Peter said, tasting the word on his lips. I nodded again. He swiftly closed the distance between us and took me in his arms. I rested my head on his chest and listened to the quick beat of his heart. I felt his lips in my hair and his hands sliding my jacket off of my shoulders. I pulled my face to his and kissed his lips. In retrospect this was a bad idea- making-out in the backroom of Peter’s father’s ice cream parlor, with only a wall separating us from Mr. Solomon and Elizabeth… while I was pregnant- but this idea never occurred to me until my baby kicked my stomach.
I pulled away and instinctively dropped my hands to my stomach.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“She’s kicking,” I whispered, still amazed that something was growing inside of me.
“She? It’s a girl?”
“Yeah,” I smiled.
“Who’s the father?” he said with the same pleading tone he used whenever he asked that question.
“Peter, I really can’t tell you.” My baby kicked again, as if she was protesting my decision.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” I watched his eyes, there was no doubting the sincerity in his words.
“Okay,” I sighed. “It’s complicated. I guess you could say that he’s wanted me for a while…since we were little. He’s always touched me and he used to kiss me…” my voice trailed as I realized I was about to reveal my deepest, darkest secret. I saw through my surroundings and pictured my aunt’s reaction, my grandmother’s shock, ultimately leading to my family’s separation- and I realized that I didn’t care anymore. I was pregnant at seventeen. My parent’s really didn’t want anything to do with me. I probably was never going to be happy again because I’d be always thinking about my baby. My life was now screwed, what would I lose if my family separated? Nothing.
“It was Carl.”
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Thanks for reading, reviews would be greatly appreciated!
~Dommy
From when they go to the cafiteria and then it's the next day... I would seperate that a little more.
