Almost (Ch. 1)

If anyone was to describe my life, they would use the word “almost”. As in, “your grades were almost perfect, Ella”. Or, “you almost got hit by that bus, Ella”. And yes, I really did almost get hit by a bus. Everything in my life was an “almost” moment. In fact, my birth was an almost moment, as in it almost didn’t happen. After birthing and raising three children, my mother almost decided not to try again. With her busy lifestyle, it was understandable why she almost didn’t want a fourth child. My mother was a star, who travelled the world and danced ballet in different shows. She had been doing it since she was a kid, and ultimately hoped that some of her talent would’ve rubbed off on me. I wasn’t the talented one in the family; my three siblings were all more interesting and talented than I could hope to be. 

I consider myself the world’s most unluckiest person, or rather the world’s almost unluckiest person. So many terrible things that could’ve resulted in my death ended up as another “almost”.
Not that I’m complaining. Sometimes it all came in handy, like when I was supposed to fly to Europe for spring break but forgot my passport at home. I ended up having to drive all the way back to my house and by the time I got back to the airport, my flight had already left. Turns out, that plane ended up dive-bombing out of the sky and into the ocean.
Other times, living a life full of “almosts” was insanely inconvenient. I couldn’t even count how many times I’ve called into the radio for concert tickets and almost gotten them. I even almost won tickets to see Michael Jackson in concert. Whenever someone brought him up after that, I could feel the regret smolder inside me. Every lottery ticket I bought, every raffle, every drawing I entered always ended up a number or two off.
My friends say that they could turn my predicament into a drinking game. They said every time I had an “almost” moment, they would take a shot. They never actually played the game, but knew they’d be drunk within an hour if they ever did.
-X-
As I walked down the street, I counted in my head. It had been forty-six days exactly since the incident. Even now it was still clear in my mind. Jackson had seemed like such a nice guy at first, but then…no. I couldn’t even bear to think about it. I focused on my breathing, hoping I wouldn’t spiral out of control again. I wouldn’t let this whole mess consume me. I couldn’t, especially when there were more important things to consider. I ran my hand over my belly absentmindedly, remembering, wondering.
“You okay, Ella?” Steph asked me, resting her elbows on the counter. She and I worked at the bookstore, my bookstore, together. We had been best friends since childhood, and most of the time it was as if she knew what I was thinking. “Do you hurt?”
“I’m alright.” Tears pricked at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
“Okay.” She gave me a nurturing smile and turned to go and shelve some books. I breathed in the comforting scent of the store, forcing myself to calm down. My mother had always told me to think of nice things when I was upset. She told me to imagine my favorite chocolate cake or the feeling of sunshine beaming down over me. I thought of those things often these days, but sometimes they just weren’t enough to help me forget. I hitched a breath and numbly walked behind the counter and through the door to the break room. I collapsed into one of the plush armchairs, staring at the TV set in the corner. Although it was off, I still stared, letting the memory flood my mind and watching as if it was a movie and not my real life.
-X-
“Where are we going?” I asked Jackson. It was our very first date, and we had just had a lovely candlelight dinner of pan-roasted scallops and fresh seasoned vegetables. We finished off dinner with a beautiful crème brulee, and now the date was ending. I was expecting Jackson to take me home. “This isn’t the way to my house.”
Jackson stayed silent. My hands felt cold, a tell-tale sign that I was feeling anxious. I glanced over at Jackson, focusing on how handsome he was. He was a sturdy, manly man, which I liked. His hair was dark and messy, but still cute. His eyes were bright blue and full of lust.
Michael Jackson was playing on the radio, and I felt a sudden pang of regret.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I almost won tickets to see Michael Jackson? I was the eighth caller and they were looking for the seventh. I’ve regretted it ever since.” Jackson didn’t say anything but instead smiled at me as he drove, a devilish glint in his eye. Something twisted in my gut, but I ignored it. Jackson seemed nice enough, and we had been getting along great so far.
“Where are we going?” I asked again.
“I have a bottle of wine and a picnic blanket. I thought it would be romantic under the stars.”
“Oh.” I grinned. That sounded so romantic. I settled in my seat, feeling a little more at ease as I watched out the window. Trees lined both sides of the road, moonlight peeking through the leaves. I could see patches of moonlit valleys beyond the trees, and wondered what was out there and how far we were going to go into the trails.
“Have you ever been here before?” He asked me.
“No, I don’t think so.” I answered.
“This is Bullfrog Refuge. It’s a hiking trail. All the animals are protected here.” He explained.
“Oh.” Jackson pulled over, parking in the tiny parking lot. He opened the door for me and then crossed to the back, pulling out a green blanket and a bottle of wine. I followed him as he led me into the trail, weaving through trees and shrubs.
“How far are we going in?” I asked, hoping we wouldn’t get lost.
“Not too far. We’ll be able to find our way back. I know this place really well.”
Twenty minutes later, the trail opened up to a little valley. Most of it was covered in weeds that came up to my ankles. Jackson spread the blanket onto a less patchy spot and patted the space next to him. He laid down and stared at the stars, and I did the same.
“This is so romantic.” I sighed, taking in the sea of stars. And then it happened. He was on top of me in one swift motion, his hand working at taking off my panties. He had already somehow taken off his shoes and slacks. He lifted up my dress, sliding it off as I squealed and tried to push him away.
“No, stop! Please stop!” I cried out as he kissed my neck and collarbones. His weight was heavy on me as I tried to get him off of me. He popped my bra open and then I was naked. I kicked at him but he held my legs down. And suddenly, he was inside me, and there was nothing I could do about it. Tears poured down my cheeks and my body was heaving with the effort of trying to fight him off.
“Please, please stop!” I begged as he continued. I don’t know how much time had passed, but eventually he stopped. My body was so exhausted from trying to get him off of me that I could hardly move.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he got up and got dressed. He disappeared through the woods without another word. I threw my clothes on as quickly as I could, but he was gone before I could chase after him. I wandered through the woods, unsure of whether I was going in the right direction or not. It took me what felt like hours to find my way back to the little parking lot. When I got there, Jackson was gone. I took out my phone to call the police, to call for a ride home, to call anybody who could help me. But of course, it was dead. I shivered, sitting on the cold pavement. I was too upset to cry, too upset for any words at all. How could this even happen?
I must’ve passed out from stress and exhaustion, because the next thing I knew, I woke up on the concrete, my cheek in the dirt. Someone was shaking my shoulder.
“Miss? Are you alright?” My eyes opened, taking in the person next to me. It was a girl, probably no older than twenty-five. Her hair was long, falling in honey-colored spirals down her back. Her eyes were gentle although they were heavily lined with black eyeliner. A stud glinted on her nose. I let her help me up, then collapsed into sobs in her arms. She rubbed my back soothingly, then led me to her truck and helped me in. Loud sobs echoed from my mouth and I cried into the girl’s chest until there was no sound left. She didn’t ask questions, and for that I was grateful.
“Let’s get you home.” She said after I had thoroughly soaked her shirt. I gave her my address, sitting back as she drove.
“What’s your name?” I asked when I finally found my voice again.
“Shay Allen.”
“I’m Ella.”
Shay brought me home and the next day, I went to the police to report my case. They took down my information, gave me a few numbers to call in case I needed anything, and told me to go to the clinic to get checked out. I made an appointment and three days later, I was at the doctor’s. After a thorough checkup, the doctor came in with my results.
“You’re pregnant.” She said. My heart dropped into my stomach. How could this happen? I was carrying a stranger’s baby; a stranger I had had one date with, who I had only known for a few days. Tears gathered in my eyes.
“Oh.” I said, unsure of what to say. “Oh.”