Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
I guess I was wrong to do so.
“What?” I say, dropping the smoke from my hand and stomping it out with my foot. “Tell me I just heard you wrong.”
“I found out yesterday. I didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t know what to do, Bohdi. I’m only eighteen. This is the worst thing.”
She’s crying now, tears rolling down her cheeks. I run a hand through my hair, heart racing. Fuck. We can’t do this. We can’t.
“Okay, calm down. Let’s work this out. Are you sure?”
She throws her hands up, screeching, “Of course I’m sure. I’m not stupid. I did seven tests, and they all came back positive.”
“Don’t scream at me,” I say, calmly, even though my insides are fucking crumbling. “I am askin’ a question. What do we do from here?”
“I don’t know,” she wails. “That’s what I’m asking you. I don’t know what to do. I don’t believe in abortions, but I’m too young and ... I don’t know what to do.”
She’s sobbing now. Really sobbing.
I take her and pull her into my arms. She sobs and clings to me, trembling. She’s scared—fuck, I’m scared. This is the absolute worst thing that could happen right now, but it’s not all her fault. I could have been more careful, too.
“I thought you were on the pill,” I say into her hair. “I thought we were safe.”
“I am on the pill, I don’t know how this happened.”
“Did you miss one?”
She pulls back, glaring at me. “Stop treating me like I’m stupid, Bohdi!”
“I’m askin’ a fuckin’ question,” I bark. “Fuck me, I’m allowed to ask how the fuck this happened.”
“Stop swearing at me,” she wails.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“I need a minute, give me a fuckin’ minute.”
I turn and walk off toward the beach, lighting another cigarette. Fuck. I don’t know what to do, I don’t even know what our options are here. We can’t afford a baby, we can’t afford an abortion. If she is seen to be pregnant in this town, even if we give it up for adoption, people are going to lose it. Her parents will lose it. Fuck.
I lean against a tree, closing my eyes and inhaling the smoke, trying hard to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do with this information.
“I’m afraid.”
I didn’t hear Isla approach, and when I look, she’s standing in front of me, arms crossed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “We’ll figure it out, we will. I just don’t know how yet.”
“I could get a job ... save some money and ...”
“And what? What then? Raising a baby costs money. We have nowhere to live.”
“You have a house.”
“With a fucking mother who is an alcoholic junkie. You can’t be fuckin’ serious.”
“My parents will kick me out. If they find out, I’m gone.”
“I need to think, Isla.”
“I’m scared, Bohdi.”
“I know you are, but screaming and crying isn’t going to change it. Calm down and let me work this out.”
She, in typical Isla style, turns and rushes off. I don’t have the patience or the heart to go after her. I know she’s scared but, fuck me, I’m scared too. I have zero idea how the hell I’m supposed to afford anything to do with a baby. Even if she doesn’t keep it, where do we find the money to get her an abortion? We could go to her parents, but like she said, they’d kick her out and then I have an extra mouth to feed regardless.
I can’t win.
I walk on the beach for fucking hours until I run into Carson and Sean surfing. They see me, and Carson comes jogging up to me, board under his arm, hair wet. I don’t get much time to surf anymore. Fuck, I wish I could spend my days in the water again, without a care in the world, but I simply don’t have the means anymore. I’m working two jobs and now I have a pregnant fucking girlfriend.
I haven’t even lived yet.
“Bro, I’ve been wondering where you are. Where’s your board?” Carson asks, panting.
“Don’t have time to surf today, brother,” I mumble, distracted.
“What’s goin’ on? You never surf anymore? Is it your momma? You want us to help out?”
They’re good friends. The best, really. But they don’t understand. They’ve got good, supportive families who give them the time to surf and fuck around. I don’t have that luxury.
“It’s a lot of fuckin’ things. I gotta go, I need to figure some stuff out.”
“You good, brother?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “You know we’ve got your back.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Yeah, I know.”
I disappear back to my shack, where it’s surprisingly quiet. Mom is asleep, for how fucking long I don’t know, but for now I have a moment to think. And think I do. I can’t figure out any other way than to do the one thing I swore I’d never do—call my father. I need help, and the only way I can get through any of this is to reach out to the one person who has the means to do so.