Authors' Note: To the few people who can't tell between good and bad. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to characters living, dead or otherwise is purely uncalled for, and a figment of your imagination. If the fiction excites you, good... but please, please, never take the step of realizing it. This is NO ONE's REALITY!
As the plane taxied to a stop beside the terminal, I asked myself if I could go through with everything. It had been four months since I had left this wretched place, my hometown, with memories happy and sad, a guilty heart and, unknowingly at that time, with a son inside me. There was nothing to regret my life here, I thought sadly as I picked up my handbag and walked to the door, except for two nights that had forever changed my life.
And, in my darkest moment of despair, I wished for a moment that Mom had died then, for it was she who was making me come back to Montana and my home...
It was already late in the afternoon, and I had almost canceled the trip because of morning sickness. But I couldn't do that to Mom - not after she pleaded with me to come back home. Mom was paralyzed below the waist and had to be helped into and out of bed, and even though she claimed that Dad was very supportive, I couldn't believe that.
I saw her, but not him; my heart went out when I saw the mechanical wheelchair she would be confined to for the rest of her time, and I rushed towards her. We embraced, tears leaking out of joy, and she didn't let go of me for a full minute.
"Mom, I love you," I told her, feeling her soft hands rub my cheek as she had done so many times in a life that was past. Of everything that I had left four months ago, when I chose to run, I missed my friend the most. "I am so sorry!"
"Shh, honey, it's all right," she soothed, ruffling my hair now. "Let's have no more talk about that, shall we? And... Jesus, are you pregnant?"
She was shocked, though, at my condition - no matter what, I realized, Mom had not expected something like this. Hell, even I was thrown for a loop when I found out... I had anticipated her finding out, but when I replied, instead of lying that I was two-three months along, as I had planned on the flight here, I blurted out, "Yes, Mom. Four months... I am sorry..."
Quite contrary to what I feared, Mom didn't get angry; instead, she smiled matronly at me. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. I was just stunned, that's all. You never even mentioned it in our letters..."
"I planned on having a quiet delivery, then put it up for adoption," I explained, opening up to my best friend of eighteen years, my mother, "When you sent me the plane tickets, I thought of aborting... I couldn't Mom."
Mom patted my hand reassuringly. "You did good, kid. I would never have forgiven you if you had killed my first grandchild - is it a he or a she?"
I wiped away my tears before I handed over the sonogram. "It's too early, the doctor said, but it looks like a boy."
Mom studied the black-and-white printout for a few seconds, and then returned it with a nostalgic smile. "Back in my days, we had to wait until the delivery. Part of the excitement was in the suspense, you know, like what name to pick, if it's a boy or a girl... but there's nothing that beats having a little one inside of you, is there?"
"No, Mom, there isn't."
"Who's the lucky father, Di, if I may know my son-in-law's name?"
"I called him Ed," I lied, "Before he left me when I told him I was pregnant. Now I just call him names."
"You are alone then?" The motherly concern was evident in every gesture of hers. The tone, the eyes, the words... she hadn't changed one bit. "I mean, there is no one to support you?"
"Nope," I replied simply.
"Then you will move back in with us?"
This was the question I had been dreading to answer, not due to its answer - which would be No, all things considered - but because I couldn't refuse the hopefulness in her voice. Yet, in the greater interests of everyone's sanity, I had to... there was no other alternative.
"Maybe..." There would be plenty of time to disappoint her later, I decided.
"I hope your father and I can convince you," Mom commented hopefully. "Speaking of your Dad, where is he?"
In spite of myself, I looked around, my height giving me the advantage of a better field of vision, as Mom turned her wheelchair around. Mom was the first to spot him, probably because Dad was not the guy I was expecting him to be.
He was already walking towards us, dressed smartly, but his eyes averted my gaze. He walked slowly, and where Mom must have mistaken it for carefulness, I knew it to be reluctance. As he came closer, Dad did a double-take when he saw my slightly-bulging stomach, but conscious that an ignorant Mom was looking at him, he maintained his composure and reached us a few seconds later. He pretended to be happy when he saw me, then narrowed his eyes upon 'discovering' that I was pregnant.
He did not say anything as he kissed my cheek, our bodies barely touching, and when I returned the gesture, I was surprised to feel his soft cheeks and the smell of cologne was something that I hadn't expected. He was almost handsome now, I realized with a start, with charm and pleasantness. He smelt nice, he felt nice, he acted nice...
He wasn't the man I had run away from...
Everything had begun with one innocuous entry in my personal diary, one that was the gatekeeper of my innermost feelings. Everything's still as painfully clear as it was when it happened four months ago, and I found myself slipping into the past...
On that first night, just a few days after I had turned eighteen, I was lying in bed reading a book. Mom, I knew, was already in bed - she always stopped by my room before she went to hers - and we had exchanged our goodnights half an hour ago. Being the eldest earned me my own room and privacy, while my siblings - Jimmy, 11, Sarah at 10 and Megan, 7, had to share the room across mine. I had checked in on them not less than five minutes ago; they too were asleep.
That left me and Dad as the only ones awake at that time, and from what I could hear, I surmised that Dad was catching up on the late-night news. Our house, being a single-storied affair, had been my grandparents' before an accident snatched them from the world of the living. It was paid for, and that left us a better-than-surviving existence upon my father's income as a foreman and my mother's nursing job. Summer was just around the corner, and I was already looking forward to easing the financial strain by working somewhere.
We had always been a close-knit family, and I knew that Dad would be coming in soon to check on his 'little Angel, ' as he still called me. I didn't mind the pet name, though - I was having a very good relationship with my parents, and with Mom as a best friend and Dad as a cool protector, I had only half the problems of the other kids in the neighborhood. Dad wouldn't step in unless I asked him to, he always gave me that responsibility, and when he did, all he would have to show for it would be a scratched knuckle or two...
There was this guy who tried to rape me on our first date, right in front of my house, and... poor fellow! Dad had insisted that I include the three teeth that he had knocked out with the 'get-well' card. Few people messed with me, and while that left me with less quantity, I was sure the sacrifice was rewarded with better quality.
I hadn't counted on Dad's drinking that night, and when he stepped into my room, I could almost smell his breath all the way across. His eyes were glazed, too drunk to focus, and for the first time in my life, I remember a sense of uneasiness when he looked at me strangely. It took me a second to realize that, with my resting my book on my upright knees, I had probably flashed him a glance of my pussy. I immediately covered myself decently, but the damage was already done.
That was when Dad saw my diary on the floor. I was too far away to stop him, too naive to think that he would read it, and gasped when Dad turned to the last page. Still, I was not as indignant as I should have been; Dad wouldn't invade my privacy... would he?
"Dad," I pretended to be angry. "That's personal stuff."
"I shnow," he mumbled, turning the pages. "Thatsh why I wa' to read it."
"You are not supposed to," I protested, a little more alarmed - there were things he shouldn't know about - that he wasn't going to respect my wishes. My worst mistake at that point was that I did not get up and snatch it away. Dad started to read out my latest paragraph.
"... And even Ken (he was a friend's brother) can't really kiss, either... that's five boys I've come across this week who don't know how to kiss a girl properly. It's really disappointing to remember that I've never ever had a decent kiss in my lifetime. Do you think something is wrong with me -?"
"DAD!" This time, I moved, but Dad just pushed me back on the bed. Stunned, I stared at the ceiling as I listened to him. This was not happening...
"Every time I get my nerve worked up enough to kiss, it proves to be a damp squib. Maybe I should ask Uncle Dave (Mom's cousin) to kiss me, you know. Maybe what I need is a man's kiss... if I can't even kiss properly, diary, how can I ever hope to lose my virginity?"
If it were someone else's words, I swear I would have laughed at the crass naivete... the fact that my father was reading it out like some kind of riot-act removed all the humor from the situation.
.... There is more of this story ...