Thomas O'Sullivan & Edith Montgomery

Trauma

The summer rolled into winter, it was our final year at school. Edith was now seven months along and barely ever saw her dad - if she did it was with a huge coat on. She slept at my house mostly, but dad didn't let us sleep together. It was September, Saturday. I still hadn't made up with Bill.

Edith sat on the floor, playing with my baby brother.

"Where's it gone, Daniel? Where's the ball gone?" She cooed.

He got up and scrambled over to his favorite green ball, then chucked it at Edith. It bounced lightly off her head.

I got up from the sofa. "Hey, Daniel, we don't throw things at people okay?" I picked him up and held him on my hip.

Edith struggled to stand up.

"It's alright." She huffed, smiling at my baby brother.

She placed a hand on her back, groaning. Poor Edie, she shouldn't have to go through whatever she was going through.

I sniffed the air. Something smelled. It was Daniel.

"I think he needs a change. Will you be alright down here while I go and do that?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. You go." She smiled.

Both my parents were out - Mum, shopping. Dad, working.

I changed Daniel as quickly as possible, though that was easier said than done. He kicked, screamed, slapped me, and wriggled. It was impossible. Then I realized that in two months or so, I would have to do it for our own little one.

The realization hit me like a hard punch. I sealed the nappy and sat down on mum and dad's bed. I gripped my hair with my hands, my breathing becoming faster.

God. I was going to be a father. And I hadn't even done my A-levels.

I rubbed my hands nervously on my black joggers, swearing several times under my breath.

Then, Edith.

"Tommie? Do you need help." She stood by the door, leaning on the door frame, the sleeves of her grey cardigan stretched to hide her hands.

I stood up, breathless. She frowned.

"Oh, Thomas, sweetie, what's the matter? Are you ill?"

"N... no, no. F...fine." I stammered. One of her perfect eyebrows rose in suspicion.

"I know you, Thomas. You stammer when you get anxious. Are you worried about anything?

No. "Yes." Damn.

"What about?" She sat me down on the bed, and placed a hand on my thigh.

I didn't want to tell her, I didn't want to let her down. I didn't want to be the coward, I had to be strong for her, I had to hide my weakness, someway. Somehow.

"N...nothing. I... I'm fine. Really. I.... I... j...just... er... er..."

"Thomas." She interrupted, her voice soft and sweet as anything. "It's alright." She whispered. "You can tell me."

I couldn't. I couldn't. But my eyes betrayed me. My gaze wandered over to her bump. It was there, it was noticeable.

She knew where I was looking, what I was looking at. She swallowed hard and folded her cardigan around her, trying to hide the evidence. She was blinking back tears, looking frantically about.

"I'm sorry." She muttered, before she disappeared.

I stared after her, feeling guilty. Now she knew, what did she think of me? She shouldn't have said sorry, it wasn't her fault. No. It was mine.