The game of hearts

"Lines That Blur"

The two blue lines stared back at me, vivid and unrelenting against the stark white plastic. My hands trembled as I set the test down on the bathroom counter, the faint click echoing louder than it should. My future was ruined I had sketches of my future pinned on my bedroom wall—designs bursting with color, fabric swatches neatly arranged in rows, proof of the life I wanted to create. But now, all I could see was that faint blue line cutting through it all, unraveling everything. None of it included A baby.

I pressed my palms flat against the cool sink, the weight of the news pressing harder with each breath. My lips parted, but no sound came out, as if speaking it aloud would make it real. Staring into the mirror, I looked at myself and whispered, “What have you done, Nyla?”

I put my hand on my stomach and took a deep breath. He popped into my mind How am I going to tell him? Every worst scenario popped into my head. What if he stops loving me? What if he leaves me? I picked up the pregnancy test and stared at it. My fingers curled around the sink’s edge. The thought of losing him terrified me. I didn’t go through all of this trouble just to lose him now.

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September 2016

The door creaked open, its groan breaking the fragile silence. The faint scent of body spray and a sharper note of cologne hung in the air, tangled with the hum of a computer’s cooling fan. Ben swiveled in his chair, his eyes snapping to mine, wide and startled.

“Shit, Nyla, what are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, but his hand faltered as it raked through his messy brown hair.

I leaned against the desk’s edge, the corner digging into my thigh. “Why are you playing hard to get, Benny?” I said it in a serious way.

He let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not, Nyla. I have a girlfriend,” he muttered.

“Forget about her,” I said, annoyed.

Ben took a deep breath and said, “I can’t, Nyla.” As he said that, he didn’t look at me. I turned his chair towards me.

He stood abruptly, the chair rolling back with a squeak. “Angel…” he said with a soft tone, like at this point, he just gives up.

“Benny,” I said, edging closer. “You’re a freshman,” he said, his voice low, his back turned as though the sight of me might undo him. “And you’re 15.”

“So?” I shot back, crossing my arms to mask the heat rising in my cheeks.

He sat down on his bed, and I crawled next to him. He started to laugh and said, “Are you ever going to give up?”

I started to laugh, then turned his face toward me, hesitant but deliberate, tracing the rough line of his jaw. His breath caught, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

“I’ll give up when you’re mine,” I said, my voice soft and sweet. I smiled. His eyes met mine. I stared into his greenish-blue eyes. I love his eyes. We stared at each other for a while. Ben pulled away. My hand hung in the space between us before I let it drop.

“You’re cute,” he said as he got out of bed and just stood there.

“So are you!” I said, smiling, placing my hand on his sheet and the other on my leg.

Ben’s gaze lingered, unreadable and heavy. “Why do you like me?” My smile faded, and I sat up, crossing my legs on his bed.

Thinking about his question, I said, smiling, “Because you’re cute,” and I saw the way his face fell.

“Is that it? You like me because I’m cute?”

I didn’t know what to say right now. I’d been liking him since I was eight years old. I’m 15—that’s a long time. I don’t even remember why I started liking him. I looked up at him, and he was looking away.