He Loves Me Not *Under Editing*

Her?

"Honey sit down."  I nervously side step into the room.  My smile has disappeared from my face and I am now confused instead.  "Who died?"

"Nobody, we just need to talk."

"Okay?"

"We think that you are old enough to know the truth since you'll be seventeen next week."

"What truth?"

"You are adopted."

"That's it?"

"Not exactly."

"Okay, what else?"

"Your English teacher is your mom."

"How do you know?"

"Because she is my sister."  At this point, dad was really uncomfortable so he got up and left the room.  I looked at my hands and tried to process this new information.  Ms. Anderson was, no, is my mother?  "You two sure don't act sisterly."

"Because we didn't want it to be awkward for you."

"I feel like you should have told me earlier."

"I know, but she asked for us not to."

"Did she know you were telling me today?"  It all made sense now, why she was nervous around me, and why she always treated me nicely.  She was always my favorite teacher.  I felt like she treated me like a daughter.  "Yes."

I got up, I was done listening to this.  I had questions but I didn't know if I should address them right now.  My mom gave me a pleading look and I sat back down.  It was now or never.  "Why didn't she raise me?"

"She was young, and when you were born, she couldn't look at you."

"She hated me?"

"She hated how you were conceived?"

"How?"

"She was raped, and that got her pregnant."

"Why didn't she just abort me?"

"Because she didn't want to take her anger out on you.  She dislikes abortion unless it is absolutely necessary.  She wanted to raise you when you were older, but when the time came, you had already established me as your mother you didn't even know who you were."

"So what do I call her now?"

"That is up to you and her."

"And if I choose to call her mom, what do I call you?"

"Mom."

"So I would essentially have two mothers?"

"Yes."

"Happy birthday to me."  I got up and left the room.  A small part of me felt like I had been lied to about who my mother was, but the other part of me felt horrible that for nine months, my mom had to grow up with me as a sadistic memory at what happened to her.  And every day she had dealt with me this year.  

I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the wall.  I wanted to talk to someone, but I didn't know who.  I could text Chyna, but she would want to come over and I wanted to be alone.  I could text Alex, but we just got back together and I wanted to take things slower this time.  I could text Cam, but he would tell Chyna.  I still had Michael's number.  My original plan to use him as backlash failed when I realized what a creep he was.  I needed to get my mind off of this, and his horrible pick up lines would be a good distraction.  I dialed the number slowly into my phone and held it up to my ear.  It rang for a few minutes.  Then he picked up.  "Mike here."