The Scandal

4. Backpedal

The smell of bacon made me sick as I started walking downstairs. I stopped halfway down, taking a few breaths in through my mouth and trying to fight the urge to vomit.

My parents were suspicious, but they wouldn't have guessed—no, not in a hundred million years—that their daughter had sex, much less that she was pregnant. They only thought that I still hadn't gotten over my breakup. They feared I was depressed or something like that.

The night before, actually, my Dad came in my room to talk to me. When he sat at the end of my bed, I wanted to get up and run away, because that meant a serious conversation was impending.

I had my laptop open, and I kept looking down at the screen, like I was busy, so maybe he wouldn't take an hour to say what he had to say.

That didn't work.

The very first thing he did was put a hand on the back of the screen and slowly start closing it. I rolled my eyes, and looked at him tiredly.

"What?" I said, annoyed.

"Liv, what's goin' on?" He asked gently.

I shook my head. "Nothin—"

"Olivia," he cut me off, putting a harsh hand out in front of him. "Don't say nothing. Your Mom and I know something is wrong. You're not yourself lately, sweetheart. We're worried about it. Whatever it is, you know we can help you. We're always here."

"I know."

I had to keep it short with him or he'd never leave.

He sighed. "Look, if you're not gonna talk to us about whatever it is, you should at least be talking to God."

(Internal screaming ensued.)

"I know."

"If you open up to Him, He'll put a hand on you. You can find real comfort in that."

"I know."

Not giving him much of a response always was the key. With that, he nodded, and stood up.

"Just know we love you," he said.

"I love y'all too," I said.

I opened my laptop back up, and he left.

I cried after that, but that's barely anything to mention. I cried all the time. I hoped that would he over soon, though, on account of my plan.

The plan was for the morning after that. The plan was simple. The plan didn't have many steps. The plan didn't involve many people.

Just me and Mateo.

I'd sat down on the staircase, thinking and hoping that maybe if I just stayed there I could fight off the nausea.

But my Mom showed up at the bottom, and she looked up at me, my head resting on the railing, and my arms clutching my stomach. She furrowed her eyebrows.

"Liv? Are you okay? You look like you're not feeling good."

She started walking up to me, so I quickly stood up, just making myself feel worse. I forced a tiny and probably not convincing smile.

"I'm fine," I said, then added to it before she could argue. "Teo's picking me up in a few minutes."

That confused her. "What?"

"Mateo."

"Yes, I know Mateo, honey, but it's a little early for you to be hanging out, isn't it?"