Five AM on a Saturday morning, we sat in the dim room, only lightly illuminated by the rising sun. I sat there and smoked my 13th cigarette while you smoked your 14th. My breaths hurt, as I whispered that I loved you. You replied that the hurt in our lung was the only thing that was real to us right now and that we were lost, and the hurt right now was why we lived to exist. I couldn’t care less if it was true, though I listened. I listened to why you loved me, and why the world turned and through the sleepless night we had, I listened mostly to why everything around us has become so special. That’s when the words slipped right out of my mouth. Not I love you, but I’m pregnant, and I could see the wave of sadness hit your face, like the sea hits the coast. I saw you grab your jumper, and hand it to me. Though the cold air brought a chill to my body, I could feel the warmth of your shirtless body through the thin sheets. I closed my eyes, and I felt your body wrap around me, and besides the soft tears, and soft music that was playing, all that I heard was your lips state the words I love you.
Monday came, and I ran into you again, you didn’t say a word. I told you that the shirt really made your pale skin very toned and muscly but all you did was look at me. However all I saw was the same sadness I saw that morning was on your face. “Thanks,” you murmured in a sombre voice. All I could reply with was a simple smile. I knew what your reply was instantly, “we have to talk about…” I cut you off, “Connor, I’m sorry but it’s my decision, I’m 16 for Christ sake!” Instantly I knew I had angered you, the sadness in your face, cut my heart to pieces, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t be that person. “I know Sidney, I know that the abortion is YOUR choice, but do I get a say? Do I get to have a say ever?” I’m sorry I walked off, I’m sorry that I treated you that way.
By fourth period that day I was over it, I had seen your text; all that it read was “I’m sorry”, sorry for what? I was the one who was angry now; I wanted to have a rant about feminism, though I am far from one, why should I let Connor decide what I do with my body. Though, my thoughts collected themselves and I sneaked a quick text, “love you… talk this afternoon x sorry”. I really am sorry.
Four PM, I sat in your car, as we sat outside the school grounds, a cigarette in our mouths each we whispered. The smoke was relaxing, soothing and relieved me of all the stress that had built not over the last weekend, but the three weeks I had known of my pregnancy. “Connor, I’m having an abortion, I know you don’t agree but look at us, we’re seventeen and a half, we’ve been dating three months, I’m graduating high school in three months, why should I be robbed of a future? Just because you want a baby” Tears started rolling down my face. You pushed my brown hair to the side, and kissed my olive skin. “I won’t leave, and I’ll be a good father, and you know that just as much as me.” Instead of speaking lips had a small quiver, and tears streamed out of your beautiful hazel eyes. You continued however, bracing yourself and only replying with a hesitant, “you sure?”
You lit your third cigarette and we drove, I’m sorry I couldn’t be this person, I’m sorry we couldn’t have had this baby, but I’m lucky you understood, you understood me and how much this relationship meant. That’s why when we pulled up to the clinic I cried, “Thank You”.
I awoke this morning, and as I am packing for school, I am writing to you. I am sorry that I put myself first, and I was rude to you, and again I’m sorry that I was not the type of girl you expected. For the third night in a row, I slept less than an hour, and as I smoked my 9th cigarette that night I felt the chest pain, and I remembered how you explained that the hurting in our lungs and pain in our brains were the only things that were real, and how that in between the hurting we were lost, wandering the world and finding out what we lived for. I guess as I right, I live for myself, but for you also Connor, I’m sorry that I have put you through this, however I thank you for being there, and being my person. I am just sorry that I couldn’t be that person for you.
