The Heart That's Inside

chapter SIX

"The reason I never give up hope is because everything is basically hopeless"

-Anne Lamott

Fall Out Boys "Thanks for the memories" blasts out of the radio's speakers. I turn the dial up more as I sprawl out across my bed. I can already hear the ringing in my ears from blaring it too loud, but I didn't care. I didn't want to think, didn't want to listen to my thoughts. Drowning them out sounded like a better idea.

It's been weeks since Andrew had called. My dad made sure I had no access to any phones, in the hope that I wouldn't be tempted to call him back. Knowing he called, wanting to talk, has been driving me insane. What could he possibly want with me after so many months?

My dad bangs on the floor underneath my room, telling me to turn it down before he comes up there and does it himself. I slowly fade the music out, I need to get ready for school anyways. The days have been dragging on lately, I can't find the strength to get up, let alone study, or do any homework. It's not like this school has been particularly inviting either, even though I had slightly higher expectations of it turning out better than the last.

I thought that coming back to my old town, and my old friends, would be a better experience. I had hoped that once they knew I was home, I would see them more. Maybe they could even get me out of this slump I've been in lately. They were all so happy for me, said they'd be there for me no matter what. Turns out that was a joke, the moment I entered the high-school pregnant, they pretended I didn't even exist.

They joined in on the stares, and the whispering. I could feel every pair of eyes on me, anytime I walked into a classroom, or down the halls. Their new friends accusing me of trying to steal them back, and in turn, telling everyone what a slut I was and I should just drop out. I thought about it once or twice, maybe I should leave, come back once I've had him. As hard as it's been though, it's really important to me that I finish high-school. I want my child to have something to be proud of me for, even if it's just as simple as a certificate.

I jump out of bed, sluggishly making my way towards my dresser. I'm happy that I'm still fairly small and can fit in most of my old clothing, I hated the maternity clothes. It just looked like something a grandmother would wear, or, someone whose age was appropriate for carrying a child. I sigh, I'm always doing that. Talking down, reminding myself how shitty I am for getting pregnant. This baby deserves so much better than me.

I throw on a much more stretchy pair of jeans, sliding them over my bump along with my favorite light blue tank top. I slip on my overly worn black sweater, the one with the holes in the sleeves. It's comfiness was starting to wear out, but I couldn't give it up. It's been with me through everything. It acted like a teenage version of a blanket that some children would carry around for their own security. I needed it now more then ever.

I race out my bedroom door, slamming it behind me. Carefully running down the steps until I reach the middle of the stairs. All of sudden, I can feel my feet give out from underneath me. My socks acting like grease on a hardwood floor. I tumble onto my back, trying to brace myself with my hands. I land at the bottom of the stairs with a loud thump. My dad comes racing over to me from the kitchen as fast as he could.

"Oh no, Ellie!" he yells, running to help me up.

"Are you okay, did you hurt yourself?" he looked terrified.

"What happened?" questioning why I was suddenly on the ground.

"I, I don't know," I stammer, already feeling the pain starting in my back and legs. This was going to hurt later.