Accidents Happen

Chapter Ten-Let It Bleed

To her relief, her parents were still at work when she got home. This would give her time to make a game plan. She needed to figure out exactly what to say at exactly the right time. Locking herself in her room and taking out her drawing pad, she brainstormed every possible way she could tell them on a random page. She even googled how to do it. But, even after all of the help the precious internet provided, she had only come to one conclusion.

There was no 'good' way to tell them.

No way she could phrase or put this that would make it any better.

Soon, it was five o'clock, and her parents were home.

They were laughing about something as they walked in, Amara trailing close behind. She took dance after school, and her parents always met at the studio to pick her up, even though they drove in separate cars (seriously, Michelle wondered why they even bothered).

Asking them to sit and talk had been, by far, the most nerve-wracking part of this whole pregnancy thing. Telling Peter hadn't prepared her for this. Telling May hadn't even come close. Neither one of those revelations had been planned. They had been spur of the moment decisions, because they had realized something was messing with Michelle's head. Her parents realized, but they didn't inquire about it. Even though she didn't want them to ask her about it, it still made her mad that they didn't.

When they saw just how serious she looked, their expressions fell; they sent Amara to her room, telling her to go work on some reading. As the girl walked out, she gave Michelle a look, like she knew. Which maybe she did. Amara's fourteen, and she's smart. Perhaps she had long ago put the pieces of the puzzle together. Michelle threw up nearly once a morning, although she thought she had been secretive about it. Maybe she hadn't...

Now here Michelle was, pacing back and forth in front of them, her fingers anxiously fiddling with each other as her heels knocked against the tiles of the floor, making a sharp clunking sound. Franklin and Katherine were watching her, sitting on their living room couch; her father's face wore a worried expression as his eyes followed her movements, her step-mom eyeing her warily, hands folded in her lap.

"I have no idea how I'm going to say this," Michelle almost laughs to herself, still pacing, not even bothering to glance at her worried parents. When she told Peter, she said it quickly. When she told May, she didn't use words. And she wasn't the one that told Ned. Michelle had no idea what approach to take here, but she had a sonogram photo in her back pocket, just in case; plan B, she called it.

Katherine finally spoke up, raising her eyebrows, "Mich, are you alright?"

Michelle fought the urge to roll her eyes into another dimension.

God, this was hard.

"No, I am most certainly not alright," Michelle retorted with an exasperated huff. She stopped pacing, though she still couldn't look either of them in the eye.

Michelle chose to ignore that remark. Maybe her family doesn't trust her? I mean, it was a mistake that they did. They shouldn't have trusted her. She shouldn't have trusted herself. That's what led to all of this; their blind trust in Michelle.

"Do you need money for anything?" her dad questioned, the worried curiosity he felt was very evident. "Are you on drugs?" The words came out with a shocking casual undertone, though she knew if she said yes, her end monologue would begin with 'hell hath no fury...'

"No, no, no, no," Michelle shook her head vigorously. "I'm not asking for money, or anything like that," she reassured, though her parents were no less uneasy. "Except maybe a little mercy? Like, it

would be really cool if you didn't disown me or anything. And I know you're going to be really disappointed in me, I mean, I'm disappointed in me too. But... ugh, god..."

"What did you do, Mich?" Franklin asked, growing impatient.

It was then that she finally forced herself to look them in the eyes. The way both of her parents were looking at her right now, a horrible concoction of scrutiny and worry, was enough to make her want to run to Canada, burrow into the ground, and never come out again.

Now, she decided, at this point, it was best to just flat out tell them, though her voice was small and weak, lacking conviction. She had to rip off the band-aid and let it bleed.

"I'm pregnant."