The Boy with the Whiplash Tattoo

Seven

The phone rings. It cuts through the silence of the house like a knife through butter, making me jump.

I didn't even know we had a phone.

The sound is high and shrill, and it reminds me of the trains back home; we used to live near a station. I spent a lot of time round there, and I used to love the whistles of the huge machines as they roared past our house. Those were the only moments I had a chance to scream at the top of my lungs and vent some of my anger. No one heard me above the rumble and piercing cries of the trains.

Aaron came back in, holding out the cordless receiver.

"It's your mother," he said, so much hurt and pain in his eyes and voice.

My heart went impossibly cold.

"Yes?" I asked stiffly, keeping the phone hovering away from my ear as if afraid it'd burn me.

Aaron disappeared.

"Mum-I..." I didn't have anything to say to her.

"No, no hold on," she cut in. "Don't tell me, let me guess."

I said nothing, stunned. I had no idea what she was talking about.

"You're pregnant?"

My mouth dropped open.

'What?!' I shouted in my head.

She obviously didn't understand. There was no way anything like that could ever happen.

I was suddenly very grateful for the kind of man Aaron was. He hadn't taken unfair advantage of me.

"No, I'm not," I said out loud, and before she could say anything else, put the phone down.

Turning my face to the wall I let out a huge sigh, struggling to swallow around the lump in my throat, and felt hot tears start pool in my eyes. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the weight in my chest, and an ugly sob seeped through my clamped lips.

A hand cupped my shoulder gently.

I didn't dare turn my head, I didn't want him to see my crying and I didn't want him to go away.

"What did she say?" He asked, quietly, but his voice was tight with anger.

I laughed through the tears, making a pathetic, snorting sound.

"You don't want to know," I answered.

"If she makes you cry again... " It was an empty threat. He was just as afraid as me.

I shook my head.

"There's nothing you can do."

He looked sympathetically at me, squeezed my shoulder lightly, and then retreated.

"Wait-"

He stopped.

"I don't understand. Why do you care what happens to me? You hate me."

His eyes filled with unfathomable sadness. He stared hard at his feet.

"I don't hate you," he murmured softly. "I Never could."

I heard the unspoken words because I knew I felt just the same.

'Even though I tried.'