CHAPTER 2

Salma 

The two stripes on the stick made my hands shake. I knew what they meant and still I picked up the small pack it had come in to read it for myself again.

I was pregnant. 

I shook my head vigorously as though willing the second line to blur away. When it did not, I took the tenth pregnancy test kit I had bought and tried to pee over the stick, but I was all dried up. 

“Salma! You’ve been in there for ages,” I heard my mother scream, “come on out. We're going to be late for your father's thing.” 

My heart beat faster than usual due to the anxiety within me. I looked around my bathroom, and sure enough, it was a mess. 

What would happen if I told my parents about the pregnancy? I bit my lower tongue so hard it drew blood. I needed a plan but first I had to get rid of my mother and get out of attending some paparazzi shoot for my father. 

I cleared my throat and shouted, “Can I just stay home? My period just came. I've got cramps.” 

I could imagine my mother rolling her eyes behind the door. "Can't you take some aspirin or something?” 

I looked at the multiple test strip kit that was scattered in my sink. 

“No. It's really painful mom. I feel sick too, like I'm going to throw up or something.” 

“Fine.” 

I heard her footsteps retreating afterwards but that brought only temporary relief. I stayed in the bathroom until I heard the family car pull out of the driveway. With shaky hands, I grabbed the keys to my car and drove to the nearest gynaecologist clinic in a panic. 

I had no plan but I knew that I needed to be sure. Perhaps all I had so far was a bunch of false positives. 

“I need an appointment with…” My voice faltered with fear as I spoke. Before I  could finish talking, I was waved over by a middle-aged woman in a doctor's coat. 

“Salma Gascon, isn't it?” She called out my name. Her face looked familiar but I could not place it. 

My hands trembled softly as I looked at this woman. What if she knew my parents? 

“Yes?” 

“Come to my office, let's talk,” she said with a warm smile on her face, and I was desperate for a friend. 

I followed her and once I sat opposite her, she asked, “I'm sure you must be facing some kind of problem. Are you alright?” 

Beads of sweat gathered on my forehead as I gathered the courage to speak up. 

I cleared my throat and stated simply, “I'm pregnant.” 

She looked shocked but said nothing immediately. When she finally spoke, she asked, “Have you told your parents about this?” 

“No, no…” I thought about how disappointed my father would be and how my stepmother would gloat about my promiscuity. 

“I cannot tell them,” I said, then my eyes caught a picture on her desk. I frowned; this was not good. 

“Are you Marilyn’s mom?” I asked. If she was, then it meant my stepmother was close friends with her, as my sister was best friends with Marilyn. 

“Yes,” she said in a serious tone, “I'm afraid I will have to tell your parents about this.” 

“I… please, you cannot. I'll do anything,” I broke into a cold sweat as the fear that hovered over me settled on my shoulders. 

“Tell me, Salma,” I saw her lips curve into a smirk, “who is the father?” 

I stumbled out of her office in a haze. How could I have been so stupid? The only person I could turn to in a time like now was my best friend who had ghosted me for days. 

I remembered how heartbroken I had been when I woke up the morning after our passionate lovemaking to find that he was gone. I could still remember how I had, with tear-filled eyes, called his number several times and had only gotten his voicemail. I had tried texting him on W******p too but he had blocked me. I had tried Snapchat, iMessage, I*******m, and even LinkedIn because I had been desperate for answers—I still was.

But today, I was desperate enough to go look for him at home, holding onto a thread of hope that there was a reasonable explanation for his sudden coldness. 

I pressed the doorbell but got no response. I knew Brandon was home because his car and bicycle were visible in the garage. I pushed the door open and noticed at once that the house felt quiet. I ran upstairs to Brandon's room. 

I pushed his bedroom door open and fell to my knees at once in shock. 

Brandon was there, alright, and he was clearly fine as he passionately kissed Marilyn. She was the girl who had poured vodka all over me at a school party—Marliyn Reeves.

Rage filled my throat and without thinking I lunged towards Marilyn and yanked her hair, dragging her with force to the ground. 

“Stop!” Brandon yelled at me, his eyes full of anger towards me. I staggered backwards in shock at the look of hate on his face. I couldn't believe it. 

Marilyn scrambled to get her clothes littered on the floor and ran out of the room without so much as a glance at Brandon. Brandon hissed at me. 

“What the hell do you want?” he demanded, his voice lacking any of the warmth I always associated with Brandon. 

“Brandon?” I called his name out of nothing but shock. What had I done to deserve such a vile look from him? Where was Brandon that had made love to me on our graduation night like I was the entire world he revolved around? 

“If you have nothing to say, get the hell out of my house, and by the way,” he paused, looking into my eyes with nothing but contempt, “I never want to see your fucking face again, ever!” 

I swallowed, wondering what I could have done to deserve what he was doing to me. 

“I'm pregnant,” I said quietly, more to myself than to him. I still couldn't believe it myself. 

Brandon looked at me and laughed like I had said something funny. “You're actually doing this.” 

I stared at him with nothing but pure shock. Did he think my being pregnant was some form of joke? 

“I don't understand why you're laughing.” 

“I'm laughing because you're pathetic,” he said, his voice filled with scorn for me. 

“If you don't want a part in the baby's life you can just say so. You don't have to insult me,” I was charged with anger at his cold reaction to my news. 

“If there was a baby, I might actually give a fuck,” he sounded bitter, “get out of my house, Salma.”