The Mute and the Menace Read online

  But my mom?

  How can anyone abandon their child so easily? With so little remorse?

  My hand instinctively falls to my belly again, and a chill runs through me, just thinking of what's to come.

  I see shadows moving up above, and I quickly walk away from the window and continue on to the store.

  The last thing I want is for my mom to see me lurking outside her window like some creep. She'd probably laugh in my face and tell me to get a life.

  Yes, my mom would definitely say something like that.

  My chin wobbles, the over inflated hormones inside of me taking over. I'm not usually an emotional person, but this day is already throwing me for a loop and it's barely even started.

  Opening the door to the corner store, the little bell above me rings loud and obnoxiously. I keep my head down, not wanting to be noticed or conversated with. Not today.

  Walking to the feminine hygiene section, I keep my eyes glued to the different boxes available as dread starts seeping in. Why are there so many?

  One, two, three, four, shit. There are so many brands. Which one am I supposed to choose? Do I get the one with the plus and minus or just get the one that says pregnant or not pregnant?

  And why are they so damn expensive?

  My heart starts racing, and I grab two of the first ones I can reach, shoving them under my arms and speed walking to the cashier. I avert my eyes as the cashier scans and bags the tests and instead pretend to be interested in my phone, when in fact all I'm doing is scrolling through my Facebook feed at a speed that I can't read anything anyway.

  I give them cash out of my pocket and snatch the bag off the counter, not even waiting for the change or my receipt.

  The bell jingles again when I open the door to leave, but I barely give it a passing glance as I walk out of there like my ass is on fire. I race home, not even looking at that damn apartment above the bar this time around.

  When I get home, I race into my bathroom and shut the door, grab the bottom of the bag and tip it over, spilling the tests onto my bathroom counter.

  I grab the first one and look it over, reading the pink box that tells me it's nearly one hundred percent accurate and can practically tell you you're pregnant before you even get pregnant.

  I roll my eyes. Whatever. Let's just get this over with.

  I open the pink box and the blue box and grab the sticks out. Sitting down on the toilet, I shove the first stick between my legs, and then the next one. I bite my lip as my eyes fill with tears, and then gasp out a sob as I finish going to the bathroom.

  I don't want this.

  I wipe and flush, putting the sticks on the bathroom counter and then shuffling over to the other side of the bathroom, sitting down on the floor and folding my knees up against my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs and laying my forehead against my knees.

  I don't want this.

  I sniffle, hating what's happened and praying it isn't true, even when I know without a doubt, it is.

  I don't know how long I'm supposed to wait, since I didn't read the directions fully. But I do know I'm supposed to wait at least a couple minutes.

  I close my eyes.

  And wait.

  "Cara! Are you almost ready?" Banging on the bathroom door startles me from sleep.

  I roll my neck to the side to relieve the stiffness and shout, "Hold on!"

  I stand up, momentarily confused on why I'm on the bathroom floor. One glance at the bathroom counter and I'm reminded.

  Those fucking sticks.

  It's like there's a spotlight on them, enhancing the sticks and making the rest of the bathroom smothered in shadow. Like it's mocking me.

  I forgot all about Easton's big fight tonight. Once I started walking to the store this morning, everything else kind of became a blur. Life melted away and the only thing I could think about is the answer on those tiny sticks. I consider just getting ready for the night and getting so shitfaced I forget all about them. Forgetting about all my problems and instead ignoring them until I'm forced to deal with it.

  But I know, once I got to the Pit tonight, I'd be so on edge from not knowing the answer that I’d probably have to leave before Easton fights, anyway.

  The Pit is an underground fighting ring where the most brutal fighters go to spill blood. It's not for lightweight boxers. If you plan to fight at the Pit, you better expect to get bloody.

  No, I have to know if it's true. I have to know if I'm pregnant.

  "Are you ready yet? We're going to be late." Rose shouts from the other side of the door, banging again.

  "One, two, three…" I stand up and rush over to the sink before I have a chance to change my mind. I look at both of the sticks. One of them has a bold, pink plus displayed across the screen. There is no denying that it's a positive. The other one says in miniature caps PREGNANT and I feel it drop out of my hands before I even blink.

  I'm fucking pregnant.

  I bend down and pick up the stick. In a daze, I open the door and mumble, "Okay, before we go… I need to tell you something." I stick it in Rose's face, and her eyes grow wide before slapping my hand away from her.

  "Fuck! What the—what the fuck?" I try sticking it in her face again, unable to even formulate the words in my mouth. She shoves me away—again. "What is that?"

  "I'm pregnant." The words tumble out of my mouth and taste like a poisonous acid on my tongue. I don’t even have time to come to terms with the fact there is a fucking human growing inside of me.

  They tumble out.

  Effortlessly.

  "What? Wh-who's is it?" She asks. And if she continues to give me that look of pity, I'm going to slap it right the fuck off her face.

  "Who do you think? It's Jackson's!"

  "Does he know?"

  "No, he doesn't. Don't say anything to him or Easton. Promise me?" I clutch the pregnancy test between my hands in a prayer pose at the thought of Jackson finding out. He will find out, eventually. I just have no desire to tell him anytime soon.

  I wish I never had to tell him.

  "You're going to tell Jackson though, right?" She whispers, like she can hear my thoughts.

  I shrug, feeling a heaviness in my chest as reality sinks into the deepest part of my bones. "Maybe. Probably. I don't know." I shrug again, feeling helpless.

  I hate Jackson. I can't bring a baby into this world with how toxic our relationship is. Maybe I need to give it up for adoption? Maybe I need to—fuck.

  Maybe.

  "Why?" She asks, her bottom lip slightly wobbling, which makes my already inflated emotions completely overflow.

  "Because I don't know if I'm going to keep it." And as the seconds go on, I know it's the right thing to do. I need to give it up for adoption. I can't keep this baby.

  I don't want to keep this baby.

  "Wh-why?" Her eyes fill up with tears, and it makes me angry. It makes me so, so angry.

  "Because I fucking hate Jackson." I spit between my teeth. She has no idea how it got between us. She can never know how bad it got.

  "What happened between you two? It's not like you guys have always hated each other." She says.

  I feel the heat start creeping up my chest and neck, anger and fury swirling together with my hate for Jackson. "He is seriously the worst person I've ever met. I thought he was just hurting because of Logan, but it’s more than that. All he cares about is himself. Ugh, he's such a bastard!" I use all my might and chuck the pregnancy test into my bathroom. I wish it was something that could have shattered into a million pieces. "This is why I don't want to go tonight. I don't want to see Jackson, and honestly, I'm not in the mood to do anything besides mope." And research my options. I need to come up with a game plan, and fast.

  "But, Cara… tonight is a big night for Easton. You know I need to be there. And I don't feel safe going without you."

  Fuck, she knows just how to get me. I would never make her to go the Pit alone. That place is a magnet for illegal shit and bad
luck.

  Groaning, I say, "Fine. Fine! I'll fucking go. Don't let Jackson get anywhere near me. I swear I'll throat punch him the moment he says some smartass comment to me. Okay?"

  She has no idea how serious I am. Baby or not, Jackson has gotten on my last fucking nerve. One look in my direction and I will castrate his ass.

  "Fine. I will guard you from Jackson." She says with a heavy eye roll.

  As irritated and snarky my best friend can be, I know she's got my back. She's the truest person in my life. My ride or die. The one person in my life that won't leave me.

  Now look, I'm going to leave my own child.

  The circle of fucking life.

  "Can we go yet?" I ask Rose.

  My feet hurt.

  They ache so bad, but not nearly as bad as the aching muscle in my chest. I'm not sure why, because it's not like I have any feelings from the asshole standing twenty feet away from me.

  Because I don't have any feelings. For Jackson, that is.

  Turns out, when you're pregnant, going to the Pit is no longer fun. It's stressful and painful and having to stay sober while everyone around you gets sloshed makes you feel like an outsider stuck on the fucking inside.

  I've been stuck here, on the inside, for over an hour. The fight is over, and people are drinking and celebrating Easton's win, again, and all the bikers from California are having a fantastic time while I'm sitting here wondering if I should tell the father of my child that I'm having his kid.

  Then I look over and see some biker trash on his shoulder and I laugh, telepathically telling my child that it’s better off without him.

  We all are. And that's why I'm going to give my child up for adoption. Because I can't imagine raising a child with Jackson, nor can I see him ever giving enough emotion to care about a child in the first place. Even if it is his own.

  The thought of my child being unloved makes tears spring to my eyes, because I know that feeling deep in my fucking soul this child deserves more than Jackson and I have ever had. I know that I won’t be able to give the baby what it needs, and the niggling in my gut makes me think Jackson won’t be able to, either.

  And of course, right when I'm hitting emotion overload is the moment that Rose decides to come back.

  "What's wrong? What happened?" She asks.

  I shake my head and walk towards the exit. "Nothing, let's go." I don't want to talk about what will never be my child. And I even less want to talk about any of that stuff at the Pit.

  Unfortunately, walking towards the exit means walking past Jackson and Slut-bag. Sadness turns to anger and before I have a chance to clamp my mouth shut, verbal diarrhea spews from my lips as I sneer, "Fucking slut." And my eyes grow wide as I try to hurry off towards the door.

  And please know, I'm not trying to race to the door because I'm scared of the biker. I'm racing because I don't want Jackson to think, under any circumstance, that I'm even slightly jealous of him. Because I'm not. If anything, I pity the poor bitch who wants to ride his dick.

  "Excuse me, what did you just say?" I hear from behind me, and I know this isn't going to be good. Not good at all. I keep walking, hoping that she goes back to sucking face with Jackson and forgets about me. But before I know it, I feel two hands push into my back with all their might.

  I'm thrown off guard and stumble over my feet, falling onto my knees and onto the ground. My palms and knees catch most of my fall, but my stomach still jumps at the almost contact with the cement floor.

  My eyes start to water. Fuck these pregnancy hormones! I can't do this anymore. I can't feel this emotional with the way my life is. At this rate, in eight months I'm going to be a fucking prune from dehydration. And worst of all, everyone saw me fall to the ground like some pussy.

  Jackson included.

  Rose tries to help me up, and I just shrug her off and try to get up myself. It isn't until I tune into her shouting that I snap out of my emotions.

  "…She's pregnant…"

  "Rose!" I screech, standing up and glaring at her in outrage.

  I look over at Jackson, and he's staring right into my soul. It's not a connection that I can link to, though. Because the way he's looking at me, it's like whatever we've experienced together never happened. It's like he has no idea who I am anymore.

  Like we never mattered.

  "You're pregnant?" He whispers, too quiet in this too loud room. He rarely speaks out loud in public, and I know he's too in shock to notice his slip-up.

  I nod, worried how this will play out. Worried how it will end.

  "Is it mine?" He snarls quietly, like a fucking predator. He looks untamed, which is so unlike him. Always so put together, always so sure of his surroundings.

  His face has so many emotions flitting past it that I can barely keep up. Two are the most prominent and the most heartbreaking—like the thought of the kid being his is horrifying, but the thought of the kid being anyone else's is almost more painful.

  I nod, not sure what else to say. Who else's would it be?

  It’s like a bomb goes off.

  Jackson’s face turns from red to purple, and his eyes grow wide as he takes a step back and lifts the chair behind him, whipping it with both hands towards the bar. People scream and run for cover as glasses and bottles shatter into tiny pieces across the bar table and floor.

  “What the fuck, Cara?” Jackson roars. Hollers, really. I’ve never seen him so angry, nor have I ever heard him yell so loudly before. The quiet spoken Jackson has snapped in half.

  He gives me a look of disgust before walking towards the exit without another word.

  “Jackson!” I snap out of my shock and race after him.

  “Fuck you, Cara. Leave me the fuck alone!” Jackson barks, slamming the back door shut in my face. The humid air from outside blasts across my face like it doesn’t want me around, either.

  The emotions from today finally bubble over, and I let loose a strangled sob from deep in my throat as I pull open the heavy door and run after him.

  “Jackson! Jackson!” I sob as I run after him.

  He doesn’t acknowledge me and keeps walking, and I wonder how long he’s going to walk until I see Easton’s truck in the distance.

  “Stop! Please… stop.” I gasp and bend over, winded from running so fast and crying so hard. Jackson is one dark blob moving away from me and I’m sure to a passerby I look like a psychotic clinger.

  He stops at Easton’s truck, and hesitantly lifts his gaze over his shoulder to look at me. I give him a look of pure need. It’s not that I want to be with Jackson, but I want to be given a chance to explain. A chance for him to hear the words coming out of my mouth instead of from Rose. I try to express all of this with my eyes from yards away, but all he does is give me his signature blank stare before hopping in and speeding away.

  That’s it.

  He’s gone.

  I curl forward and press my forehead against the pavement, letting out a guttural groan and weeping all over the ground.

  I barely notice when Rose comes up behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, hun. Let’s go home.” She says softly, helping me up.

  I barely notice as she carries me to her car and buckles me in.

  I don’t pay attention to the drive home, crying so hard I can barely see straight.

  I’m barely conscious when she helps me into the house and into my bed, tucking me in and staying next to me the entire night as I cry myself to sleep.

  I cry for Jackson.

  I cry for Logan.

  I cry for the parents who don’t love me.

  I cry for the baby I’ll never really call my own.

  I cry for myself because I’ll always be alone.

  I just cry.

  Snapping back to the present, I wipe my tears and walk towards the entrance of the bar. Creaking open the door, I immediately wrinkle my nose at the smell of stale beer and desperation.

  I haven’t spoken to Jackson since that night, and although I wa
nt to slug back home and wallow in self-pity, I refuse to let myself go back to that person my stepdad made me into. I’m no longer going to sit in my darkened room and cry.

  My first step is to confront my mom. But not only confront her, I also need her advice. I still haven’t decided if I want to keep this baby, and although I’ve told Rose I keep saying I don’t want it, a part of me can’t help but want to keep it. I want to hold this thing I made and smell its new scent and kiss and protect it from the craziness of the world.

  My skin prickles with nerves as I see a group of men standing around the bar. I don’t recognize any of them besides the man standing behind the bar. Lewis, the bar owner, glances up as I walk towards them. Gray hair that falls around his chin in thin waves. His beer gut has been present since I met him when I was a child. It’s grown over the years, practically busting out of his jeans now. The bar has been his life, and he’s always been friendly. Not because he likes me, per se, but more so because living your life as a bar owner you kind of turn into a psychologist at some point. You have a little sympathy for everyone.

  “Look what the cat dragged in.” He lifts his bushy eyebrow my way.

  “Hi, Lewis. Is my mom upstairs?”

  “Last time I seen her she was.”

  I nod and start making my way towards the stairs.

  “Cara.” He barks at me. Turning around, I notice the group of men have turned around to tune into our conversation. They’re all old, retired men who live in town. Probably nothing better to do than drink their lives away.

  “Hmm?”

  “You doin’ okay? You don’t look too good.” He frowns at me, his wrinkled face sagging in worry. He can probably smell problems from a mile away. As much as I want to cry on the shoulder of someone older than me, Lewis can’t be that guy. I know he’d gladly step in as a temporary parent for an hour, but some way or another my mom would find out and figure out some way to make me miserable about it.