14. Delilah
DELILAH
No one would look at me. And if they did, it was with a pitying glance or judgmental sneer.
Weeks went by with no news about Cain and his case, and I worried the worst had happened.
My parents hadn’t checked up on me to see how I was doing, and my roommates ignored my existence completely.
I felt like a ghost. Drifting from class to class.
Not really here, but somehow still breathing.
Each night as I laid in my bed, silent tears flowed down into my pillow as I willed my body to relax.
My body hadn’t felt like my own since that day, and it took everything I had to convince myself I was safe.
The only solace was that Pastor John hadn’t been back yet.
Though, I knew it was only temporary. I would enjoy the reprieve while I could, because there was no knowing how it would be once he was here again.
Having to go to my theology class in the same room it happened was a form of torture in and of itself.
Every day I was forced to sit in the same chair I always did and see the wretched spot on the ground only a few feet away.
It made it impossible to focus, but Pastor Big C left me alone.
They all did. It must have been easier to act like I didn’t exist than to acknowledge I had been harmed.
I learned that pain and trauma made people uncomfortable.
They’d rather pretend everything was fine, because otherwise, that meant that their perfect little narrative didn’t fit.
But Pastor John would be back. Eventually.
Just the thought of it had bile rising to the back of my throat.
“You look sick,” Lauren said as she braided her hair.
I shrugged on my skirt, trying to button it. The material felt tighter than normal and I frowned, pulling on the fabric as I sucked in my stomach.
“Probably preggo with Cain’s baby,” Abigail snipped with a laugh.
Great. Weeks of silence and they choose now to start with their shit again. Except when I finally got the button latched on my skirt and turned around, I saw all three of my roommates staring at me.
“What?” I asked, sounding clipped.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“If she’s not then she should be worried about those stomach rolls,” Abigail said, giggling again at my expense.
My hand sat low on my belly, feeling a small swell there that I’d chalked up to bloating, but now that I went through the days in my mind, I realized that I hadn’t had my period since…
Now I really did have to vomit and I sprinted, drowning out my roommates’ combined laughter as I bolted for the bathrooms.
My knees crashed into the floor and my stomach heaved. I watched a stream of yellow sludge hit the back of the toilet and felt the sharp sting burn up my esophagus.
This couldn’t be happening. If my parents had just listened. Or the fucking cops. Someone. But no. Intervening like I wanted went against, ‘God’s Plan’ and they couldn’t have that.
Here I was, just shy of eighteen, carrying my rapist’s baby. I knew it the way you know your own name.
What the fuck was I going to do?
I didn’t get a moment to contemplate it because an authoritative voice called out to me, echoing off the tile in the girl’s bathroom. “Delilah Booker? You in here?” Ms. Planchard, my Chemistry teacher asked with an edge to her voice like she was looking to punish.
“Yes, Ms. Planchard,” I said weakly, hoping I sounded respectful enough for her liking .
“I’m going to need you to extricate yourself from this bathroom. You know the rules. Bathroom hours are between seven and eight. And it’s six fifty.”
The words I wanted to say nearly passed by my lips. Having bathroom hours should be illegal. They should be easily accessible for whenever the fuck you needed them. But it was just another tool in their arsenal to use against us.
“I apologize, Ms. Planchard. I didn’t realize the time,” I said, wishing I could talk back and tell her where she could shove it.
As I stood though, I felt another wave of sickness come over me.
“Delilah, are you sick?” She sounded horrified.
When I was able to turn around, I held my shaking hand to my mouth hoping that alone could stop any more from coming up. But my stomach had other plans and I threw up anyway, missing Ms. Planchard’s shoes by a mere centimeter.
“That’s it, you’re going straight to the nurse,” Ms. Planchard said, backing up from me like I was contagious. I swore I could hear her mumbling under her breath about germs and kids and what a bad career choice she made. I was inclined to agree with her.
The hallway began to fill with students as they lined up for bathroom hours.
Every single one of them watched me as if I were being walked to my death.
I felt like it too. Each step closer to the nurse’s office felt like one step closer to finding out my hunch was correct.
That I’d know for sure there was a baby in my belly. One I didn’t want.
“Delilah, what can I do for you today?” Nurse Jane asked.
“She was vomiting,” Ms. Planchard answered for me with a sneer.
“Oh. Oh dear. Why don’t you sit down here. Ms. Planchard, thank you for escorting her here.”
“Do you think it’s catching? Norovirus?” Ms. Planchard asked as I sat down.
Nurse Jane shook her head. “Hard to know for sure.”
Ms. Planchard’s eyes tracked down my body like I was a bug to squash.
“Well, you let us know if it is. Stuff like that has to be reported. We don’t want an outbreak on our hands.
” Then she grabbed a dollop of hand sanitizer from the automated dispenser that hung crookedly on the wall before leaving.
The strong scent of the sanitizer wafted in the air and had me wanting to barf all over again.
Ms. Planchard’s words about reporting a sickness circled around in my head.
For that they’d report, but not rape? It was swept under the rug, like it never happened.
It irked me that the most concern my own teacher had shown me since I was raped was over some presumed germs that may or may not impact her.
Actually, irked felt like too mild a word for what I felt towards everyone here.
I’d been treated like a pariah. I’d been told to shut up and trust in God.
And no one was willing to hear my side of the story, even though it happened to me.
Sitting here now in the nurse’s office as my future hung in the balance, I wanted to watch them all burn for how they’d treated me.
For what they allowed to happen to Cain.
“What’s going on, Delilah? Did you eat something? Let’s check your temperature,” Nurse Jane said, reaching for the thermometer.
“Actually, can I have a pregnancy test?”
Her entire body stopped and her hand hung midair before she swung to look at me. Her eyes were wide and her mouth parted open and closed like a fish out of water.
“Right. Right. Well…”
Her hand went to the cross that hung around her neck, fingering the silver charm.
“I might have one tucked away in the nurse’s kit. Let me check.”
As she rummaged through the cupboards, I was instantly transported to the last time I was in here. I’d been so focused on my physical symptoms that my brain hadn’t allowed me to go there yet, but when I looked around it all came crashing back.
The terror.
The violation.
And now… fuck.
“Ahah! Here we go. You just pee on this end here. There’s a bathroom right behind this door, and I’ll be here when you’re done.”
I followed her directions, closing the door behind me while my brain whirled with anxiety. My heart hammered in my ears as I sat there, trying to aim at the small stick.
For such a small thing it carried an immense weight. It had the power to change my future, and yet I had to sit here and wait three whole minutes before it was able to let me know the results. Worst magic eight ball ever , I thought as I stared down at the lines.
Wait.
Lines.
Two stark neon pink lines.
That meant…
“Knock, knock!” Nurse Jane said as she knocked right outside the door, sounding way too cheerful for what was happening inside my head right now.
“One second,” I said, my voice shaking.
I took a breath. Then another. Another. Like I needed to remind my body what it was supposed to do.
Then with a strength I didn’t know I had, I stood and opened the door, showing the nurse the positive pregnancy test, knowing that my life would never be the same again.