Chapter 2
I hoped that the rhythm of daily life, the monotony, would help ease the pain.
They said time heals wounds, but whoever said that shit was the biggest liar because I couldn’t breathe.
Each morning, the ache got worse. I wondered if Xavier was okay, if he felt alone, and if that bitch Nathalie was happy.
At school, I went where I was supposed to go.
Sat where I was supposed to sit. Wrote down notes that blurred together the second I closed my notebook.
People around me were excited. You could feel it in the air.
This was new beginnings, new freedom, new lives starting.
My peers laughed too loudly; the corny wannabe frat boys talked too fast and made plans as if the future were guaranteed.
Little did they know I, too, thought my future was guaranteed.
X was supposed to get an apartment out here.
Slowly exit the drug game. He would enroll in school.
My baby thought he had to go to the local community college, but he was driven enough to transfer here eventually.
He probably would have fought me on it, but we could have both become Greek.
We could have switched half of our lanyards and done that corny shit twenty-somethings in love did because the worst thing that could possibly happen would be failing a final or messing up a step routine.
Life was supposed to be gentle and kind; instead, we got none of that.
X was ripped away from me, and our love turned out to be a sham. I had rose-colored glasses on when it came to loving X. I saw what I wanted to see.
I sighed as I felt a sharp pain pierce my side.
Lately, I’ve been experiencing sharp pains and extreme fatigue.
I could hardly keep food down, and the smell of that cafeteria food was enough to make me want to vomit.
I knew I should see the school doctor, but lately I had no zeal to do anything.
Although my assignments were easy, I didn’t feel like writing the reflection.
Although Kenya had finally started to call me and text me, I didn’t feel like responding.
Although I knew the chest pains I was experiencing weren’t normal, I didn’t feel like getting checked out because what the fuck was the point anymore?
I felt so fuckin’ hopeless that all I could do was focus on getting through one moment at a time.
I kept my head down. I didn't ask questions in class or to my academic advisor. I didn’t offer answers when Dr. Cane asked why I seemed so melancholy.
I just breathed. Because the truth was, I wasn’t there to start over.
I was there because I had been sent away.
And no matter how hard I tried to play the part, my body wouldn’t let me pretend for long.
I was losing weight because I couldn’t eat.
I had bags under my eyes because I wouldn’t sleep, and I was deemed a weirdo because I turned down every offer from my roommate, Janessa, to go to parties with her.
But one night, as I lay in our dorm alone, I noticed my breasts were tender to the touch. I couldn’t roll over without wincing. I told myself it was stress. I lost my virginity, my first love, and the relationship I had with my sister and my parents all back to back.
That made sense. Everything had changed too fast. New environment. New expectations. No closure. No answers. No Xavier. Of course, something in me would feel off. Of course, I wouldn’t feel like myself.
But then days passed. I started to feel like something was wrong, and as much as I wanted to ignore it, I had to face the music.
I started paying attention without meaning to.
I noticed the way my stomach turned on some mornings, the way certain smells hit me too strongly, and the way no amount of sleep could cure my sleepiness.
If I could be honest with myself, my body didn’t feel like mine anymore.
One night, I sat on the edge of my dorm bed, staring at the floor.
My roommate was at a party, per usual. The room was quiet.
That same kind of quiet I hated, the kind that made your thoughts louder than they should be.
I rested my hand against my stomach without thinking.
Just for a second. Just to ground myself, and something shifted.
Not something I could explain. My stomach didn’t move in anyway, but a feeling came over me.
I pulled my hand away like I had done something wrong.
“No,” I whispered. It’s not possible. Kenya made me take those pills every morning. I shook my head, standing up too fast, pacing the small room like I could outrun the thought forming in my head.
“No. That’s not what this is.”
But that feeling didn’t leave.
It stayed. The realization that I hadn't gotten a period since before Xavier and I’s first time together followed me. I remembered reading on Reddit that some girls didn’t get their periods while on birth control, so I assumed that’s why I haven’t been bleeding.
The more I talked myself down from the thought of being pregnant, the louder that voice in my head got. Until I couldn’t pretend anymore.
I didn’t take the test right away. I told myself I needed more time.
* * *
Days passed.
I went to class. Sat through lectures. I answered my professor when called on. I smiled when people looked at me too long, like they were trying to figure me out. Like they could see something I was trying to hide. Every morning, I woke up and told myself the same thing.
You’re overthinking it.
You’re stressed.
Your body is just reacting.
I waited. Because as long as I didn’t know for sure, I could still pretend. I could still be normal. Still be the girl my parents dropped off here with plans, expectations, and a future that made sense.
But the pretending started to feel like lying.
And I was getting tired of lying to myself.
Hell, I did that for almost a whole summer.
Lied to myself about being the Angel of a man who was the devil.
As much as I loved Xavier, I had to be honest with myself.
He lied. His sentence was probably his karma.
Why should I mourn someone who probably got what he deserved?
Except my heart wouldn’t allow me to believe he didn’t love me.
Even thinking that what we had was made up felt cheap.
How could I cheapen his love when I felt it?
That afternoon, after my last class, I walked off campus to the local pharmacy.
The store was small.
Quiet.
The kind of place where nobody really looked at you unless you gave them a reason to. I kept my head down as I walked the aisles, pretending to browse. Like I wasn’t there for one thing. As if I wasn’t about to confirm something I wasn’t ready to face.
When I finally grabbed the pregnancy test box, my hands began to shake. They felt foreign, as if they weren’t attached to me.
I paid without looking at the cashier.
The walk back to my dorm felt like I was walking for miles. My body felt heavier. Every step was louder than it should have been.
When I got back to my dorm, my roommate still wasn’t there. Of course, she wasn’t.
She was always somewhere.
Living.
Laughing.
Doing all the things I couldn’t seem to do anymore.
I locked the door behind me, set the bag down on my desk, and just stood there.
Staring at it.
Like it might open itself or give me a different answer if I waited long enough. I walked into the bathroom slowly, closing the door behind me. The space felt smaller than usual.
Too bright.
Too quiet.
I followed the instructions without thinking. Step by step. I hoped that if I focused on that, I wouldn’t have to feel anything else. And then I waited. That part felt the longest. My heart was beating too fast. My hands were cold and clammy.
My mind was blank. I didn’t know if I should pray.
What exactly would I be praying for to not have a piece of the love of my life, or to have a piece of the love of my life and be a teenage pregnancy statistic with no help, because surely my parents would cut me off?
My sister, who had never abandoned me, would surely disown me because she warned me not to get pregnant by a King brother.
As I waited those three minutes on edge, suspended between not knowing and knowing.
When I finally looked down, I saw the two lines bright and clear, unmistakably staring back at me. I was in shock, and I just stood there staring. Like if I looked long enough, they would shift. Blur. Maybe turn into something else.
My grip tightened on the edge of the sink, but I still didn’t move.
I reached out slowly and picked up the test, turning it over like there might be another answer hiding somewhere on the other side.
There wasn’t. Just the same truth staring back at me.
I exhaled, long and quiet. And that’s when it settled.
I was pregnant with Xavier King’s child.
My chest tightened at the thought of him.
Because for the first time since he was gone, I didn’t feel completely empty.
I sat down slowly on the closed toilet seat, still holding the test in my hand.
My thumb brushed over the edge of it without thinking.
And my other hand… found its way back to my stomach.
Resting there gently and carefully, as if I already knew I had to protect something.
I closed my eyes.
And for a second, just a second, everything else faded. The questions. The rumors. Zay’s voice in the car warning me about the babies Xavier already had on the way. My parents. All I could feel was this quiet, fragile connection to something that hadn’t even fully formed yet.
To him.
A piece of him.
A piece of us.
My throat was tight, and I finally felt dangerously close to hope. And that’s when I knew, I couldn’t tell anyone.
Not my mom.
Not my dad.
Not Yaya.
Not Zayden.
Not anyone.
Because the second I told anyone, it would come with questions I couldn’t answer and judgment I couldn’t carry.
So I kept it to myself. I held it close.
I couldn’t protect X that night, but I would protect the X in my tummy.
Xander is beautiful, I thought. Whether it’s a boy or a girl.
I remember that in a Greek mythology book I was obsessed with, Xander meant “protector of humankind.” Xander would protect me from loneliness, and I would protect my baby from the world's woes.