Nine Lives (9 page)

Neither of us barely notice or care when Laina arrives, hair tousled and red-faced, looking smug. Her squint is furious when she realizes we’ve been whispering about her. Instead, Noelle kicks the bathroom door shut, locks it, holds me, and rocks me. She whispers the Lord’s Prayer into my hair, the way I did for her after nightmares as a child. I focus on her words, shutting out Laina’s singing from the kitchen. I fall asleep, right there on the bathroom floor, in the middle of the day, in Noelle’s arms listening to her still-girly voice. Sleep is my only escape, and no nightmare could ever be as scary as the one I am living in every time I wake. We never get to studying for Noelle’s exam.

Chapter Ten

Cast The First Stone

Faith

I’m so fucked. I’m sorry, I don’t know a nicer way to say it. Now isn’t the time to be polite or any of that. I need to get right to the point. I think I’m pregnant, for Christ’s sake! Three tests have come up positive. The great thing about having parents who breed like rabbits is there’s always pregnancy tests under the bathroom sink. I have no idea who the father is. I didn’t even think I could get pregnant at fourteen. I mean, who does that? I’m a kid. I’m not old enough to be anyone’s mother.

Mom already hates me. I can’t imagine how this is going to go when she finds out. I don’t want to tell Laina. I’m not sure how she’ll react. Lately, I’ve been feeling sorta bad about what we did. Laina wouldn’t like that. She says Dad deserved it. I know she’s right, but I can’t help feeling bad sometimes for Mary and Jeremiah. If I told Laina, she’d probably make this worse.

Willow was teaching me about the Wiccan religion. It’s a type of Paganism. Some call it witchcraft like it’s all about black magic or something. Whatever. They don’t know what they’re talking about. The only commandment they have there is to do no harm. Killing the kid—no matter how it was created—is doing harm. I’m not saying I’m Wiccan. I haven’t figured that out yet. But I know that I’m sick of ruining people’s lives and causing so much pain. I know there has to be a way to pray or wish this whole thing away. Like give the baby to some lady who wants a kid and can’t have one of her own. I’m not sure I can go through with this, harmful or not. Having this kid will harm me. Like I’m not already a total screw up.

You see, the whole thing with Slash wasn’t just a kiss. I know no one will believe me. And I don’t want to hurt Sadie. But I probably should have told Jada the truth. The whole thing with Slash was a whole lot more. I don’t even know if it was his fault. I mean, I sort of liked the attention. I also know the law says he shouldn’t have done what he did. I’m only fourteen. But I have a brain, and I could have made him stop. I’m praying it’s Hunter’s, but will that be any better? Hunter’s not ready to be a father either. And Hunter is good about being safe. He always has condoms. Even the flavored kind. It has to be Slash.

The only person I can think to talk to about this is Harley. Harley will believe me about Slash—I think. I mean, she knows these things really do happen. If we hadn’t lied about Dad, maybe this would be easier. I could just blame Slash and keep Hunter and Willow out of it. I’m worried they will hate me when they find out.

This is sick, but I’m jealous of Hope. Her kid just died. She didn’t have to worry about making a choice or what to do. Hope wanted her kid, though. Hope is just like Mom, always excited to learn she’s pregnant again, before she’s even stopped breastfeeding the last one. I just don’t get it. That will never be me. I wish God or the Goddess or whoever is in charge would take my kid and put it in Hope, so no one would get hurt. All I do is cause hurt.

I hate myself. I feel like this is karma for the stuff I did with Laina. I deserve this and there’s not enough cutting in the world that will make me feel better. It doesn’t mean I won’t try. I found a box knife in the cellar. It’s a little rusty, but not something I can’t clean up. Mom hid the razors again. Stupid. I wish I could cut this thing out of me. I’m hoping the tests are just old, I mean, Mary’s five. Maybe they are wrong.

I blame Mom. Laina says she’s invisible? Try having your sister tell your mother that some sick old man is harassing you, and your mother does nothing about it. She was too distracted with Laina and her probation officer to even bother to report it to the cops. I’ve been shoving my arms in her face for two weeks to get her to ask me what’s wrong. She doesn’t ask anything. Just guilt trips me about Jeremiah not being able to build shit with Dad. I’ve thought about reporting it myself, but I can’t do that now. If I went down there now, they’d make me do a rape kit at the hospital and they’d find out I’m pregnant. So, once again, thanks for the help, Mom.

You wonder why I’m such a screw up. Don’t waste your time thinking about it too much. It’s pretty obvious. Have a mom who basically doesn’t care. Have a mom who is too busy praying, making more babies, or covering her own ass. Have a father who claims to be protecting you but locks you down like you’ve broken every one of the commandments when he’s got you confused for your older sister. That’s how you end up like me. It will be interesting to see how she explains my stomach away to the people at the church— if I even keep the kid. I dare them to cast the first stone, though. I mean, what right do they have to judge me? They have no idea what it’s been like growing up in this Nelson family cult, something they’ve supported.

Tonight, I’ll call Harley. I hope she hasn’t blocked me. I know she’s madder at Laina than she is at me. She knows this was all Laina and Sadie’s idea. She knows I never meant to make fun of what she went through. I was the one who listened to her, Laina just interrupted her, questioned her, and basically took notes so our own story would be believable. Laina even hit on her older brother before he finally got found guilty and went off to jail. I bet that jerk is Dad’s cellmate. That’s one thing I don’t feel bad about. Dad deserves whatever Dad gets. He loves rules and structure and all of that. He never gave those rules to the boys. He’s as sexist as they come.

I wonder what Harley will say and if she’ll even believe me. I think she will help me. She may at least know who to call or what to do. She was in this position before—well, sort of. I don’t think she ever had a pregnancy scare, thankfully. It will be nice to talk to her again. I haven’t heard from her since the night we slept over and Laina told her the truth about what we’d done. She was so hurt. I feel really bad about that. I have cuts to prove it.

I guess I just have to be okay with the idea that Slash will never get punished for what he did. I mean, if he did go to jail with the rest of them, what would happen to Sadie? She lives off of him and for him. I can’t understand that. He’s rude and drinks too much. He obviously has no respect for his commitment to her. She would probably blame me if she found out the truth. I’m probably better off Mom couldn’t care less and didn’t bother to follow up. Then again, Mom doesn’t know the whole story, so maybe she has a valid excuse. There’s a big difference from someone hitting on you and trying to kiss you than what he did, many times.

If Mom ever finds out what really happened, she’ll blame Sadie. She likes to blame Sadie for a lot of things. She seems to think that if Sadie never ran away with Slash in the first place, everything would be hunky dory. We wouldn’t have ever said the things we did about Dad, and he would still be here, laying down the law. She’d be scrambling to make sure his dinner was ready the second he got home from work. She’d spend the night rubbing his head and telling him not to blame himself for not being able to fill the oil tank. The next day, she’d make Laina and I help her load the tank with diesel because we needed hot water for showers and dishes. She’d yell at me for taking too long of a shower, making me use an egg timer to limit myself to five minutes. Do you know any teenage girls who take five-minute showers? I don’t.

I don’t blame Sadie for anything. If it wasn’t for her, we’d still be in church all day every Sunday. We’d wake up for mass every weekday and have to listen to a lesson in Latin before going back home. What a joke that was, too, with Jeremiah running all over acting like a maniac. I know Mom wishes she’d become a teacher, but I really think she’d have been better off as a nun. Nuns can’t breed like rabbits and screw kids up.

If Sadie hadn’t run away with Slash, Laina and I would be even more invisible than we are now. I can’t see what made her want to be with Slash, except the money he’s always giving her. His mother died a few years back, and he lives off her inheritance and money from the state for being bipolar or something. Who knows. Who cares. All I know is that when I need a new outfit or something, I can just call Sadie, and we go to the mall together. She has no problem spending Slash’s money on me. She’s not a bad person. She has a big heart. Mom doesn’t see it, of course. Mom’s too busy.

I was visiting Sadie, hoping she’d help me sneak over to Hunter’s for the afternoon, when the whole thing with Slash went down the first time it happened. She left to go for a walk. I think they were fighting. She was only gone for twenty minutes. You can’t expect her to know that would happen, being gone such a short time. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I’m not sure I’m even mad at him. I knew I couldn’t trust him, so I probably should have just gone with her on the walk. But I’d never had problems with Slash before. I thought it would be okay. How was I supposed to know?

And yeah, I did go over again. I probably knew it would happen again too. But how else would I see Hunter? Honestly, it might have been my own fault. I could have stayed away from Slash and Sadie’s all together. This shit gets complicated. It’s like I felt like I deserved it. Now I know what Harley meant when she said she sometimes wishes she didn’t report her brother and father. I wish Harley was here now. She’d know what to do.

But Harley’s gonna tell me to get an abortion. I just know it. Maybe I want her to. She told me once—when she told me about her dad and brother—that that’s what she’d do. She never understood my family’s whole pro-life thing. I guess you have to grow up in it to really understand. Obviously, I’m not like my family and like to think I have my own views on things. So, if I did decide to end this pregnancy, I think Harley—with Slash’s money—might be the way to go. But I’m not sure I can do that. Not when it’s easier to say it’s Hunter’s. At least people will believe that. And then, maybe, I can finally go. I could live with him and Willow and the baby. Everything could be okay. Mom wouldn’t have to deal with me and could protect Mary and Jeremiah from evil me.

If I could pick a mother, it would be Willow. She’s kind and patient and lets me talk to her about anything. She doesn’t judge me for the cuts on my arms or the weird rules I have to follow to stay out of trouble with Mom. She says her mother was a freak too. I hope to be like her someday, easy to talk to and open minded. I just don’t think I’m ready to be a mom to this kid. I can’t even take care of myself. I don’t want to disappoint Willow.

I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to have a kid on my own. To like keep this one, no matter who the father is. I mean, Laina and I do a lot of the raising of Mary anyway, right? I’ve been changing diapers since I was nine. I’ll never forget the day Mom brought her home. She was such a cute kid, always smiling. I never believed that it was “just gas, Faith” and “all babies do that, Faith, she’s too young to actually be smiling. Check her diaper.”

My problem wouldn’t be knowing how to change a diaper or feed a baby. My problem would be how to pay for it. I wish I could talk to someone about this, and I’m so scared Harley will hang up on me. Maybe I shouldn’t bother to call at all. I know she won’t know what to do any better than me. She’s never had a younger sibling or been in this situation. She won’t understand that I do know how to take care of a baby. All she will think about is how mad my mother will be. My family scares her too. She’s one of the only friends who has ever seen how things really work around here. Once you’ve seen it, you start to understand.

I do have a fantasy though. I think about what Hunter will say when he finds out. I pretend that he will be excited and that this will be our chance to finally be together. We could start a life. I pretend that Mom will let me go live with Hunter and Willow. If I could do that, raising a baby together would be easy. I could homeschool myself and take care of the baby all day while Hunter and Willow were at work. I could make their dinners, even learn how to cook vegan, and be like a stay-at-home mom. The only thing I don’t like about the idea is that I don’t want to turn into my mother. That could happen. It might be worth it, if it meant getting out of here and living with them. It might be okay if Hunter was excited about this baby. I just have a feeling that’s not going to be how it is. I’m not sure I can even do it—blame him—because it’s got to be Slash’s. That’s a really big problem. I have to be able to live with myself and Hunter has to not hate me for this, for all of it. I’d die if I didn’t have Hunter and his mom.

I’m trying not to think about how I’d feel if the baby came out and looked like Slash. I’m not sure I could realistically handle it. I keep telling myself that won’t happen. I can’t be sure who the father is, but I can be sure that I’m part of this kid too. The baby will look like me. That’s what I tell myself. I don’t like thinking about it. I’m so tired—of everything.

The house is quiet. I go to the kitchen to get antibacterial lotion and paper towels. I pat the box knife in my right back pocket. I run to my room, collapse on my bed, remove the knife, and search my arms for clean spots to cut. I close my eyes, running the cool blade across my forearm. I wipe it down, intrigued by its sharp point. I scratch it against my skin at first. I inhale. Then, I press it into my arm, watching the first drops of blood begin to form. In this moment—which won’t last—it doesn’t matter who knows, who I call, what will happen, and how I got here. In this moment, I am free. Oh? And for the record, I’m not doing this for attention.