Second Chance

LEIA

Sitting here, leaning my back up against the cool porcelain toilet tank, I look down at the pregnancy test in my clammy hand.

Black spots dance in front of my eyes, and I screw them tightly shut and shake my head to try to get rid of them. I peer down at the test again, and it still clearly says, Pregnant 3+ weeks.

Shit.

Fuckfuckfuck!

With moving house and getting enrolled in a new college, I didn’t give much thought to when my period was due.

And it was easy to think the bloatedness in my stomach and the fact that my clothes felt a little tight around my midsection was just down to the junk food.

I’d been filling my face with it in order to get over the breakup with my boyfriend back home.

But then, the constant heartburn and waves of nausea were becoming harder to ignore or write off as something less serious.

I flush the toilet and make my way back across the landing to my new bedroom, pregnancy test still dangling from my fingers.

I’m in such a daze I don’t hear my mom walk up the stairs and ask what’s wrong.

Before I know it, the test is pulled from my grasp, and my mom spins me around, gripping my shoulders tightly.

“You’re pregnant?! Jesus Christ, Leia, you’re only seventeen! How could you let this happen?”

I’m snapped from my reverie as my mom pulls me into a huge bear hug, her perfume surrounding me like a cloud. “You stupid girl. I love you so much, pumpkin, but why weren’t you more careful?”

I sigh and pull away from my mom’s ironlike grip, slumping down onto the bed.

“It was just one time. At my going-away party. Lee…” A fat tear escapes my stormy gray-green eyes and slowly trickles down my flushed cheek.

My mom clicks her tongue and sinks down on the bed next to me, linking our fingers together.

“He…he said we would stay together no matter what… He told me he loved me…but the next day he…” Sobs rack through my body, rendering me speechless.

My mom pulls closer, rubbing up and down my back soothingly.

“That little prick isn’t worth these tears.” I giggle in spite of myself at my mom’s unexpected bad language. “Now get yourself together, and I’ll go call the doctor and find out what we do next.”

I lie back on my bed and pull my phone from my back pocket. I scroll through to my messages, to the last one he sent. Nearly two months ago.

He really is a little prick. I wish I’d made sure he put on a condom,I chastise myself.

But I was a virgin, and it was all so overwhelming, and I wasn’t sure if I’d just missed him putting it on until afterward, when I was left to clean up his mess.

Just how much of his mess I hadn’t realized I’d be left to deal with.

I sigh deeply and open Instagram. The friends I had to leave behind have all been posting snaps of their holidays, excited about going back to college.

A photo of Lee appears on my feed. I’d forgotten that he was going on a lads’ holiday to Ibiza. He looks good, but then he always did.

I was always confused about why the two of us were together.

I’ve always described myself as perfectly average. Mousy brown hair—average. Grayish-greenish eyes—average.

Height five feet, seven inches—average. Dress size twelve–average. Shoe size six—average.

Lee is tall, with warm olive skin thanks to his Greek mother. His hair is a dirty blond and would be curly if he let it grow, but he keeps it shaved short.

His hazel eyes were the first thing I liked about him; they seemed so warm. He has a face that looks like it was carved by an artist, with smooth, blemish-free skin.

And he has a little dimple that appears on his left cheek when he genuinely smiles.

Which is what he’s doing in the photo I’m currently staring at. Shirtless, smiling down at a petite blonde girl he has his arm wrapped around.

She’s grinning back at him, all perky boobs and sun-kissed skin. The caption just says, #whathappensinibizastaysinibiza. No tags or anything.

I swallow down the sudden lump in my throat. Before I’m really aware that I’m doing it, I click on the direct message symbol.

In a panic, I then block his account and switch off my phone, dropping it onto my mattress like it’s on fire.

From downstairs, my mom excitedly shouts that they’ve got an appointment at the doctor’s for this afternoon.

“Great,” I mumble, leaning back against my headboard and absentmindedly resting my hands protectively on my stomach.