Iona's Creative!

That accent. I can still hear it echoing in my head, rattling off my brain like an extra bouncy ball that’s just been launched. That accent that’s so different from my own. I can’t get my head around it. It just won’t. Go. AWAY. Everytime I look back to that night, well what I can remember of it, I hear his voice and I cringe, shutting my eyes as hard as I can, as if that’s going to make it go away.

I am SO DRUNK. I can barely see his face as he kisses me once, twice, three times. I can feel his warm breath gently washing over my face. It tickles slightly. Before I know it we’re lying on the cold, hard, tiled floor. Is he just using me? Maybe. Do I care? Maybe not. It’s all over before I know it. “See you around. This was fun. I better go.”

It is still pretty much of a blur. Even now I look back and my stomach twists uneasily into a knot. I’m not really sure how I feel. Happy? DIS. Pleased? GUS. Contented? TED.

Maybe I should just get over it. It’s been six weeks for Christ sake. I mean all I know….six?.....is that his name is Dave and he’s from…..weeks?......Essex. SIX WEEKS? No way. I’m over reacting. He used a condom. Did he? I can’t remember.
I
Can’t
Be
Pregnant.

Why do doctors always do this. Make you wait for an answer. He’s judging me, I can see it in his eyes. He thinks I’m just another girl whose ambition in life is to be a young mum.
Doctor: Well, we have your test results back.
Stupid teenager: And?
Doctor: You’re pregnant. The test came back positive.

That last word echoes in my mind. I sit dazed as he recites my “options” “…..not easy………………….abortion…………………….adoption………………right for you………….” I’m not really paying attention, just staring at the floor, having visions of what I’ve got in store for the next 8 months or so. A continuos cycle of feeding and nappy changing. The thought of it numbs my brain.

He hands me leaflets as I saunter out of the door, still not really with it. My mum is going to KILL ME.


It’s my decision. All mine. It’s not as If I could contact the baby’s dad even if I wanted to. I can hear it again. The accent that once more brings a rush of red embarrassment to my cheeks. I can’t believe I was such an idiot. I never in…….idiot…….a million years……..idiot…….thought I would………..idiot……end up in this situation.

Giving up my life for a night I can’t even remember? WHAT THE FUCK. was I thinking? WHAT THE FUCK. was I doing? What the fuck was the point?