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Saving HER
Blurb
I just don’t want to SAVE her…I want to stand by her FOREVER!
The last time I saw her, she was in High School
I always saw her as my best friend’s little sister
And now I see her after years…
The fear in her eyes worries me
And I didn’t realize that she is gonna be that important to me
After all, I was a guy who shied away from a rel
ationship…or at least a real one!
I had made Fire Station my home and the people serving there my family.
And I was okay with growing old there and dying there alone
But, Andrea made me reconsider that
And I know I can and I will…I am so ready for our future together!
The only question is if she also see’s in my eyes - THE LOVE, THE SUPPORT & THE CARE?
Chapter 1: Andrea
Please don’t be positive.
The bathroom stall felt like a coffin. I sat with my knees pressed against each other, my head hanging low and my hair hiding the tears that were running down my cheeks. I rocked back and forth on the toilet seat, praying to God no one would decide to come in and hear my uncontrolled sobs. I didn’t want anyone knocking on the stall door, asking if I was okay.
I wasn’t okay. Obviously.
Not positive. Not positive.
I kept repeating the words in my mind like a mantra, as if just thinking it would make it true. What was it that they said about positive thinking? Wish it, and it will be? Some bullshit like that. If it were true, I wouldn’t even be in this situation, locked in a bathroom with a pregnancy test that smelled like urine clutched tightly in my hands while I waited for the damned thing to tell me whether my life would turn into something worse than it already was.
I was late, two weeks actually, and the only reason I had waited so long to check was because I was scared of what the result might be. Seeing that pink positive sign would kill me. It would be like a hand reaching into my chest cavity, grabbing my heart and squeezing until the blood burst out.
There was something almost pathetic about it all. I didn’t need a mirror to tell me that my mascara had run wild, making me look like I had war paint on my face. I had shaken my hair so many times, it probably looked like a whirlwind of brunette strands. My eyes burned, my nose was running, and the left sleeve of my blouse was a mix of make-up and tears, a Van Gogh of my anxiety and inevitable misery.
Just don’t be positive. For fuck’s sake, don’t be positive!
I had lost track of time, of how long I had been sitting there waiting for the result. The box had instructed me to wait for ten minutes, and I was sure those had gone by already. I just couldn’t bring myself to look at the stick. I would lose it completely if it told me I was pregnant.
Dennis would be thrilled.
On second thought, no, Dennis wouldn’t. He’d probably turn into a hurricane of emotions, scream at me for being a ‘dumb cunt’ who couldn’t keep track of her contraception. He’d go on and on about how we couldn’t afford a child, how I was a conniving bitch that had planned to get knocked up just to make his life miserable. I’d probably react in some stupid way, like laugh at the fact that we actually could afford a child if he spent less money on booze and hookers.
Then the beating would begin. And the screaming.
Mostly my screaming.
I sighed, coughed as I felt the breath I took break into staccatos of inhales threatening to suffocate me, and hugged my knees tight. I rocked faster, whispering a prayer I knew would definitely go unanswered. Look at the damn stick and get it over with, the voice of reason screamed in my head. But I didn’t want to. There was only one result I wanted to see, and I had a feeling that the world wasn’t done slapping me across the face just yet. It would be positive, and I’d be screwed.
