Warning :Long reading ahead .It’s a sweet one though
It’s 9pm and I’m feeling depressed. Do you all think depression is being sad and crying? But that is not depression at least that’s what I thought this day. The only way I can think of getting over this depression is a club. I’m on my third drink when this guy comes over, he’s well built, exquisitely masculine and he looks like a solicitor. He looks surprised maybe because I’m a lady, in a club, all alone. He shouldn’t be though, it’s normal these days. He offers to buy me a drink after a little chatting and the desperate me couldn’t turn down this offer. The music is so good to my ears , I can’t afford to have my wazoo sited. So I give a hand to he who asks if I care for a dance. I’m drunk and so carried away. This alcohol thing has never been friendly to my system.
I feel my nerves in the morning, my thighs aching , my body is weak, I open my eyes and find myself in a room too large, too fancy to be mine. There’s blood on the sheets and I’m terrified.
‘ Is that my blood! ‘
I don’t recall a lot. All I wanted was just a Dance.
I press my eyelids together to prevent my eyes from tearing. I think of everything worse.
I stay calm, trying to recall a single thing. I then remember the stranger who offered to buy me drinks the previous night. I can’t recall his face, how he looked.
This feels like the end of me. I call room service to place my order, my stomach is begging for a meal. This takes longer than expected and the impatient me couldn’t wait. I push the massive duvet aside and storm out the room.
It’s after four weeks, 9am in the morning, I’m not woken up by the pressure of my bladder begging to be alleviated the pressure but a strong feeling of nauseous. This is not me.
My fear grows daily.
Could I be?
With a stranger!
God, what a mess!
I have to see a doctor but I don’t have the courage to face all this. It’s after other two months I can’t take in this new reactions my body is welcoming. I’m forced to see a doctor. In that room No. 5 it’s confirmed, my greatest fear, what I didn’t want to hear ;I’m pregnant.
Yes, three months pregnant.
The doctor looks at me “You look young”
I riposte by a look that implies ‘I know’
I walk shamelessly out the room.
What is the society going to think of me!
How is my family going to receive this!
What am I supposed to tell my mother!
Do you ever feel like all eyes are on you? That is the feeling I’m bearing as I walk out the hospital, as I walk the streets, as I approach the estate, as I enter my little room.
I lay on my neat bed ;no idea of my tomorrow. I think of what is gonna happen to me before the end of five months. I regret having to stress myself over a university boy not enough to be called a man. But now I can’t blame him. He wasn’t there when I was in a club, he didn’t buy me no drinks,I don’t think he even cared of my whereabouts.
I’m too ashamed to be in a class with my the rest so innocent people. That’s how they’re seen despite of all they do. In this generation they see you as immoral when you bear a child of your own at a younger age.
I can’t keep this to myself forever. People will eventually find out everything, they always do. I’m I at the end of the rope! No,I have a little rope left for this unborn child. I have to pretend to be happy and strong for it. Now I’m here on my bed, sitting helplessly, hopelessly, hoping, just hoping my life would end that minute .