Page 55 of Surviving You, Scotch and Sammy 1

“But I’m not offering you anything,” he taunts. “I’m saying, if you don’t agree to my terms, he goes to prison, old man Turner collects cans off the side of the highway to pay his mortgage, and that sweet kid Kari goes into the system. I’m not offering you a cent, but I bet that entire family will hate you if you get them in trouble. You won’t have plans or a place to go when he’s in prison, and old lady Turner isn’t going to have you at her table.”

“Stop doing this,” I cry. “He hasn’t hurt you. The Turners are good people and they’ve never hurt you.”

“Good people don’t break the law, Samantha. Good men don’t have sex with and impregnate children.”

“It’s not like that! He’s only six months older than me.”

“Then it’s truly unfortunate that he couldn’t wait just a little bit longer, huh? He’s not the first man in the history of the world whose penis got him in trouble, but he’ll be the first and last to touch a Ricardo and get away with it.”

“I don’t believe you! I think you’re lying.”

“That’s impressive Ricardo arrogance, Samantha, but it won’t serve you this time. Call my bluff, I dare you. Either way, you and he will never see each other again. I don’t really care which way it goes down.”

Sweat and tears continue to mingle on my lips, dripping off my nose and chin and falling to my shirt. My angry seedling continues to revolt from inside, uncaring that I can’t handle a traitor from within right now. My hands continue to hold my aching pelvis, and my stomach roils with angry nausea.

I look from my horrible father and my eyes latch onto my mother’s. She and I haven’t had an amazing relationship. But she’s a mom, and mom’s want to protect their children… right?

“Momma? Please stop him.”

She wrings her hands together anxiously, but at my words, her chin snaps up and her eyes bore into mine. “Stop him?” She scoffs. “I want that boy out of your life, Samantha. Not only won’t I stop your father, but I’ll help him file the paperwork. Samuel Turner is trash, and he’s not for you. I didn’t carry and birth you, raise you, school you, dress you, just so you could marry someone like him!”

“Mommy--”

“It isn’t up for discussion. And your disappearing act today only proves how immature you are. You’re eighteen now, but you’re far from grown up. You’re not ready for the mess you’ve dropped yourself in. Go upstairs, clean up, then we’re going out.”

She steps forward, pulling at me just like their earlier game of tug-of-war, but I snap my arm back, crying out when I slam my elbow against the solid wooden door. “No!” My stomach rolls again as the now familiar nausea rolls over me, but I push it down. To be sick is to be vulnerable, and I can’t be vulnerable in front of these people. They’re not on my side. I side step my parents. My body shakes and my head pounds, but I move around them and bolster my voice. “I will not come with you, and I will not abort my baby. I’m not a Ricardo anymore. I’m a Turner, and I’m proud to be his. Call the cops, do what you have to, but we’ll fight you to the end. But know this, the only people who I won’t be seeing again is you. Families don’t do this to each other. Loving families don’t treat each other this way.”

I step away from my mother’s grabbing hands, and I hold in my pained sobs; it feels like my angry seedling is attempting to claw its way out of my stomach. My parents immediately step into action, but I run up half a dozen stairs before a solid hand snags my wrist, tripping me and almost dislocating my shoulder with the force of my sudden stop. I cry out again, sliding down the last couple stairs on my butt. I kick out at my father and dislodge his hand, but I freeze when I spot the tears in his eyes. I breathe through my teeth as the nausea and pain in my stomach reach unbearable levels.

“I’m asking you to stop, Samantha. I don’t have to have him charged. I just want my little girl to stop making mistakes. We can fix this and go on with our lives. I’ll leave the Turners alone. You have my word.”

I shake my head no, but the words don’t come out. Wind roars in my head, whooshing between my ears and deafening me, then as though my seedling finally succeeded in tearing through my stomach, an excruciating pain rips through my gut, replacing my ‘no’ with a scream and sobs. The vomit I was holding at bay comes singing up my throat so violently, I choke and gasp.

“Call an ambulance, Geraldine!”

***

“It’s just one of those things,” the doctor whispers to my daddy as they stand huddled on the other end of my dark hospital bed. I look around silently, relieved to realize the ever-present nausea is now gone, and my headache is better. I look to my left to find a needle in my arm, taped to the top of my hand, and a tube attached to a bag hung high over my head. A soft beep, beep, beep, relaxes me, but as soon as I notice my mother’s eyes on mine, my relaxation is gone and my heartbeat speeds up.

“She’ll be okay?”

“Yes, sir. She’ll be fine. One in every four women experience miscarriage in the first trimester. It’s really not as uncommon as society is led to believe.”

“I miscarried? My baby is gone?”

Both men turn at my words. My daddy’s eyes glitter with satisfaction that he won the war, and the doctor’s are sympathetic. He walks to the side of my bed opposite my mother, then placing his hand on top of mine for a gentle pat, he nods. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ricardo. Your baby is gone.”

“But--”

“It’s just one of those things that happens in life.”

“But--”

“And there’s no reason why you can’t try again one day. It just wasn’t meant to be this time.”

“Alright, doc.” My father grabs the kind doctor’s arm and pulls him away gently. “Thanks for your time. Samantha needs to rest now.”

He nods and looks at his watch. “He’s right. It’s very late. Get some rest, Samantha. I’ll be back in the morning to answer any questions you might have.”

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