May

Anna—Sixteen Years Old

“Can you repeat that?” Charlie says, face slack.

I sob, burying my face in my hands. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. I made a mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time.”

“The right thing?” he shouts, incredulous. “You hid the fact that you were pregnant, lied about being sick, and had an abortion without even telling me. Am I missing anything?” Spit flies from his mouth, a mouth contorted in anger.

I can see the love draining from his ocean-blue eyes. Eyes that usually look at me with affection and warmth now look at me with hate and disgust.

I shake my head, the lump in my throat so big, I swear, it might suffocate me.

“What about any of that did you think was the right thing?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your dreams, our plans. You said you would do whatever it took to make our dreams come true—climb mountains, carry me. I thought that was what I was doing,” I explain stupidly.

“Yeah, well, plans change. Dreams change. Apparently, you didn’t love me enough to give me a choice. How selfish could you be?” He clenches his jaw, expression hard. Cold. “Don’t talk to me anymore. I have to get out of here.”

He starts to walk out of my room, but I grab his arm to stop him.

“Wait, Charlie, I love you. I’m so sorry.”

He stiffens, pulling out of my grasp. “I don’t love you anymore, Anna.” His words make my lungs collapse.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he confirms, walking out of my room and then out of my house.

I stand there, stunned, paralyzed.

I knew he was going to hate me. But the reality of it, of hearing him tell me he doesn’t love me anymore, is staggering. The pain swallows me whole, stealing my breath.

The paralysis yields to panic, and I run after him.

But, when I step outside, I’m no longer outside of my house but in the parking lot of the clinic. The picketers swarm me, waving their signs in my face, shouting, “Murderer!”

A startled scream wakes me from my nightmare. Only this nightmare is based off my memories.

I turn on my side, pulling my pillow in front of me, so I can bury my face into it, muffling my sobs. My sorrow is so great that I don’t hear my bedroom door opening or someone walking into my room until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Anna?” Wesley’s smooth voice drips with concern. He stayed over last night and must have heard me from John’s room.

Fuck. I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. But my sobs have taken over, and I can’t calm myself enough to speak. So, I bury my face into my pillow and mumble for him to go away.

“Are you hurt? Are you sick?”

“No.” My voice is muffled by the pillow, but he hears me. “I’m fine. Please go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me.”

My bed dips under his weight as he sits next to me, and I curl myself around my pillow, trying to make myself small. As if that would make me invisible. I don’t respond to him either, hoping he’ll just go away.

Neither tactic works.

“Okay, don’t talk to me; that’s fine, too.”

He lies down in my bed, and I feel the warmth of his body surround me. He spoons me, his hand gently smoothing my hair, collecting the strands stuck to my face and pulling them behind my ear. When he has tamed the wild strands of my hair, he moves on to my arm, petting me from shoulder to elbow with gentle strokes. His chest rises and falls with each breath, slow and steady behind me.

My body slowly melts into his, and when he pulls on my arm to turn me around, I don’t resist. I lay my head on his chest, burrowing into his neck like I used to do when I was afraid during the scary parts of a movie. If only I were twelve years old again.

The tears keep pouring out, and Wesley wraps his strong arms around me, pulling me close, murmuring soothing words like, “It’s okay,” and “I’ve got you.”

After a while, I’m all cried out, but I’m afraid to move out of Wes’s embrace. I just listen to his heartbeat, feeling a sense of comfort I haven’t felt in a long time.

Just when I wonder if he’s fallen asleep, he says, “You upset about Charlie breaking up with you?”

I sigh, wishing it were as simple as that. “You ever make a big mistake? Do something you wish you could take back, but you can’t?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get past it?”

“I don’t know if I’m qualified to give you advice, Anna. I’m still trying to get past my mistakes.”

We lie together in silence. I think about what Wesley’s mistakes could be. There’s no way he’s done anything as awful as me. I know he’s gotten into a lot of fights. I wonder if that’s what he’s referring to. Makes me realize how distant Wesley and I have been these last couple of years since I started dating Charlie. Once upon a time, we were so close. I’ve missed that closeness.

“I’ve missed you, Wes.”

“Me, too, Angel.”

Angel. Fuck. I’m no angel.

He said the word as if he believed it, his voice warm, wrapping around me with comfort and familiarity.

I wish I were Wes’s angel.