Cause and Effect : Why Sometimes Impulsive Actions Are Better Not Thought Over.

Sometimes she wonders if she would still be with him if it weren’t for her.

Sometimes she wonders if he would still be with her if it weren’t for her.

The one thing that soldiered them together. The glue to their broken pieces.

When she thinks back, she can’t really remember a time when she loved him wholly and unconditionally. It was a relationship built on stolen kisses and secret glances, one that probably wouldn’t have survived if not for the excitement of a secret relationship and that one thing that brought them closer together.

Because sometimes your heart totally overrules your head and you throw all inhibitions to the wind. That was how it happened in the first place. That was how they had happened. Acting without thinking. And then you wake up and find that you’re left with nothing but the consequences.

She knew that he only had two options when he had found out, leave her or stay with her. There was no in between. No third option. He couldn’t see their child on weekends or school holidays, do the alternate weekends or occasional summers. If he left, he left for good and he’d forfeit all rights to the child, their child.

And so he stayed.

And she never really understood why. She always pegged it down to his family and his beliefs, of which he’d pretty much shot to hell that night in his car. But whatever the reasons, he stayed. And though she had thought up a lot of reasons as to the grounds that persuaded him to stay, explanations for his righteous behaviour, not one of them involved his love for her.

Because they didn’t love each other. They were together because the people they wanted did not want them. And now, they’re still not in love with each other. They’re together because they’ve no other choice. Plain and simple as that.

She knew it, he knew it and one day so would their daughter.

It was nothing but pure irony really, that on the day she had gone to break up with him, she’d ended up pressed into his car seat and losing the only thing she had left.

When she found out she was pregnant, things got a little too ‘Juno’ for her and she’d gone straight to the clinic without a second thought. She’d sat there patiently waiting on her turn on the terribly uncomfortable and suspiciously foul smelling seats and was perfectly content with the decision she was about to make, or at least she thought she was, until he turned up, much to her horror/surprise/disappointment/relief/all of the above.

To this very day, she still has no idea how he had known where she was, what had happened and what she decided to attempt. She had thought up of dozens of logical explanations for how he had known, how he had tracked her down. But she never asked. Nor did she really want to know.

He wanted to make it right, do whatever it takes to make it right. And so she decided to keep it. It (because until it’s 5 months old, it’s NOT to be considered a baby yet) and him.

And she didn’t blame him for the painful nine months she had to endure. She didn’t blame him for the embarrassment and humiliation and mortification that a pregnant teen had to endure. Nor did she blame him for the blank stares, mocking laughter, torturous words, and all the other the bare essentials that tormented her daily in the grand institution so eloquently referred to as High School.

But it still felt good to scream and shout and cry when nine months was up. It felt good when the drugs they gave her barely took the edge off and she could crush his hand and yell as this time he endured – “That’s what you get for having sex with me in the back of your car without protection, you bastard!”

She had told herself that she was going to break up with him on that night, because it wasn’t worth it anymore. Because it was very smooth and simple at first, the soft whisperings of the late night calls, meeting up at a small quaint out of the way café’s, until it wasn’t. And so she trudged out that night on a mission, getting smashed to bring herself to do it and upon passing the slightly tipsy stage, he must have noticed what she was doing because when she was just about to blurt out the words, he kissed her and pulled her back into the car.

She thought, maybe, just maybe, something would go right after all. He was kissing her and she was kissing back. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

And so she succumbed and her determination shattered.

When he pushed her down into the seat and kissed her body, the tingling she wanted to be there might just have existed. And when he slid her top off, she didn’t say no because he was whispering sweet nothings that she felt wasn’t really nothings at all. And when he shouted her name and his eyes filled with love, her judgement was clouded. But upon looking back, maybe she just had too much to drink. Maybe she’d just passed the tipsy stage and imagined it all.

And she blames herself for it, really, she does, but she can’t do anything about it anymore. Not when she has to take care of a three year old and a man who doesn’t love her the way she feels a husband should love his wife.

But sometimes, when she’s shouting his name and holding onto his hair, or throwing things at him and wishing they never met, she wonders what life would be like if he never stayed.

And she finds herself thinking that, maybe, just maybe, it’s a good thing he did.

“Maybe it’s a good thing.”
Steve Mullins.

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