Chapter 13 – that I will never live for the sake of another man,

The whiny crooner gets me out of bed for the next two weeks. I wander through classes desperate to find a means of escape, but I’m trapped. Not just by The Center, but by the new life growing inside of me. Nausea becomes my constant companion. Before I eat, I stare at the food with suspicion and decide whether or not to eat it based on how I think it will feel coming back up.

Usually it’s easy to point to the person at fault for my trouble. Mother or Father or whoever. But this isn’t about them. This is about me. I hate those lame girls who blame men when they choose to have sex. I made the choice. I knew the consequences. I did. And as much as I hate to admit it, I blew it.

The sun isn’t over the mountain when the desolate voice echoes from speakers high in the trees. The same song playing over and over again for one hour. Long enough to get everyone up, including the dead. I have memorized the words to “The Greatest Love of All.” I lie in bed and listen to the lyrics as the muscles in my chest tighten. Ginger snap crumbs rain on my pillow and I decide the sad piano melody doesn’t fit the “children’s laughter” lyric.

I refuse to believe “everyone is looking for a hero,” because I never have and never will. Lame humans shouldn’t have such lofty positions. Father cured me of those idealist thoughts. Uncle John gave me philosophers like Rand to set me straight. The Center couldn’t sell me on this idea of “learning to love myself,” because I have already mastered that skill. I’m not one of those insecure thumb suckers like Dee Dee.

The thought of her annoys me. To be honest, I never was one for hanging out with girls, unless I could get them to do homework for me. I shake my head. Those days are over. I want my independent spirit back and today I’m going to grab it. Command it to behave and live “the life I deserve.” I pat the pocket with the almost forgotten note from Uncle John.

The corny music floats over the mountains, validating The Center’s cult-like feel. I stuff my ears with cotton balls as I pull on my uniform. This place occupies enough of my head already, I don’t need the dumb song droning on and on in my skull. Which it does whether I like it or not. I can be having a perfectly nice moment when someone next to me will hum the tune and then I’m stuck with it echoing over and over again in my brain. Which is probably exactly what The Center wants.

I slip on my borrowed socks and shoes then make my bed.

Another perfect example of a successful indoctrination. At home, making my bed was Nanny Bella’s job. I never had neat OCD rows of folded clothes in my drawers with identical khaki pants hanging evenly in my closet. White-glove tests that accompany Marks have trained me well. But, external compliance doesn’t equate to me internally buying all this junk.

I jump down the stairs two at a time. I’m not in a hurry, but running thumps out the annoying song from my ears. Outside, most of the snow has melted and the naked aspen trees have small green buds on them. Although it’s deep into June, the cool air keeps company with the creepy music in the morning. By this afternoon the sun will be high and comfortable. I hate how much I’m settling in, but I tell myself over and over again that this whole place is only temporary. I have twenty-three months left of my sentence. Well, that’s for my first sentence. I had as many as eighteen years for my second.

A baby of all things.

A freaking baby.

The whole thing messes with me and I admit my walk to Peer Counseling is filled with inherited attitude. Superiority has been passed down through the Manchester clan like heirloom china. Our legacy includes strong ties to the government and power. My great-grandfather’s rise in the political ranks influenced his eight brothers and sisters and their children. Accomplishment grew exponentially through the family, like a fungus.

I smile as I think of Aunt Constance and Father when I walk in with a new addition to the family. Hey folks, I’m home and I brought you all a new Manchester to ignore and treat badly.

They’ll flip a brick. Of course they will. No swinging for this baby either.

I stop smiling. The thought stops me in my tracks. Oh my gosh, this kid and I have something in common. I turn on the path to the main lodge. Once a month they light the fire for the day. Back to back Peer Counseling sessions are mandatory. The dead beasts watch the pathetic display. The idea is stupid. How can one messed up person do anything in the world to help another? No doubt these losers would love for me to spew about the baby, but as I join the circle of ten others on the floor with my legs crossed, I decide to keep the only private thing I have to myself.

Across from me, Dee Dee’s pout drags my smile into a frown. She drapes one khaki leg over the other. Her story is especially irritating today. The same one I’ve heard her cry over for weeks now. I don’t mean to snap, I honestly don’t. But the old Manchester attitude creeps over me as she leans forward and repeats her sad story of Craig’s List and older men.

Everyone nods their head in sympathy.

She nibbles her fingernail like an infant.

“Seriously?” I ask.

“Courtney?” Jackson smiles at me. “Do you have something to add?”

“Yeah,” I sit up. “Why’s everyone acting so, ohhh poor baby.”

Jackson tipped his head to the side. “Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”

I refused to put my hand anywhere near my stomach, and looked him in the eye. “Of course, but I don’t whine or cry about it. I don’t blame other people."

Dreadlocks shakes her head. “Older men used her innocence as a joke.”

“It’s just sex.”

“No, it’s not. She’s a minor, that makes it rape.”

“She got high with a man she met on Craigslist.”

“It was supposed to be a date,” Dee Dee whimpered.

“Yeah, well that’s how dates end.”

“Not all of them.”

What a bunch of fakers. “This isn’t the 1950s. She cries about this every time.” I look over at Dee Dee. “You know you wanted it,” I say matter-of-factly. “Admit it.”

Her eyes grow big.

The room gets quiet.

“That’s messed up.” Vicki, the chick with blonde dreadlocks whispers under her breath.

“Come on, she just admitted to being high and naked. How much more ‘asking for it’ could she be?”

“First of all, a girl her age can’t have consensual sex.”

“That’s not the point, Jackson,” the chick with the dreads says. “Let’s forget about the fact that some thirty-year-old man convinces a thirteen-year-old girl to become his girlfriend for a minute.” She turns to me. “She just told us that after he was done, he invited his friends to take a bite. You say she wanted that?”

“She didn’t say no.”

“She couldn’t.”

“What’s wrong with you?” A third girl joins in. “She was high as a kite. That’s not a free pass.”

Whatever. These idiots can play all high and mighty but they know I’m right. “Just being honest.” 

Dee Dee studies her mangled fingernails. Jackson won’t make eye contact. His forever-happy continence slumps. He’s disappointed. I hate that it stings. It shouldn’t. His approval doesn’t make or break my day.

“Why is everyone so freaked out? Sex is just sex.” I hate hearing my father’s words fall from my mouth, but this is one piece of advice he gave me that I really believe in. “It’s like eating. You take a bite and then it’s done. Nothing lingers.”

“Unless you get pregnant,” Jackson adds.

I shrug. Father said that too. Besides, I doubt any of these jerks have to worry about that like I do, and you don’t see me whining about it. There are worse things in life. Seriously. “Aren’t we here to deal with our mistakes? To face them?”

“What if she’s got an STD?”

“She should have kept her legs shut. Protected herself.”

“You are unreal!” Dreadlock Vicki rolls her eyes.

“Look, you can get sick from food if you’re not careful too. So, let’s just move on to a serious problem and quit crying over a regrettable sexual moment.”

“What’s serious,” the blonde wench points her finger at me, “is that you’re messed up in the head.” A small chain hangs from one of her fingernails. The links connect to a ring on her finger. And this hag thinks I’m messed up.

“Could be Courtney’s just misinformed.” Mario seldom says anything, so when he does people listen. But I brush off his comment. Sex is sex and our puritanical society has created fanatics about it. When you do it right, it’s awesome. No one here’s going to make me regret my life.

I stare at the dead deer. I’m done talking. They can say whatever they want. I’ve got a fistful of months in this place. Not only will I be out of here, but I’ll have my baby.  Someone who will finally love and understand me, and it took sex to obtain that.