Lowewood Academy

So: my birthday.  Just 17.  In some ways I felt a lot younger than that; in others, right now, way older.  I certainly looked older, I mused gloomily, staring at my unattractive reflection in the bathroom mirror.  My hair looked crap, my eyes seemed to droop with the tiredness of many restless, disturbed nights, and my skin had a lack of colour even by the usual standards of my fair complexion.  I squeezed one of the spots on my chin and sighed.

“You look like shit,” I muttered in acknowledgement of the facts, taking a long draught to help me not care.

“Cheers!”

The voice behind me made me jump a mile, and hastily shove my hipflask back in my blazer.  I spun round to see Fliss grinning at me, having entered without my noticing.  For a moment, my brain was completely fuddled: what was that supposed to mean?

“Are are you taking the piss?”  Even I could hear how defensive I sounded.

(more…)

I gazed at my reflection and tried to smile… but it didn’t quite work.

Jen bustled around behind me, adjusting the straps of the gorgeous silvery dress I had borrowed from her, and generally fussing over my hair and make-up in a most un-Jen-like kind of way. I wondered if maybe all the time she spent with big macho Laurence might be bringing out her latent feminine side. Or if it was some kind of once-a-year festive thing.

Either way, it hadn’t rubbed off on me. I knew I should be excited about the Sixth Form Christmas Party, but somehow I just wasn’t. I wasn’t even really that excited about Christmas. Or about the party at Jen’s on the 23rd.

To be honest, I just felt detached from the whole thing.

“Right, let me look at you.” Jen stood back and took me in. She sighed. “I was planning on watching Laurence cum in his pants when he saw that dress on me,” she said, with a decidedly wistful look on her face. “Oh well, it looks better on you.”

Not that I’m vain or anything but in this instance I had to agree with her. Whereas Jen’s generous cleavage had distorted the line of the dress and bulged out to the extent that even Jordan would have considered putting on a cardy, on me it looked sleek, contained and sexy-but-demure. The shimmery silvery fabric gleamed against my skin in contrast with my long dark hair, that Jen was in the process of artfully pinning up in a half-up half-down sort of way (yes, there is probably a technical term for this but I don’t know it, ok?!) and, for the first time in ages, I felt that I looked beautiful. Sad, but beautiful.

Because it still hurt.

(more…)

Funny how your whole world can shrink down to the size of just one small cubicle.  Just me, perched on the lid, staring intently at the test stick in my hand.

At the stripe.

I glanced back at my watch, and let the second hand complete another lap.  That was five now.  Surely long enough?  The box said one minute, after all.  But I didn’t want to take any chances, I had to be absolutely certain of the result.  Before I could allow myself to hope… When I looked back at the test, there was no change.  The stripe still glowed vividly in the round window, showing it had worked.  The other, square window remained empty.

I wasn’t pregnant.

(more…)