Vanished Promises: A Writer’s Doubt
I wrote this piece after an experience that left me questioning myself. I had applied for a writing job on a platform, the recruiter enthusiastically praised my sample , complimenting my style and storytelling. She then invited me to take a test, making me believe I was on the right track. But then— silence As has happened too often before, she never got back to me. In this piece, the protagonist faces a life-altering revelation—she is pregnant. She never meant for this. The father was someone she should have stayed away from. Tell him, or disappear? Face the consequences, or erase them? Then there was the mysterious vampire, lingering in her thoughts ever since their brief encounter. Who would want a pregnant girl? Could he still see her, not as a burden, but as something more? One thing was certain—whatever decision she made next would shape everything that followed.
How can this be possible? How can I be pregnant? How could I be so stupid? How could I have let him have so much control over me and have sex with him? I made myself available, as if I were an easy girl. He smelled of strawberries. His skin was so soft; when he touched me, I felt like I was in heaven. He always whispered sweet nothings in my ear, and each time, I let him do whatever he wanted with my body. I was so weak. However, I always took precautions and used a condom. No—we didn’t always use condoms, and it happened several times. I could never resist him. I loved feeling him inside me so much. He was so handsome. It felt so good. And his hands, still caressing my whole body, moved slowly. His hands always caressed my whole body, moving slowly.
The tests are in front of me, the line showing positive; the test cannot be wrong six times in a row. What have I done? How am I going to get out of this situation? I have completely destroyed my future. There’s no way I’m walking around campus with a big belly. I don't want to be the center of attention and be stared at by other students, who point fingers at me and even scorn me. I would be too ashamed. I will have to stop my studies. All my plans, all my dreams are destroyed. My parents are going to be devastated Now, at least, we are set. Over the past few days, my mom kept asking me why I had so little appetite. She wondered if I was ill. And my father replied that it was certainly nothing—just growth, teenage concerns, nothing serious. My dad trusted me so much; he was understanding because he valued me so much. They will say that I am too young to become a mother. I will disappoint them so much.
And him? How am I going to tell him I’m expecting a baby? Now I was like those pregnant teenagers I used to watch, who I had wondered how they could end up like this, and for whom I had felt pity but also compassion. I thought they lacked strength of character, or were frivolous girls or prostitutes, and were poorly educated. At no time had I imagined that among them, there could be naive girls who had fallen in love with bad boys and subsequently become victims of bad luck. To me, they were just poor girls who had foolishly wasted their lives and deserved what happened to them—a miserable existence and dirty offspring. He certainly wouldn’t allow me to keep the baby. He still refused to be seen in public with me. He always had an excuse when I asked him to go to the cinema, to a restaurant, or for a walk in the park.
He certainly Despite that, every time he wanted to see me, I had never been able to say no to him. And every time we saw each other, we made love. When I asked him about his feelings for me, he remained vague and always gave me the same answer: 'I like you. I like spending time with you. The sweet words he murmured to me just before or during the act, such as: 'You are beautiful,' 'You are so sweet,' 'I love your body,' and other tenderness to die for, pronounced with a voice and tone just as to die for, that the words he spoke, stopped as soon as he was done playing with my body. Choice A: 'I have to tell him.' Choice B: 'I won’t tell him ; he’ll definitely force me to get rid of the baby.'
The guy I met as I walked down the alley toward my house last time was so wonderfully handsome. His eyes were green, almond-shaped, and penetrating. His brown hair was combed back. He was wearing jeans, a white shirt, and sneakers. If he was staring at me, was it because he was interested in me? This adventure had not only destroyed my life but also my life as a young girl. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn’t see it. How could I attract such a handsome man? Good-looking guys are only attracted to sexy, confident girls. I’m always attracted to men I shouldn’t be. It was the first time I had seen him in the area. Was he new around here? How old was he? I didn’t even have time to ask his name—he left so quickly. Anyway, it was no longer worth thinking about him. I wouldn’t be able to see him again. What would he want with a pregnant girl?