" I can't believe you. . . "

Oneshot: Angst


Person: Christopher McKay


Description: You are pregnant in high school and you want to keep the baby, even after more shocking news.


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You were quietly sobbing, no tears running down your already bloodshot red eyes, your boyfriend Christopher squeezing your legs to comfort you from the other side of the couch.


" I'm pregnant. . . "


You were looking at him for an answer, but he thought maybe you were just trying to scare him with a prank, but the seriousness in your eyes said otherwise.


" . . . What? Are you for real; are you 100% pregnant?. . . "


" Yeah, I am, Chris. "


He let go of your legs as he leaned down in a thinking position, having absolutely no clue on what to say or do. H e tried to speak, but nothing came out in the first attempt. He looked at you to, concerned.


" I'm sorry uh. . . Are you alright? "


" Yeah, just a little bit nervous. "


You nodded a little to indicate your quite alright, but your heart beating was getting faster.


" Nervous about what?. . . "


" A-about what were you going to say. "


He was looking at a blank space, almost baffled but trying to be as calm as possible, then having eye contact with you again. Your eyes were starting to water again as you sniffled from your runny nose.


" Your not thinking about having this kid, are you? "


" . . . I really love you McKay- "


" Yeah, I love you too; I'm just dealing with a lot of shit right now. . . I'm in the middle of school. "


Chris couldn't believe it. From the look of your face and when you spoke, he knew that it wasn't meant to happen, he could never blame you for it. He knew it wasn't your fault.


" Y/N it's one of the biggest responsibilities life gives you, I don't think we can handle it. "


" But w-what if this is what I'm supposed to do with my life?. . . "


You could barely talk without choking up once or twice when forming a single sentence, Christopher just muttered a ' what the fuck ' in disbelief of how his life just went downhill, worrying about how his parents are going to react, especially with you.


" My parents and even my coach is going to fucking kill me. . . Fuck. "


He got up from the couch and started to pace around the room zoned out, while your watery eyes followed his every step.


" . . . Y/N, I don't think you want to have this baby. It's not li- It's not a fucking fairytale where we live happily ever after, this is like real shit. I'm not ready to even be a dad! "


Sobs just came out of you; he had a point. It might seem cute and cuddly and all of that shit, but we're talking about real life.


" I-I don't know if it's selfish for me to say but. . . Children are motherfucking scary. . . We're only talking here but I say if we can't handle it we don't do it. "


He was looking at you quietly crying, heartbroken. He did want the baby; he just wasn't ready. 


First he needs to be the best in football from his father's 'motivation', then he gets caught naked having sex with Cassie before dating you, calling him a faggot and 'Christopher McGay', then breaks up with her; and now this. . .


" I didn't say I wanted to have a baby. . . I just wanted to dream for it at least for a minute. . . "


He stays in his place for a few minutes, silence consuming the room, before going to you and hugging you, holding you close to him. He was trying to comfort you, even though he wasn't ready, he would do it for you.


" Shh, baby. . . It's alright, I'll try to raise the baby with you, for your sake, okay? "


You said absolutely nothing, before breaking down into loud cries.


" Baby, what's wrong?! "


It took you at least half an hour spend with comfort and praises about how much of a good parent your going to be, until you laying the devastating news on him. . .


" Christopher, I love you for being here by my side even for this situation, but I need you know, because I don't want to be guilty of hiding it from you if I don't. . .


















It's not yours. . . I'm so so sorry. . . I still love you. "


" . . . I can't fucking believe you, Y/N. . . "


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