Ticking bomb

Ryann's confusion was palpable. Rachael's revelation was a bombshell, leaving him reeling. "Explain this," he demanded, suspicion lacing his voice. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

By this time he already switched to video call with Rachael.

Rachael's eyes welled up. "It's not a joke, Ryann. I found out this morning. I haven't felt well since the prom, and I missed my period, so I took a test."

"What does the prom have to do with this?" Ryann pressed, his mind racing. "I know I was pretty out of it that night, after all those cocktails. This is still unbelievable."

He frowned, remembering Ana's persistent questions. "Ana keeps asking what I drank besides the cocktails. Did you hook up with someone while I was incapacitated? Are you even sure?"

"Pregnancy doesn't just happen," Ryann stated, frustration evident. "You have to have sex for that to occur."

Rachael's voice dropped to a near whisper. "I know... but... how could it have happened if we didn't...?"

"If we didn't...?" Ryann repeated, the question hanging in the air like a thick fog. Disbelief warred with a dawning sense of unease. "Of course we didn't," he insisted, his voice sharper now, laced with a rising tide of frustration. "If we had, I would know. I haven't... you know... I'm barely eighteen, Rachael! This is insane! Why would you even joke about something like this? I wouldn't even make out with a girl I just met, let alone..." His voice trailed off, the anger slowly giving way to a bewildering confusion. The weight of the accusation pressed down on him, suffocating him with its improbability.

A long, heavy silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the frantic beat of Ryann's heart. Then, Rachael's voice, barely a whisper, broke the stillness. "Umm... actually, we did," she admitted, her cheeks flushing crimson. The confession was a reluctant admission, a truth she seemed to be struggling to reconcile herself with. "Remember? After... you know... at the prom. I took you to the bathroom to clean you up. You were... really drunk. And then... you were all over me. You tried to kiss me. I pushed you away at first, I really did. I was shocked. But... you were so cute, and you were so insistent... and I... I didn't stop you." She paused, her voice catching in her throat. "And then," she continued, her voice even softer now, "you unzipped my gown... slowly. I couldn't resist. You were so romantic, you know? I haven't done this before "I whispered it in your ear, and you said 'me neither.'" She looked up, her gaze meeting Ryann's. "And then you put one finger in... then two... and the kissing got really intense. You... you finally did it. It went on for almost an hour. I had to tell you to hurry because Ana was waiting outside..." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications, a stark contrast to the innocent night Ryann had remembered.

Ryann's face was contorted in distress. "You don't know my family. My dad is gonna kill me and my mom will suffer it more. This is too much."

Rachael looked at him calmly. "Ryann, calm down..."

But Ryann was beyond reason. "You should have stopped me! You should have slapped me or done anything! What do you want me to do?!"

Rachael's expression was sympathetic. "Ryann, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you so much stress."

Ryann's eyes were wild with panic. "Stress? You think this is just stress? My life is over. My dad is going to kill me. And my mom...oh God, my mom...she's already suffering so much."

Ryann's voice trailed off, and he buried his face in his hands, overcome with emotion.

"I'm so sorry, okay? Your parents don't have to know, we can keep it from them. I just need you to be responsible for it. I don't want to have a child without a father. And finance too, you know."

A wave of nausea washed over him. Each word a heavier blow than the last. Responsible? He was barely responsible for himself.

He finally managed to stammer, "I need time to process this, Rachael. Please, give me a week, at least." He watched her face, searching for any sign of anger, but saw only a desperate plea in her eyes.

"You can't abandon me," she whispered, the words barely audible above the static of the call. The fear in her voice was a physical weight, pressing down on him.

He felt a pang of guilt, a sharp stab of responsibility. Abandonment wasn't what he intended. But the enormity of the situation paralyzed him. He was a kid, thrust into a role he wasn't ready for. He managed a shaky breath, "I swear I won't. I just need time to process it."

The video call ended with an unspoken promise hanging between them, a fragile thread connecting two terrified young people on the precipice of a life irrevocably changed.