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MidReal Story
The Boy & His Albatross
Scenario:In a world where men can get pregnant. The emo bad boy named brendon, who is a 17 year old boy who is popular and is very suicidal who is 9 weeks pregnant. Brendon his half korean and half Scottish. Brendon parents died In a murder suicide. Now, Brendon is in a place for mentally ill and crazy people where he meets a twenty one year old boy named Cam, went crazy after having a miscarriage
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Brendon Kim
He is a troubled teenager in a mental institution. He is rebellious, emotional, and introspective. Brendon struggles with depression and selfhate after his parents' murdersuicide left him alone. He harbors guilt for not protecting them. His life takes a turn when he discovers he is pregnant with his girlfriend's baby. His feelings shift when he meets Cam, a fellow inmate who lost his girlfriend in a miscarriage. Brendon finds unexpected acceptance and solidarity with Cam.
Cam
He is a young man who lost his girlfriend in a miscarriage. He is introspective, emotional, and resilient. Cam is admitted to the institution after his emotional breakdown and sense of loss. Raised by foster parents, he never felt truly belonged. Meeting Brendon provides him with an unexpected sense of acceptance and understanding. Cam struggles with grief but finds solace in his faith and the companionship of Brendon, who faces similar struggles of loss and selfdiscovery.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing here.
I'm not even supposed to know that I'm 9 weeks pregnant.
The doctor told my social worker, but I wasn't supposed to find out until my next appointment.
I don't even know how I found out.
I guess I was eavesdropping on my social worker.
I didn't even know she knew about it.
Fuck, I don't even know why the doctor would tell her.
She has no right to know about my pregnancy.
I would have never told her.
I would have never told anyone.
I hate this.
I don't want to be pregnant.
Not from her.
Not from anyone.
I wish I could just get an abortion.
But I already asked, and they said no.
They said it's too late.
It's not too damn late!
I'm only 17, and I'm 9 weeks pregnant.
That means I got pregnant right after my birthday.
Right after… fuck, what the hell happened that night?
I don't even remember what happened that night, let alone how I got pregnant.
Fuck, I don't even know whose baby it is… whose cum it was... what the hell happened?
Damn, I wish I could remember what the hell happened that night.
I sit on my bed, picking at the frayed edges of my sleeves when the door opens.
Two orderlies walk in, one holding each of the arms of a tall guy with dark hair that looks like it hasn't been brushed in weeks.
He's wearing the same gray hospital clothes as me, but his are wrinkled like he's been fighting.
His eyes are red and puffy, like he's been crying.
"This is Cam," one of the orderlies says.
"He's your new roommate."
The guy doesn't say anything, just stands there trembling like he's trying to hold himself together.
The orderlies leave and the door clicks shut behind them.
As soon as they're gone, the guy collapses onto the empty bed across from mine.
He curls into himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach and squeezing tight.
"I'm sorry," I hear him whisper to himself.
His pain mirrors my own, and for the first time, I don't feel so alone.
I watch him from my bed, debating whether to break the silence.
My hand absently rubs my stomach, a habit I've developed since I found out about the pregnancy.
"I'm Brendon," I say finally, my voice scratchy from disuse.
The guy's head snaps up, his bloodshot eyes focusing on my hand's movement.
His expression shifts instantly from grief to rage.
He springs up from the bed, fists clenched at his sides.
"Stop that," he snarls, pointing at my belly.
"You don't know how lucky you are."
I freeze mid-motion, my hand still resting on my abdomen as he takes a step toward me.
"Why would you say that?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
His eyes soften for a moment, and he lets out a shaky breath.
"Because I lost mine," he says quietly, his anger dissolving into sorrow.
I sit frozen on my bed, my hand still resting on my belly as his words sink in.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead while neither of us moves or speaks.
My fingers twitch against the hospital gown, wanting to pull away but feeling stuck.
His shoulders slump, and he drops back onto his own bed.
All the fight drains out of him.
He stares at the ceiling, tears sliding silently down his temples.
I slowly lower my hand to my side, hyper-aware of every movement.
After lights-out, I lie awake listening to the sound of his uneven breathing from across the room.
The moonlight filters through the window, casting shadows on his face.
His eyes flicker open, and he turns his head to look at me.
Our gazes meet in the darkness, and for a moment, we just stare at each other.
Then, without a word, he gets up and crosses the space between our beds.
My heart races as he sits on the edge of my mattress.
His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with mine in a gentle touch.
The spark of electricity runs through me at his touch.
My chest tightens with a mix of fear and longing, unsure of what this connection means.
My chest tightens with a swirl of emotions, a blend of fear and yearning, as I ponder the significance of this newfound bond.
We sit in silence, two strangers bound by loss, finding solace in the quiet understanding between us.