Joyce went looking for him at his apartment.
For all her supposed repression of that night, it was easier than she’d thought to actually find the building.
She followed a resident into the building, pretending to have lost her key. Bypassing the elevator, memories assaulted her. They had taken the stairs. She could feel him on her skin. His lips trailing down her throat, her hands pressing his mouth lower to her breasts. She remembered wrapping her legs around his waist, desperate for friction. She knew if he hadn’t stopped her, they’d have fucked right there in the stairwell.
Joyce gasped leaning against the railing for support. Embarrassment and arousal flushed through her. She jogged up the three flights, desperate to escape the carnal images invading her mind.
He didn’t answer. She knocked again. Silence. She wondered if he wasn’t home. She wondered if she should leave a note. She wondered why she was trying to open the door.
It opened easily. The door swung open and Joyce gasped at what she saw. Nothing. The apartment was empty. She walked further inside. Everything was gone.
She knocked on the neighbours’ door. But the elderly Asian woman that answered didn’t know him.
“Did you move in recently? Maybe he lived here before … the last time I saw him was over two months ago …”
The woman shook her head. “We’ve lived here for over ten years. No one has lived there for about six months.”
“Oh … I …”
“Maybe it’s not the right apartment,” the woman said, taking pity on her. “What’s his name?”
Joyce flushed. “I, um, I don’t … I … maybe you’re right.” She left quickly.
Once outside and back in her car she took several deep breaths and then burst into tears. She wasn’t wrong. She knew this was right. She was certain that was his apartment. She didn’t know anything about him. Not his name, where he worked, nothing. She had no way of getting into contact to tell him …
To tell him.
She’d never felt so alone.
-
Two weeks later she’d been at her parents’ a few days, trying to pluck up the nerve to tell her mother about her pregnancy, but she always found a reason to delay. Her latest reason being that her mother was holding her biannual charity dinner for homeless children in a few days time.
On the third morning of her stay at the mansion, Joyce stepped out of the shower and patted down her body with a thick towel. She studied herself in the foggy mirror. Turning to the side, she lightly caressed her flat stomach.
Then, right there, standing absolutely stark naked, it hit her. Hit her so hard she couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized it before.
Ever since she found out she was pregnant she had only considered herself. How the baby was affecting her. How it was going to change her life. She never considered the baby. She never considered its needs. But now, staring at the spot where the foetus, her baby, her child, was growing, the enormousness of the situation crashed down on her. And through her sudden tears she smiled. She was needed. Her baby needed her to be a mother. A good mother. To be there for it; not only after it was born, but now too. It wasn’t just about her anymore.
Joyce dressed quickly, letting her wet hair dry naturally. Leaving her room, she hurried down the staircase in search of her mother.
--
“You’re what?” Eleanor’s voice was cold, her eyes sharp as knives.
“Pregnant,” Joyce repeated. A bit of fear rose in her belly, but all the uncertainty she previously felt had disappeared.
“You stupid, insolent girl. How dare you.” Eleanor seethed. She grasped Joyce’s arm in a painful grip. “After all we’ve done for you? After everything I’ve done for you?”
Joyce ripped her arm out of her mother’s hold. “All you’ve done for me? Are you serious? What have you done for me, mother, other than throw money at me – expecting it to fix every problem? You think that’s what I wanted – what I want?” She breathed in deeply, trying to reign in her emotions. “Even now you honestly don’t care about me. All you care about is your image ... and how having an unwed pregnant daughter will affect your social standing.”
“You ungrateful little... You’re blaming this on me? I gave you everything!”
“No, you didn’t!” Joyce shouted. She could feel years of repressed anger finally breaking free. “I needed my mother, not nannies! Not money ... or presents. I needed you, mom.”
Eleanor eyes narrowed. “I’m going to set an appointment with the clinic for tomorrow, then we’re going to have a discussion with your father about sending you to an all girl’s University in Europe.”
Joyce gaped. Did her mother not hear a word she said? How could she ignore her own daughter so easily? Then she latched on to what Eleanor said. Licking her lips she asked, “Why do I need an appointment with the clinic?”
“You don’t expect it to get rid of itself, do you?”
Joyce blinked, shocked. “I’m not getting an abortion.”
“Oh, yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not,” Joyce said coldly. “This discussion is over.”
Eleanor’s eyes flashed angrily. “Don’t be stupid. If you had kept your legs together we wouldn’t be in this situation. But you didn’t and now we have to deal with this.”
Joyce backed away from her mother, staring at her as though she’d never seen her before. “We aren’t going to deal with anything. This is my baby. Mine. And I’m keeping it.”
“You absolutely will not.”
“You can’t force me to have an abortion.”
“You just wait,” Eleanor said lividly. “Just wait until I tell your father what you did.”
Joyce paled. “You can’t force me. You can’t. It’s mine. You have no right.”
Eleanor’s eyed her daughter with cold anger. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out until you come to your senses,” Eleanor snapped. “I don’t want you here. Get out! I can’t look at you right now.”
Joyce backed away as though she’d been struck. Blinking back tears, she could only nod. She nodded not because she agreed with her mother, but because she knew what she had to do. Leaving the mansion, she gasped in a breath. She felt as though something was being ripped away from her and freed at the same time.
She would never remember the drive back to her apartment. One moment she was at her parents’ mansion, the next she was in her apartment.
She packed quickly. Too quickly to really know what she threw in her suitcases. She could barely think. All she knew is she needed to leave. She knew it with her entire being. If she stayed, only devastation would follow.
She stopped at the bank and took out several thousand dollars before cutting her debit cards and credit cards in half. She knew, when they found out she was gone, really gone, they’d look for her. And she knew one of the first places people look when trying to find someone was through the missing person’s bank cards. She couldn’t let them find her.
Time seemed to have lost meaning for Joyce. One moment she was in her apartment, the next the bank, the next the bus station. She’d left her car at her apartment building. At the bus station she looked at the destination board, feeling lost. Where would she go? Where could she go? What would she do?
Joyce quickly ignored those thoughts. She couldn’t deal with that right now. What happened after would happen after. Right now she needed to deal with the present. She studied the list for another moment before picking a city at random.
An hour later she was on road to her future.
--
Joyce couldn’t say how many hours she’d spent traveling. She’d been getting on and off buses for days. She didn’t know what she was doing, but she just knew she needed to keep going. Each city she arrived at never felt right, so she hopped onto the next bus hoping the next destination was the one. Whatever – wherever – that was.
It was crazy, she knew. But something within her told her to keep going. Keep going. Keep going!
She was tense and had bitten her manicured nails down to the quick. She knew she must look like a mess but she only stopped long enough to brush her teeth and eat. The tense feeling she had had in her belly since she’d left had loosened only slightly. She kept glancing around as though expecting her mother – or worse, her father - to jump out and drag her back home.
No, Joyce scolded herself, That isn’t home anymore. Wherever I end up. When I can finally stop ... that will be home.
--
Joyce got off the bus. Sunnydale. She sat down on a bench and looked around. It felt right.
Sunnydale, California.
Joyce placed a hand on her belly.
Welcome home.
--
In Sunnydale, living for the first time in her life truly on her own had not been an easy assimilation for Joyce. The first two weeks in Sunnydale proved difficult for her. Having cut herself off from her family, she had no credit or references for renting an apartment. It seemed no one would even consider renting out to her. Living in a motel was taking a toll on Joyce and, perhaps more importantly, her dwindling finances.
Joyce hadn’t realized how hard it would be. She didn’t know what she had expected. Or maybe, if she was truthful with herself, she knew what she had hoped. She had hoped to arrive at her destination, immediately find somewhere nice to live - she imagined some apartment like the one she left in Cambridge. Next she would get a fabulous new job, make a ton of money so she could maybe upsize to a house within a few months (she had to realistic, didn’t she?). She’d buy the latest baby trends and join all the baby classes she could find. She had it all planned out. A to B. B to C. Easy.
But no one would let her rent. She first tried the nicest apartments in town, but the owners only raised incredulous eyebrows “No credit? No references? No job?” and then they would escort her out with fake promises of keeping her “on file.” Joyce moved onto smaller apartments, then smaller. But every time she was met with the same fake smiles and fake promises.
It was her third week in Sunnydale, her spirits at their lowest, when she saw the flier on a supermarket bulletin board. It was a small sheet of computer paper with large bold letters:
WANTED: Tenant for basement suite. 1 – 2 PEOPLE. Must be QUIET, 25 or OLDER, NO PETS, NO PARTIES, NO CHILDREN.
A number was scrawled at the bottom next to a name: Olga.
Joyce jotted the number down with a pen on her left arm.
Dropping a few coins in the payphone, she waited several rings before someone answered.
“Hello?” The voice was scratchy with age
.
“Hi,” Joyce said, suddenly feeling nervous. “My name is Joyce Summers. I saw your flier at the supermarket and I’m interested in renting your basement suite.”
There was a long pause.
“Just you?”
“Yes.”
“No pets? Kids?”
Joyce hesitated a moment. “No.”
“Come over tomorrow morning.” Olga gave Joyce her address. “Don’t be late,” Olga said sternly before hanging up.
Olga’s house was a lot nicer than Joyce had thought it would be. It was surrounded by flowers that sprung up in a beautiful chaotic manner. The house was very clean; almost pristine. The basement suite may not have been what Joyce had hoped for in the beginning, but after some of the grungy apartments she’d seen the past few weeks it looked like a palace.
“You like?” Olga asked. Her Polish accent was stronger in person than it was on the phone. She was an older woman – maybe in her late sixties. Her hair was long and dark grey and her eyes were a piercing light blue.
“Very, very much.”
“How old are you?” she asked bluntly. “Nineteen? Twenty, maybe?”
Joyce felt her stomach drop. She sighed. “Twenty.”
Olga nodded. She turned on a tap and filled a tea kettle before turning back to face Joyce. “You want to rent the basement?”
Joyce blinked. “You mean it? Your ad said twenty five-”
“I like you. You seem to be a good girl.” Olga speared her with her sharp eyes. “You are a good girl, yes?”
Joyce nodded earnestly. “I am very responsible. I ... I will always pay rent on time ... I’ll never have parties ... I don’t have any pets ...” She looked away for a moment. “I don’t have any credit, or references ... or a job. But I’m going to get a job very soon. I swear.”
Olga only nodded. “You good girl. Credit and references mean nothing. I turn away ten others already. Too noisy. Rude. Bad. Bad auras. Olga knows.”
“I’ll be good. I promise.”
“You get good job.”
“As soon as I can.” Joyce promised. “Tomorrow.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I wanted to address an issue that came up in the reviews. Spike is not Buffy's father. I just wanted you to know so you don't get turned off by this story. And my sincere thanks to everyone who reviewed - it really made my day : ) I hope you enjoy this chapter.
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