a teenager's thoughts

this won't make much sense because you don't know the context etc but i'd be interested to know what people think of this and what kind of impressions you get of the narrator. i've seperated it into segments so you don't have to read it all, but just tell me what bit you're talking about.

ONE

"Come on." He leans down, presses his mouth against my ear so I can feel his breath and smell the beer he's been drinking. "Your friend can come aswell." What's really strange is, I feel so removed from the whole situation. I'm standing in a hot and sweaty pub next to a man who has his hands on my breasts and I feel like I'm not even there. I could go into the toilets with him now and we could **** or I could go outside for a cigarette, but either way I would feel the same inside. A sort of detached calmness. Somebody could walk through the doors now and threaten to kill everyone in the room and I still wouldn't feel anything.

TWO

****. ****. ****. How the **** can I be pregnant? My heart is actually beating so fast. Okay, this is ridiculous. I have a few cells in me that, if left for nine months, will form into a person. I'm going to have an abortion. It's not like I already have a baby growing inside me, it's not a baby. Not yet. It's got potential to be, yeah, but so does every egg inside me. What am I going to do, bleed into a glass bottle every month and store it in the fridge because it could have been a baby? And me, as a mother, is just laughable, really. The most merciful thing I can do for this baby is to kill it now before it even has to be born into this **** heap of a world. No. It's not a baby. It's not killing. You can't kill something that's not even alive. I imagine a baby that is a combination of me and the man at the pub and smile. It is ****ing mental to be sitting on a toilet with my knickers around my ankles, aged sixteen, pregnant, and smiling like an absolute psychopath. This really does go to show how emotionally void I am, if I'm smiling sardonically at the thought of killing my own unborn child.

THREE

"What does she look like?"
I've taken a cigarette out of its packet but I don't light it. I wait for him to speak, knowing I'm not going to like what I hear.
"She's..." He raises his eyebrows, takes a long drag on his cigarette, exhales, stares at the ground meaningfully, and then finally manages to say, "She's nice, you know? Short. Tanned."
No, I don't know. I don't want to ****ing know, either. He gives me a sideways glance when I don't reply to see what my expression is, but it's blank.
"You gonna light that?" He nods at my cigarette, taking a quick drag on his own.

FOUR

I give what I hope seems like an ambiguous kind of smile and light my own cigarette.
"Listen," I take a deep drag on my cigarette and stare her directly in the eye. "I don't want to get in the way of things for you two. Things were always ****ed up between us anyway. It was never meant to be."
She smiles. "Yeah, I know, it's not like I think you're still hanging onto him or whatever, it's not like that, it's just...you know, I felt like I had to say something, just to let you know that we're cool."
I nod, take a swig of vodka, feel an overwhelming sense of pity for myself. "Right."
"Hey." He looks between us, uncertainly. "Why are girls always in the toilets?"