#abortion writing

[beautiful-monsters-raging]

but use your freedom of choice

(while you still can) Title taken from the song Freedom of Choice by DEVOVision.

Leo has something to tell Usagi.

_____

Trigger warnings include vomiting, fears of rejection, brief mentions of dysphoria, discussion of abortion and abortion-related politics (although the last one you should already be prepared for on this blog).

This is a story from a larger collection that you can read on my AO3 (that series has its own tags, make sure to read them all)

"I'm pregnant."  

The words don't emerge so much as escape, slipping from Leo's mouth as he and Usagi wash dishes together. He wants to grab them from the air, take them back, but it's too late. A dish slips from Usagi's hands and crashes into the sink, pieces shattering everywhere.  

Leo had had a plan. A scheme, really, a cunning and clever scheme. He'd be subtle about it, carefully feel out Usagi's perspective on choice and free will and whatnot, test the waters. He'd do it all himself, this time, so his brothers wouldn't accidentally help him into a disaster like his coming out had been (would have been, but Usagi had been so understanding, and really there was no way Leo could be so lucky twice, but)  

Anyway. He'd planned to get Usagi alone after dinner, make out with him a little, that would help things, right? Or would Usagi feel manipulated? He should have looked up the role horniness played in these types of conversations; someone must have written something. He should have, should have, should have...  

The thing is, Leo's brain is on the whole a whirling mess by now, and he's not thinking nearly as clearly or carefully as he ought to. So, when Usagi comments about how Leo’s been moving a little stiffly recently, is everything all right, all those carefully planned excuses go straight to hell and what comes out is the absolute, damning truth.  

"You guys okay?" Mikey calls from the living room, where Leo's brothers are watching TV and pretending not to be staying nearby "just in case." Like Leo wouldn't be able to handle Usagi on his own if...if he....  

Maybe it's considering the possible consequences of his latest fuckup, maybe it's just the fact that his body has been hijacked by a goddamn parasite, but Leo's dashing to the trash can before he can think, falling to his knees and throwing up. Ice Cream Kitty sticks her head out of the freezer, giving him a sympathetic whine, and oh god, the fucking cat's going to hear whatever comes next, isn't she?  

"We're fine!" Usagi calls back, voice slightly strangled. He hurries over to Leo's side, dropping to his knees and rubbing his shell.  

"Breathe, Leonardo, it's all right." His voice is so fucking tender Leo wants to sob, so he does, spitting up tears and snot and vomit and ugh, he's so gross. But that doesn't faze Usagi, it never has, and he holds on to Leo until the puking stops.  

Leo slumps over the edge of the trash can, panting, staring directly down at his radically altered dinner. For a wild moment he thinks he's somehow managed to spit it up, pulled off a miracle reverse miscarriage to get out of this conversation, but no such luck.  

Usagi stops rubbing his back, taking a slow, deep breath. "Leonardo--"  

"I'm getting rid of it." He doesn't look away, can't face hope or rage or whatever nightmare he's going to see in Usagi's eyes. "I...I can't--I'm not ready to be a parent, 'Sagi. I don't know if I'll ever be ready, and if I did it wouldn't be by--" He cuts himself off, breath suddenly strangled in his throat.  

The thought of laying an egg is sickening; Leo doesn't know what he would have done if Donnie, amazing Donnie, hadn't studied his unique anatomy over the years, until he was prepared for such an eventuality to give Leo the exact kind of care he needed. If it hadn't been for him, Leo would be...  

Well. Probably as screwed over as a significant chunk of birthing humans in America at the moment, to be honest.  

But he might be still screwed, in his own way. Leo forces himself to sit up and turn to face Usagi, blinking away tears. Fucking hormones making him want to cry all the time.  

"I'm sorry," he gasps. "I'm so sorry, Usagi, I don't want to take this away from you, but I have to, I need to, and I'm sorry, I know you wanted to give Jotaro a sibling someday, maybe, but I--"  

"Leonardo," Usagi cuts him off. He looks, he looks almost angry and Leo's going to fucking hurl again--  

"Leonardo, why in all the worlds would you think little enough of me to assume I would deny you your choice?"  

Leo blinks, stares. "....What?"  

"Maybe," Usagi reminds him gently, "and some day. And never in a million years, not if the price meant bringing pain to someone I loved."  

"I..." Leo's heart is fluttering, or maybe it's the parasite sucking his innards dry.  

"You are real, Leonardo. You will always be more important to me than some dry possibility. And if I was a man who felt otherwise, I would not be worth your time."  

Leo stares at him for a few seconds, then bursts into tears, slumping forward into Usagi's arms and weeping like a fucking child. Relief shudders through his bones, relief and the raw aftereffects of fear, pressure popped like a balloon.  

"I love you, Leonardo," Usagi says, planting a kiss on his head. "I always will. Nothing you do with your body can change that."  

He holds Leo until the crying stops, just like he did with the puking, only Leo doesn't feel disgusting anymore. He feels safe, he feels loved, and he clings on to that feeling--to Usagi--with everything he has.

______

Author's Note:

I am, thankfully, in a state that is still firmly pro-choice. But this attack on my rights is sickening, and I wish allsupport and compassion in the world to my sisters, brothers, and siblings who aren't so lucky. I love you.

[aurpiment]

I had a dream that I was watching The Terror again and it was… a bit different.

There was a plot where Francis Crozier was pregnant. Not by Fitzjames, no; they weren’t close like that. I think by someone who was 1) a casual hookup and 2) dead. He was confiding in Fitzjames about it, though, and complaining of breast soreness. Fitzjames asked him if he was sure he was pregnant and he said yes, that he recognized the symptoms from when he was younger, and then told a story about how his mother had helped him get an abortion when he was a teenager so he could pursue his then-incipient naval career.

Unfortunately, in the dream, I was watching this version of The Terror with my father and brother and they were confused. “But he’s a man! How is such a thing possible?”

“Transgender,” I explained impatiently, because it was obvious this was the direction the show had gone with the character, even though the actor playing him was still cisgender actor Jared Harris.

“But still, no way this would happen,” I added. “I mean, look at him. He’s GOT to be post-menopausal.”

[peachesofteal]

I’m so sorry but if I was Darling I would literally break up with them, maybe threaten to get an abortion… idk but Darling going batshit crazy on them is very interesting to think about 🤔🤔

How do you think she’d confront them??

Takes place after this.

TW: reader contemplates abortion, also spits in Simon's face

18+ MDNI / baby trap au / we support women's wrongs in this house

You make a beeline for the bedroom, both of them trying to keep a respectful distance from you, but still staying close.

"Just, let us-"

"Let you what?!" You turn, halfway inside the open door, fingers clutched around the frame. "Let you what? Explain how you violated me for your own desires? Explain how you betrayed my trust, my love? Explain how you literally ruined my life?"

"Stop this." Simon vows, and you bark a laugh.

"No." And then to your immense pleasure, and their shock, you rear back, and hawk a projectile of spit directly in Simon's face before slamming the door and locking it.

The act only buys you thirty seconds of silence, before they start back up again.

"Darling, open this door."

"FUCK YOU!" you scream it, and yank your work bag free from the end of the bed, throwing it next to the duffel that you're stuffing some clothes into haphazardly.

"Please, let us explain. Just talk to us, we can fix this. I promise." Johnny tries, pleading, voice broken and desperate but you have no mind to listen, to hear him. You shake your head even though you know they can't see you, and then to your horror, you hear the metal sound of a click, like a key, in a lock.

"Don't you dare!" your voice screeches. "Don't you dare pick that lock." Sweatpants, sweatshirt, work clothes. What else? Toiletries, stuff for shower-

"We just want to come in so we can talk, and all try to calm down. It's not good for you to be so worked up." Simon keeps his voice very even, very level, and you know it's a tactic.

"If you come through this door I swear to fucking god." You glance at the nightstand, the one on Johnny's side. The one that you know has a handgun in it, and swallow. "Or... you know, why not? Since clearly you have no respect for me, or my boundaries, why wouldn't you just come through that door. It's not like you haven't done worse."

"Love-"

You close your eyes. Everything's building, in the back of your mind, in the back of your throat, reality pushing down on you, sitting on your chest like it weighs a million pounds.

You're pregnant. You're pregnant, because they decided to take control of your own fucking body. You're pregnant, and about to be out on your own. With no help. No support. No options-

Well...

It's still so early, you're not very far along. You're definitely within the window for an abortion, aren't you?

Dark satisfaction blooms across your soul when you think about it, think about how they would feel to know you took control of your own body, that you took back what belonged to you anyway.

A plan starts to formulate in your mind. One that feels, executable. Feels doable.

"Darling, please. We're worried, I-"

"Just give me a minute." you snap.

You take your time, unpacking your essentials that you'll need for now, tidying up the space and then making it look like you've just been sitting in here, crying.

You roll your shoulders, take a deep breath, and prepare to open the door, but not without one last look at the packed duffel that waits under the bed.

Soon.

[echobx]

the one with the abortion - jj maybank × ex!fem!reader

summary: JJ is taking care of his ex!girlfriend because she's having an abortion

warnings: hurt/comfort, no happy ending

word count: 1.9k

author's note: inspired by that one episode in Heartbreak High season 2. I know it's a heavy topic, that's why I'm advising you to maybe not read it if you have a trigger or just don't feel comfortable with this kind of thing.

You knock at the door of the Château and a moment later John B is standing before you, leaning in the door with an unpleasant look on his face.  “What do you want?” he snarls.  “Is JJ there? I need to talk to him,” you press out the words. Your heart lies heavy in your chest, throat dry and eyes close to tears.  “He doesn't want to see you,” John B replies, and you nod, knowingly. Of course, he didn't, you had broken up with him, had broken his heart and refused contact for a whole month.  “I know,” you bite your tongue and clear your throat. “It's important. Can you tell him I came by?”  “Sure. Whatever,” John B shrugs, and you leave, wrapping your arms around your middle to not start crying instantly. 

You walk home, it's not like you could call anyone to pick you up, either. But you have made your choice, and no matter what he'd say, it won't change it. So you go to your doctor, she prescribes you the pill and an hour later you sit at home, a hundred bucks lighter and with an even heavier weight on your shoulders.  The instructions are clear, take the pill, wait for the hours to pass and take the second one. And if your calculations are correct, you're gonna be able to survive school the next day before anything even starts to happen. It's easy. 

The next morning you wake up to light cramps, nothing that you hadn't expected, nothing you couldn't deal with. You get ready and make your way to school, ignoring the pain and instead focusing on the horrible day that lay before you. 

You are standing at your locker when he walks closer. You don't have to see him walk over to know it. JJ has the type of presence to him that just keeps pulling you in no matter how hard you try to stay away, and how much you wish right now that you had stayed away from the very start.  “Hey,” he greets you rather flat.  “Hi,” you give him a small smile, but he doesn’t reciprocate it.  “John B said you wanted to talk to me?”  “Yeah, but… it's, uh…, it's not really important anymore,” you murmur, looking into your locker instead of his striking blue eyes that made you fall in love with him in the first place.  “All right.” He rolls his eyes and is about to turn away when a rather nasty cramp hits you like a wall of bricks, and you cry out in pain, clawing at your abdomen.  “Y/n! Are you okay?” he lunges forward to hold onto you, no longer cold and distant, but the same way he always had for the months that you had been together.  “No,” the tears are starting to slowly trickle down your cheeks as you look up at him. “Can you take me home?”  “Yeah, of course,” he nods and holds you up the whole way home. It's not a far walk, but with every step you feel like your insides are being ripped to shreds. 

“Don't go,” you beg as he turns to the door after having laid you down in your bed. “Please don't leave me.” “I don't think it's a good idea,” JJ runs his hand through his hair. You know how weird it must be for him, after all the only reason you had broken up with him, was because you were scared that he could cheat on you. Simply because you didn't put much worth to yourself.  “I have no one else, please. Just today,” you cry, and he caves. Putting his backpack down and taking his boots off before climbing into bed to hold you as you tried to fight the pain. 

“What's happening?” JJ asks with a whisper, and you pull your face from his chest and peak up at him.  “Don't be mad at me,” you whisper.  “I don't think I can be mad at you for being in pain,” he smiles softly, flattening the hair on your head.  “I'm having an abortion,” you whisper, and he furrows his brows.  “What?”  “Right now.”  “How? What? Y/n/n what do you mean?” You can see his mind racing, trying to connect the dots and keep up with what you had just told him.  “You're pregnant?” he asks slowly, and you nod. “I wanted to tell you yesterday, but- John B didn't let me see you,” you whisper before groaning with how hard the last cramp had hit you.  “I mean- But- Whose is it?” JJ asks, and you feel like laughing about how ridiculous it all sounds.  “Yours. There wasn't anyone else, and timewise- I didn't plan on having an abortion, but you- and then I was alone, and I'm always alone, and we're too young anyway. I wouldn't be able to provide for it,” you ramble.  “Maybe we should call your doctor,” JJ says and reaches for your phone, the pin code still unchanged, to his surprise. 

You watch him carefully, helping him answer the questions and holding onto him for your dear life.  “All right, thank you,” he hangs up the phone and sighs.  “What now?” you ask, and he rolls to the side to get out of bed.  “She said you should take the second pill and keep yourself warm, so I'm letting in a bath,” JJ explains softly before leaving for the bathroom.  You reach over to your nightstand and take the second pill before getting up and dragging yourself to the bathroom.  “I would've come to get you, you shouldn't be walking,” JJ sounded concerned and pulled you into his arms.  He helps you take off your clothes and sits down next to the tub as soon as you are in. 

“I'm sorry you have to go through this,” he whispers, holding onto your hand.  “Life is funny like that. I always thought we'd do this the right way,” you sigh and let your head fall back to lean on the edge of the tub.  “The right way?” JJ asks quietly. “Finish school, get married, have a bunch of kids, grow resentful towards each other, divorce as soon as the kids are out of the house. The way everyone does it these days,” you explain through gritted teeth, the hot water is easing the pain, but it's still not gone completely.  “That doesn't sound happy to me.”  “It's not, but the start was. We'll hold onto that,” you sigh, closing your eyes and picturing one of the good days; a picnic at the beach that ended with the both of you drenched to the bones running back towards the Château. “We can try again,” he whispers, and you lift your head to look at him.  “I'm literally killing your child right now,” you say and he shrugs.  “Just cells, nothing we haven't done in a messier way before.”  “Don't make me laugh,” you close your eyes and force the chuckle away. “It hurts to laugh.”  “Sorry, princess. I don't know what else to talk about,” he leans his chin on the edge of the tub.  “Anything,” you beg quietly.  “We never- you know… I mean, how did it even happen?” JJ looks at you and you shake your head.  “Condom probably broke or something. I don't know. Doesn't matter.”  “You have a specific one in mind that we could've told the little blob about if it didn't get murdered?” JJ grinned and exhaled a long breath to not laugh.  “I don't know, was probably a boring one. Or just nothing anyone ever wants to know about,” you give him a lopsided grin.  “I like to think it was the supply closet, gives it some type of mystery.”  “Mystery?”  “Yeah. You know what's funny, I can't even remember how we got into that situation, but I'd do it again,” he smiles and brushes a strand of hair from your face. “I'd do it all again, no matter the pain.” “I'm sorry,” you whisper, but he shakes his head.  “Pope said it's not either of our fault, he said you were being a better person than most for leaving early instead of growing resentful towards me over your own dumb insecurities. He didn't call them dumb though, that's all me.”  “I can't help it,” you admit and he nods.  “I know, and I can't convince you. I would've given you the world if you'd let me. Just you, me and the blob, perfect little family.” He smiles, and you feel your heart sink even further.  “I do love you,” you hush, and he blinks two times before looking away.  “I don't think that's a good idea.” 

You sit in silence, he's still holding onto your hand and the water has gone more cold. It's not like you had wanted to, but your hormones were all over the place so it didn't surprise you when you started crying.  “Hey, y/n/n, what's up? Should I call the doctor? Pain meds? What can I do?” JJ asks, frantically searching for a solution to the problem.  “I don't wanna die, JJ. I'm scared. I'm so scared,” you cry, and he leans closer, holding your face in his hands and leaning his forehead against yours.  “You're not going to die. I won't let that happen,” he whispers, and you nod with him.  “I should've told you before. I'm sorry,” you weep, and he wipes your tears away.  “It's your choice, baby, I'm gonna be here either way, you know that,” he whispers, and your heart warms at his words. At the pet name he had always kept reserved just for you.  “It hurts,” you cry, and you don't know if it's because he still loves you or because he's scared, but the small kiss he presses to your lips relieves you of so much pain that you can only sigh into it.  “I didn't mean to-” you stop him with another kiss, quick and just as relieving as the first.  “Y/n/n, I love you, but we can't do this. We need time, just like you said and…, I don't know if that's enough,” he whispers against your lips.  “I know, but I want to forget the pain,” you admit and with a soft nod he allows you to kiss him again. It's gentle and not like you had usually done it, it felt like a last time, like a happy end. A tragic but beautiful happy end. 

You bite down on his bottom lip when a particularly nasty cramp hits you and JJ pulls away, looking at you with concern before you see his eyes go wide.  “I think you should get out of the water,” he mutters, and you look down at the fine trail of blood that was starting to mix with the water.  He leaves you alone in the bathroom, standing behind the door and constantly asking if you are okay, until you wrap yourself in a bathrobe and come out of the tiled room.  “I think it's gone,” you whisper and he nods.  “Do you want me to leave now?”  You shake your head, although you know it's a bad idea. “We can go back to not talking tomorrow, if that's okay.”  “All right,” he smiles, but his eyes are filled with pain, and you hate yourself even more than you had before. “Should we watch a movie?” 

That's how you spend the last few hours of your day, curled up in your bed, watching a romcom on your laptop until you fall asleep. And when you wake up the next morning, he is gone as if nothing had ever happened. 

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @ijustwantttoread @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @kys4-20 @drwstarkeyy @immyowndefender @julczimozart @princessmaybank

[slutforstabbings]

just once i'd like to see a pregnancy fic where the happy ending is the relief the characters feel after the abortion lol. just once.

[bunnyreaper]

johnny is a good catholic boy, but a really shitty boyfriend. 

(18+/mdni, f!reader, noncon/dubcon, impregnation, abortion, toxic behaviour, blasphemy... probably)

johnny was quite the manipulative little shit, really. he only decided to mention once you were getting hot and heavy just how catholic he was, how condoms were against god's plan and how they were unnatural. (besides, don't you want it to feel the best for him? don't you want to feel him with nothing between the two of you?)

of course anyone else can see he's fucking lying, but the sparkling look in his eyes has you convinced, and surely johnny would never lie or manipulate you like that, right?

he promised he would pull out before he came, promised he wouldn't get you pregnant just yet because he knows how much you don't want kids. definitely not now, maybe not ever. but your warm depths were just too tempting, breeding you was just so natural, you couldn't even fight him off as he pinned you down with his hard cock and filled you full of rope after rope of cum and groaned praises to you through the whole thing.

and then you found out you were pregnant, and johnny had to do everything in his power to conceal how fucking happy he was at this outcome. his girl, growing his child.

everything about it made him just want to pin you down and fill you again, after all you had nothing to lose now, it was all too late.

when you start to withdraw from him, he blames it on the pregnancy hormones, but then he realises the truth one day when scrolling through your search history. he expects to find you research cribs or baby names, but instead finds a medical website all about termination--you want rid of the baby, his baby.

he finds you in front of the mirror, looking at your growing stomach with misery in your eyes as plain as day. he doesn't see why you're so miserable when you'd be better off at home with your babies instead of out on the field with him. he kisses your shoulder, wraps his arm around your stomach and looks you deep in the eye--pinning you with a knowing gaze. all you see within is the situation he's trapped you in.

keep the pregnancy he forced upon you, or live with the fact that in his eyes, you'll always be the girlfriend that murdered his baby.

[averagebsdenjoyer]

dottore fans are so funny bc wdym "y/n has terrible nightmares so Zandik spends the night with them, craddling their head in his lap until they fall asleep🥺🥺" or "dottore is mean to everyone but has a soft spot for you" Dottore would literally call y/n a slur and spit in their grave after putting them in said grave. He is absolutely feral, this man is NOT for relationships and love, he probably thinks the cl!t is a myth to fuck with men's self esteem (greatest doctor my ass, he can't even hold a crying baby without shaking the little sperm for "experience")

[fromtheseventhhell]

It's a fact that Dany's story is riddled with violence against women of color and that she's the perpetrator in several cases, so mentioning her race is actually necessary (Sansa being white has no bearing on her story because again, she never hurt or killed any woc). Besides burning Mirri, r*ping Irri and torturing the wineseller's daughter, she also slaps Eroeh in the face. She looted one city, destroyed another to gain an army of slaves, took over another one for a trial run at ruling and plans to abandon it to invade and destroy a continent that she (and the thousands of warlords she's bringing with her) has never been to to demand fealty from people who don't want her as their queen. Why don't you at least acknowledge that Dany is written as a villain and that your hatred of Sansa is, by comparison, irrational?

It's ironic that the biggest criticism of how George writes characters of color is that he uses them in service of white characters' arcs and that's exactly what you've decided to do in my inbox. Nothing about liking these characters, wanting to see more of their stories, or wanting better for them. Nothing about wanting to start a conversation about the racism in George's writing. Nope. Just you using these characters of color and their suffering, which you supposedly care about, as props because you feel a "pure", white character is being unfairly hated. I have to laugh. The only "hate" I've given to Sansa is disliking her annoying stans and pointing out how she's written in the books but apparently, that's enough to have you clutching your pearls.

And the thing about racism is that, for Dany to be capable of being racist, it would mean that race HAS to be a factor in their society. That would mean that Sansa, as a white woman, would subsequently benefit from her white identity. Which is why I found that so funny from the first ask you sent. You can't just decide that race is only a factor in a single character's story. I get it though, you haven't actually thought any of this through because your only motivation is to put down Dany and prop up Sansa. This is how I know you don't care at all about racism and you're just copying talking points you've heard instead of thinking for yourself.

[soupbtch]

ummm. my fic is done.

[striving-artist]

Technically this is because I saw it in fiction I was reading, but considering the devolving state of American reproductive rights…

A pregnancy is measured in weeks from your last period, not weeks since The Sex™ So in general if you have a 28 day cycle, you ovulate around day 14, have had sex before or around that date, and implantation happens about 9ish days after conception. Some at home pregnancy tests, sometimes, if you’re lucky and your hormones are high, can give a positive reading 3 days after implantation. That would be day 26 of your cycle.

So you’re thinking to yourself, ok, at that point, you’re a few days, maybe a week pregnant, right? Wrong.

If you do all that, are trying to get pregnant and are testing obsessively, and find out earliest possible day, you would be 3w 5d pregnant. Most people don’t test until a missed period plus a couple days. Let’s call it five days late. That person tests, and finds out when they are almost 5 weeks pregnant.

Now lets be realistic. Lots of people don’t have textbook 28 day cycles.

Let’s say you have an average of a 35 day cycle but it’s unpredictable. You’ve got a healthy sex life. You miss your period, wait five days bc you know your cycle is wacky, go get a test on day six after work, and test first thing in the morning (when they tell you to test). You would be 6 weeks pregnant and would already be ineligible for an abortion in some states. You probably have no symptoms or indication other than a late period. Early pregnancy symptoms look a hell of a lot like PMS. It isn’t a movie; you don’t get a clear indicator.

Pregnancy math isn’t measured from implantation or conception. It’s called gestational age, and it’s the infamous Forty Weeks in your head about pregnancy. It’s also why sometimes you go to 42 weeks or later, because the baby isn’t done, because ovulation wasn’t in week 2, it was in week 4. Yes, doctors sometimes adjust dates and estimates after you start ultrasounds. But this weird math is what lots of the strict abortion bans are based on.

In your head, unless you know this already, hearing someone talk about a six week abortion ban sounds like someone had six weeks after sex to notice the pregnancy and make a decision. They didn’t. They might have had a couple days. They may have not even known they were late when they already crossed the line.

If you want to argue about this issue, write about this, protest, scream, pray, whatever; start by knowing what it actually means, and go from there.

(Sorry it’s in red, I’m on mobile)

[beautiful-monsters-raging]

hi there

Hi, you might know me as @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters. I wanted an abortion-centered space separate from my main blog, so I'm attempting to raise awareness and collect resource re the current choice crisis here.

I respect all pregnant people, regardless of gender, and terfs can go straight back to hell. "Uterus" does not equal "female" and people who refuse to accept this are making things worse in a situation that is already very bad. I have preemptively blocked both "terf" and "radfem" tags in the interest of supporting vulnerable communities. I will be posting resources related to the current crisis, along with access to pro-choice art and stories across Tumblr. I'm also going to be reaching out to some of the people who followed me as monsters to see if anyone wants to submit any material or boost any posts.

I'm blocking the "pro life," "pro-life" "pro-life," and "prolife christian" tag and I'm encouraging everyone else to do the same. There's no sense in wading into that filth. If I find someone who has violated the tag, I'll mention it here, with proof, and encouraging everyone to block.

[colorsoftheriver]

I made my way to the garage and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” my daughter said. I slowly opened the door and peered inside, catching a glimpse of her wiping tears away with her sleeves before turning to face me. She was sitting on a stool in front of the bicycle.

“Oh. Hi Mom. Did you need something?”

I paused for a second, angling my gaze toward the ground.

I need to do this.

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about,” I began.

“Now?” she asked. There was a hint of irritation in her voice.

“Yes. Now.” I looked up and met her glassy eyes.

“I’ve noticed that it’s been hard for you to….” I stopped, realizing that I was falling short on how to say this tactfully. “It’s just that….” I tried again, scrambling my brain for the right words.

“Mom. Just tell me,” my daughter said. I could hear the irritation more this time around.

“I don’t want you to have the same regrets that I have about how I raised you.” The sentence fell right out of my mouth.

My daughter’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re worried that I’m going to neglect my child, you have my word that it will never happen.”

I winced at the sharpness in her tone before standing up straighter. “Are you sure about that?”

“I don’t need parenting advice from someone who ruined my childhood!” she snapped.

Her eyes were shooting daggers in my direction.

I took a deep breath. I should be expecting this.

She has every right to be upset.

“Please hear me out.”

She pressed her lips together in a straight line, and her eyes began to glimmer with tears again, yet she said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for driving your dad away, and I’m sorry for being so uninvolved. You have every right to be upset with me, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I do expect you not to repeat what I passed down to you. You’ve already been through so much pain because of me. I don’t want you to have to live with the same regret that I have.”

My daughter tried to blink back her tears, which only caused them to stream down her cheeks. She angrily wiped them away and looked at the floor. “And…” I said with a tight voice.

“And…” I tried again, feeling my own tears start to rise.

“I just want you to know that if I could change our history, I would do it in a heartbeat.” Tears spilled from my eyes, and my daughter looked up.

She bit down on her lower lip, stood up, and began slowly stepping toward me. When she wrapped her arms around me, I clung to her like a lifeline.

“So would I, Mom,” she whispered. “So would I.”

I felt the tension around us dissolve, and our house, which had been holding its breath for years, finally exhaled.

- Page 96 - 100 of it hurts to breathe, Part 6: The Mother: Exhale

Enjoyed this excerpt? Read more from my novella 'it hurts to breathe' (linked below). Available on Amazon, Google books, Barnes & Noble, eBay, Bookshop, Thriftbooks, etc.

it hurts to breathe: a novella

https://a.co/d/et1pONa

[peachesofteal]

Would darling in the baby trap au ever get an abortion as a way to take control back? Simon and Johnny took her choice away so she takes that hope from them? I love all the different routes of the au you’ve written so far!

TW: abortion

18 + / dark themes, reader had an abortion, angst / baby trap au / Darling doesn’t know about the baby trapping - this is not after 'spits', just exists somewhere in baby trap au

The bed feels more empty than it ever has before.

The guys are dead asleep, Johnny curled along your side, a hand possessively resting overtop your belly button. Simon is snoring a little, from laying his back, his fingers curled on the inside of your thigh. Like a tether.

You’re laying awake, staring at the ceiling, counting your breathing. A very large part of you wants them to sleep in for hours so you can delay the inevitable. The conversation looms in the back of your mind, like a ticking time bomb, and even though you’ve rehearsed it a million times… you still weren’t sure how exactly you were going to tell them.

They wanted this.

They had wanted this so badly, they were so thrilled when you had told them you were pregnant.

It was shocking. It was unsettling. You always believed you and Simon, lived on the same page. And then, to be so blindsided by their unadulterated glee... it was a betrayal.

And you couldn't even be mad at them, for being happy about an accident. For embracing such a big change with a positive attitude.

But you could be in control of your own body. Make your own decisions.

Johnny stirs, and then he pulls you closer, shifting until your legs are intertwined with his and you’re partially rolled over, your face buried in his chest.

“Good morning.” He whispers with a kiss, a loving touch that’s placed in your hair.

“Morning.” You mumble, and his arms tighten around you.

“How’re ye feeling?” You’ve been ‘sick’ the past few days, with what they thought were pregnancy symptoms, but in reality, was just the remnants of medication.

“Better.” You take a long breath, and then let out slowly. “Johnny, I- I have something I need to tell you. Both of you.” You don’t look up from where your face is pressed to his warm skin, and when he tries to peel you off, you resist, pushing back. Simon’s snoring stopped a minute ago, and now his chest presses to your back.

“What is it?” He smooths a hand over your forehead, and then waits.

“I…” fuck. The air in the room is now non existent, your body buzzing with a weird numbness that spreads through your veins like an illness. Everything feels heavy, and you try to relax enough to speak.

“Darling?” Johnny encourages and you close your eyes.

“I had an abortion.”

The energy in the room shifts. Johnny holds his breath, and Simon sits halfway up, while you clench your eyes shut like a child hiding from a monster.

“It’s why I’ve not been feeling well… I got the pills from the clinic. Last week. Took them the other day.”

“You…” Johnny says, and his arms go limp around you, the motion alone enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Simon doesn't let go, but his arms tighten, and you steel yourself against the swell of your feelings, the pain, the sadness, welling up into a giant pit that swallows your entire stomach.

"Why?" It's a simple word, a question in a syllable, but the answer is vast, and complicated, and hard.

"I didn't want it. Wasn't ready, to be a mom. I felt like I was trapping you both-"

"We wanted to keep it." Johnny rebukes, tone frosty, colder than you've ever heard it before. It makes you feel nauseous.

No. No, it's not fair. It's your body, not yours.

"What about what I wanted? It's... it's my body! Not yours-"

"But it was our baby too." He seethes, sitting up, jerking away from you. Simon still holds you, stroking a soothing hand up and down your arm.

"Johnny." It sounds like a warning, but one Johnny doesn't heed.

"How could ye be so selfish? How could ye not even tell us? We wanted that baby! Wanted it together, all of us, darling. As a family!" His outburst, the words, shock you, and tears pour down your cheeks, chest shuddering with sobs while Simon keeps you from moving.

"That's enough, Johnny." Simon's voice takes on the edge, the authority, and Johnny snaps his mouth shut, staring at you, saying nothing. Hopelessness etched across his face.

"I'm s-sorry." You sob. "I didn't want it." He says something in response, something you can't understand, and you turn away, seeking the warmth of Simon's body, eager to hide from his anger.

You hurt him. You betrayed him.

Simon rubs your back, whispering to you that you're okay, that you need to focus on breathing, that everything will be okay, but all you feel inside of yourself is a vacant, gaping hole. A hole where your heart used to be. A hole where a baby used to be.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." you cry, hoping Johnny hears your apology, your plea.

The bedroom door slams in response.

[aqours]

do you think ashley and andrew would have kids

(pre-emptive mentions for abortion and child abuse)

i've talked about this extensively with a friend and i'm very excited i can share this now actually!!! please let me answer this with basically a mini fanfic summary

two actually. it's incredibly fucked up lmao. ashley gets pregnant and her response is IMMEDIATLY oh yeah no fuck that i'm getting an abortion but because of all the demonic satanic shit that fetus has literally been influenced by otherworldly energy and it just doesn't take. like literally not. ashley goes to get an abortion and by the end the abortionist is dead, starts heavily drinking, at one point she just pays a guy to punch her as hard as he can in the stomach a few times but it doesn't work so anyways that's how their first kid is born! ashley fucking hates them and makes that clear every day of that probably future anti-christ's life. she pushes him down the stairs at one point and he's just in the couch unharmed afterwards, abandons him in the middle of nowhere on the interstate and when she gets home there he is watching tv. she just groans and just accepts this is life now and any attempt to get rid of this kid is gonna be thwarted by demonic looney toons bullshit.

she hates the fact this kid gets in the way of her time with her brother SO MUCH its unreal and probably tried using him as a tar soul for a demon offering once but it didn't work since he's also partially demon (she had a backup guy just in case though). at one point though he asks "hey can you make me a little brother or sister" and her response is "i fucking hate having you why the FUCK would i have a second one" to which he's like "if i have someone to play with i'll stop bothering you as much-" and that's when ashley stops taking birth control without telling andrew

she actually treats her daughter MUCH better because not only did she plan this one but she tries to spoil her to one-up mommy too. she tries to spoil her daughter just so she can one-up her mom's memory of being a shitty parent to her by heavily favoring her second-born instead. like if the first kid asked if she could drive them to the candy store her response would be "fuck off and die." her daughter does though? well she doesn't drive her but she does go "awww sorry kid, gonna go on a date with your dad soon- but here's an extra $20 if you wanna go walk, get yourself something nice ok?" her daughter is three things: yet another way to tether andy, a way to make her first kid shut up, and perhaps most importantly to her a way to one-up her mom's spirit in hell

andrew DOES try to be a good dad especially in the routes where he's more assertive but he still sucks shit lmao. it's pretty obvious he's also not equipped for this emotionally or mentally and his co-dependence with his sister takes priority over all. they both THINK they're better parents than mr. and mrs. graves but the apple failed to fall far from the tree it's just another awful generation of this family who themselves will probably just continue to perpetuate poison forever

tl;dr: yes they do and its awful. poison simply produces more poison in the end

[deathbecomesthem]

Author's Note: This is a second person POV story based on a very real experience in my own life. At 19, in 2001, I got pregnant and had an abortion. I have zero regrets about that decision. This is the first time I've sat down and written about this experience from start to finish. Originally, I thought I would turn this into a fanfic, but it didn't feel right.

TW: Unwanted pregnancy, vomiting, abortion, fear, pain, uncertainty, and loneliness. Am I forgetting something? I hope not. This is not an easy read, but please read it. We need more real stories about abortion in the world.

*Do not send me hugs. Do not tell me you're sorry. | ~5K words

---

“You ok, Chicken?” Your mom’s voice echoes in the narrow bathroom, barely muffled by the hollow laminate door. “I can get you some water or Pepto.”

“I’m ok. I’ll be out in a minute.” Bile slicks up your tongue while you squeeze the words out of your mouth. You swallow it back. And then again. You’re suddenly very grateful to be in your mother’s bathroom where it still smells of bleach from frequent cleaning rather than the mouse infested apartment you’ve been staying in for the last year. Just a short stopover in your childhood home that happens to coincide with this personal hell you’re living in.

The vomiting is not what clued you in. It’s not the reason you made that trip to the pharmacy, despite never keeping track of your cycle like a “normal” woman. You just knew. Your body began to feel alien at some point, you felt held captive by something. Everything smelled. The water pouring from the tap in your kitchen, acorns scattered on the back patio, his skin sweat slicked and heated. You could smell everything so much more, as if that small cluster holding court in your gut was reaching through your senses already.

Yesterday morning while you hurled up the coffee flavored stomach acid into your mother’s toilet, a daily habit you’d happily break if you could, you heard her in her bedroom talking on the phone. Your aunt Deanna called, and your mother’s whispered gossip could easily be heard by your overly sensitive ears. “Poor little thing, she’s been so sick lately. I think she might need to see a doctor…. What? No. No, absolutely not that.”

Sorry, mom, but it can be that. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the thing that your aunt had suggested over the phone line. The woman living 500 miles away could see the thing so plainly, and yet you and your mother refused to acknowledge it. But that was the thing that pushed you to the pharmacy. The idea that it would be found out, and very soon, if you didn’t get a handle on it.

Two pink lines. Dark pink. Unmistakably two of them. You shoved the plastic test back into its wrapper. You opened the drawer of your dresser and shoved the test behind the dust rose colored Bible. You threw a bra on top of it. You looked down into the drawer and examined it closely. Nothing intriguing that might make someone, your mother, look twice and fiddle around. You’ll take the evil thing to work with you tomorrow and throw it into the giant metal dumpster where only the neighborhood racoons might stumble upon it.

As if it matters. That thing only tells you the truth of the situation, and throwing it away won’t change it. You rest your hand on your stomach and close your eyes. You try to make yourself feel something. You try to conjure images of bottles and stretchmarks. You think about him and wonder. None of it reaches you in any meaningful way, and your mind is suddenly resolute. You’re going to get an abortion as soon as possible, even if it means you max out the only credit card you have to your name.

Brrrrnnngg

You jump at the sound of the phone on your bedside table ringing. The digital clock reads 1:24, and you already know who will be on the end of the line before you pick it up. You’ve been putting him off for over a week. You plan to continue to put him off until the thing is done. You want him away from it, you don’t want him to see any of it. It’s not for him.

“Hello.” 

“Hello. How are we feeling today?” His voice has an immediate effect on you. It does every time. It’s too perfect to be contained in a memory, so when you hear it, it’s always a shock to your system. It zings through you.

“Oh, feeling like a dried husk. Not great. I’m sorry. Maybe next weekend I’ll be up for something.” 

“Mmm. You said that last weekend. I already told you, I don’t mind just hanging out at your place. We can watch movies, and I can pretend to not notice when you go puke your guts out or whatever.” His words come out in a whine. It’s a technique that often works with you, and he knows it.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment next week, I expect to feel better by the weekend.” These things are both true and a lie. Not quite all of either. And you know that an appointment on Thursday morning will mean that by Friday evening you’ll likely feel like shit - but it will be over. And that’s the only thing that matters.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, but it’s not meant as anything more than a silly thing. He misses you, and that’s sweet. He’s sweet. You want to keep him that way.

—

“You know, women my age fought for your right to do that. I support you completely,” your boss looks up at you from the chair in her tiny office carved into the center of the coffee house between the dining room and the kitchen. “Just this one time, though. Don't let this happen again.” Her hand finds yours and she squeezes it. 

“I won’t, Nancy. Thank you. I should be able to work by Monday.” You back away, letting her hand drop. “I don’t want anyone to know.” 

She waves her hand and assures you, “I know. I will never say anything about it again. Like it never happened.”

Like it never happened. You think about that while you make your way to the front of the coffee house, slipping on the wet tile as you pass the espresso machine. You see them sitting at a table in the center of the dining room and make your way towards them. You’re wishing for more privacy, and hope that, for once, the people in this place will focus on the conversations happening at their own tables. Keep their minds on the books held up to their noses. You sit in the uncomfortable vinyl covered chair and smile weakly at the two women in front of you. Barely friends, but the only ones you know will help you.

“Tomorrow morning. It’s supposed to be at 11, but they want me there at 9. We should leave by 8.” You’re just rattling off information while Bri, the person that’s taking you to your appointment the following morning nods along while her pen glides across the small notebook in front of her. “It should really only be a couple of days before I’m pretty much back to normal.”

“I need you to understand that this is a serious medical procedure,” these are the first words that Tesa has spoken since you sat down. She’s older than most of the people in this circle of friends, and a med student. “You’re going to need some care.”

You look down at the wooden table and nod slowly, considering. You’re going to need some care. That’s true, you’re sure, but also not something you can worry about. 

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got the weekend off. I’ll do everything they tell me I need to do, don’t worry.” You keep doing this. You keep finding yourself reassuring people around you while barely holding yourself upright. You want to shrivel up. You want someone to cradle you and brush your hair. Instead, you reassure - yes, I know what I’m doing. Yes, I’ll be careful. Yes, I’ll take care of myself. Don’t worry. Don’t worry. Don’t worry.

“I really think you should tell him what’s happening. He should be the one to take you tomorrow, and take care of you. You don’t want this to be a secret you have to keep from him.” Tesa continues in a worried tone. You open your mouth to respond, to explain again that you’re not going to do that, when Bri breaks in.

With a hand on your knee and a small scowl on her face aimed at her girlfriend sitting beside you, she says, “I support your decision completely. You don’t have to tell him anything if you don’t want to. It’s your choice, and I’ll take care of you.”

—

Bri picks you up in her small, black Ford Escort promptly at 8 in the morning. You nod at each other and say nothing. It’s quiet, and the highways are empty. Bri doesn’t turn the radio on, she just allows the quiet to stretch and expand. You let it swallow you up. You let your ears focus on the sound of the car bumping along the ridges in the road. You let your ears focus on the hum of the engine. It’s already getting hot on this early September morning, but neither you nor your driver reach for the window cranks. 

You’re halfway to your destination when you first wonder how Bri knows the way. It’s not a common destination, a clinic in one of the larger outskirt cities that circle the big one on the lake. She must have studied a map, you assume. It should feel strange to be in this situation with her, someone you’ve only known from behind a counter or at your sister’s monthly board game night, but it doesn’t. She is a force of steady calm, and your heart aches with it.

After exiting the highway, it’s only 3 short turns until the car is facing the very ordinary looking office building. No signs out front to announce the purpose of the place, just a building next to dozens of other buildings that look nearly identical. Except for the man standing alone with a cardboard sign hanging out of his hand. He has a lazy stance, and you close your eyes. You hope against hope that he doesn’t clock the fact that a car is pulling into the parking lot beside him. You’re going to have to walk back across his spot on the sidewalk to get to the front door of the building.

Bri pulls her car into a spot as far from the sidewalk as possible and turns to say, “I want you to walk on the inside, ok? It’s going to be fine.” Her voice never wavers, and you believe her. It will be fine. You barely even hear his voice when he finally realizes he’s missing his opportunity. Baby killer and whore are weakly lobbed in your direction, ineffectual to a mind already numb from the thing set out in front of it.

You walk, side by side, up two flights of stairs and find the door you’re meant to go through. It’s shocking to see the waiting room already half full. This is the only clinic in the greater metro area in a state that’s less than friendly to the needs of women. You sign in while Bri takes a seat opposite a very pregnant woman with, you’re assuming, her husband. You don’t let yourself think about what that means. And then you wait, both you and your chaperone with paperbacks to pretend to read.

“I told him,” you can’t help but listen to the woman sitting in the corner seats. She’s older than you by at least 5 years, and sitting cross-legged in the plastic chair, “I ain’t payin’ this time. I can’t afford it. He can either pay for me to come down here, or he can pay for another baby.” Her friend is nodding in agreement.

The thought of having to make multiple trips to this place makes your stomach lurch. You look up to see the very pregnant woman looking at the one speaking in the corner. There’s no expression on her face, she’s just looking for something to focus on outside of the hand she has rested on her swollen belly. 

The very pregnant woman is the first to get called back. You hold your book up to hide your face, despite the fact that no one’s looking at it. The minutes pass like hours, and the hours like days. Time becomes meaningless, and the woman in the corner never deviates from the conversation that she keeps with her friend. Time becomes meaningless, so when your name is finally called 5 hours later, you’ve nearly forgotten why you’re sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair in this too cold waiting room. Bri offers you a smile and a nod, and returns to her paperback while you’re led back through a door.

The first stop is the counter just inside the waiting room door. A young woman with a pixie cut has you read papers and sign them. Injury, sterilization, death… just things that may or may not happen at the end of your day. You sign without a second thought. You get out your credit card, and don’t think about the $500 you don’t have to pay for this today. You just swipe it, and sign again.

The lady that escorted you from the waiting room leads you down to the end of the hallway. “First things first, we get a picture, ok?” You say ok without understanding what you’re agreeing to. You’ll agree to anything to get to the end of this thing.

You sit in a chair that closely resembles the one you sit in at your dentist’s office. A small woman comes through an open door next to the chair, she has a radiant smile on her face. “Hello, how are you?” Her heavy accented voice is sweet and calm. Everyone here is calm. “Sit tight for a minute, ok? This won’t take long.”

She moves your shirt up in a quick move, tucking it under your bra, and pushes down your sweatpants a little. “A little cold,” she says as she squirts a bit of gel on your low abdomen. It’s something you should have noticed, the fact that there’s a machine against the wall next to the big chair. You’re too focused on existing moment to moment, you can’t be worried about things that other people will worry about for you.

The woman runs a wand attached to a cord that leads back to the machine at your back. “Oh, look at that. Almost nothing there at all,” the woman pulls the machine up so you can see the monitor. A black and white image is in front of you, “we have to do an ultrasound, that’s the law. But you’re maybe not even 6 weeks. Nothing there, not really.” She’s right, you can’t even see the thing that she’s talking about, and she doesn’t bother to point it out. She just puts the wand away and wipes your belly. 

The other woman, the one that led you back to this place, is suddenly at your side again and ready to take you through another door. This one is an office. No one tells you where you’re going, and that’s fine. It doesn’t matter. Each place is another step closer to the end of this thing. 

“Take a seat, this will only be a few minutes.” A new woman sits behind a desk and points to a chair in front of her. You sit obediently. “So, why are you getting an abortion today?” 

Your face must have given something away, some sort of concern or frustration because she’s quick to add, “a counseling session is legally required before you can get an abortion in this state. I promise, I’m not here to judge you in any way.”

You nod your head in understanding and decide that this is someone you can tell the whole truth to. She doesn’t care, and this is the work she does. So you tell her, “I don’t want a baby. I can’t afford it, and I don’t want it.”

“You know the risks involved in the procedure? You read the waivers?” The woman asks while looking down at a piece of paper in front of her. It’s some kind of checklist that needs to be completed before you can move to the next room.

“Yes. I know the risks, and I understand them.”

“Does the father know you’re here?” The woman asks, and it’s the first time someone’s managed to break through the wall you built up around yourself since you entered this building.

“No. I’m not telling him.” 

“Well, we really recommend you tell the father. It’s not something you should go through alone unless there’s a really good reason.” She looks up at you, sees your face, and looks back down to her paper. She makes a couple of notes and says, “as you know, abortion access is at risk, now more than ever. We ask that you consider volunteering your time in some way to help the cause if you can.” She stands and hands you a brochure before heading to the door to let the first woman, your guide, back into the room. “Good luck, you’ll be fine.”

Your guide leads you back down the hallway, past the door to the waiting room, past the chair with the ultrasound, and into a room with lockers. “You can put on a gown. Everything comes off, but you can keep on your socks” she points to a stack of hospital gowns on a shelf on the far wall, “and leave your things in locker 12. Once you've changed, head through that door, “she points to a door opposite the one you’re standing in, “and the nurse and doctor will be in for your procedure shortly.”

She leaves and you head over to the stack of gowns. Small, medium, and large. You grab the size you think is right, and realize you’re still holding onto the pamphlet that the last lady, the hippy, handed you. You look at it for a second and wonder what to do with it before remembering locker 12. It’s fast after that. You walk over to your locker and set the paper down before stripping off your clothing and donning an all-too-familiar paper gown. Your feet are immediately cold when they hit the tile floor with only a thin piece of fabric protecting the bottom of your feet. You move quickly through the door to the dark room and instinctively move to take your spot on the exam table. 

You don’t notice the instruments. You don’t notice the machine. You just sit and wait. Those are things that you don’t need to worry about, and you’re thankful for that. A woman comes in, a new woman, with a surgical mask over her face and pale pink scrubs. She says something and you nod. You don’t know what she says, and it doesn’t really matter. She encourages you to lay back on the table and begins to move things around on the table at your side.

And then he comes through the door. A tall man in green scrubs, a surgical mask over his face. He introduces himself, but you won’t remember the name he gives you. He’s just the doctor, and that’s fine. You’re surprised to find how quickly things go when he enters the room, but his time is probably at a premium in a place like this. 

The doctor is positioned at your feet when he says, “this will pinch a bit. Only a little, and it will be quick, ok?” 

What does he know about it? Nothing, you realize, as he works inside of you. It’s loud, the machine at your side, and it doesn’t pinch. It hurts. It’s painful, and you’re no stranger to pain. Pain has taken up residence in your body many times over the years, but this is a new one. This is a cousin to the pain that you’ve come to know, something stranger than you’re used to. A deep ache inside of you in a place that you don’t know well at all.

“It hurts,” you say. You don’t mean to say it, but you do anyway. It’s as if you need him to know that he’s wrong, and that it does hurt. It’s not a pinch, it’s a pull. The nurse finds your hand, and holds it tightly.

“Oh, nah. It doesn’t hurt. You’re fine.” The man in the scrubs says back to you, oblivious to the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. He’s too busy probing and scraping and sucking with that thing in his hand. “It’s almost over.”

You don’t bother telling him again that it hurts. You close your eyes and sob. You let tears roll down your face, and wail. You release the pain, the fear, the uncertainty, along with that cluster of cells that would have - if left alone - changed your life completely. You will leave these things in this room, and find that you don’t miss them.

10 minutes. That’s how long you sit on the exam table with a doctor between your legs. 10 minutes and you’re led to yet one more room. Three other women sit in big recliners, packs of ice sitting in their laps. You’re handed your own when you gingerly rest yourself on your own chair. 

A young woman hands you a paper cup full of water and 2 pills. “For your pain,” she says, “You can take 2 more Advil in 6 hours. You should do that for the next couple of days to stay ahead of it.”

The time in the recovery room moves faster than the time in the waiting room. You don’t think about Bri sitting alone with her paperback in her hand. You’ll never really know how long you sat there before they finally let you get up and move back to the changing room. You’d forgotten about the pamphlet hiding under your bra, but you take it. You don’t even consider putting it in the wastebasket on your way out, or simply leaving it in the locker for the next woman to find.

Leaving the clinic is quick compared to entering. No hurdles. No credit card machines, ultrasounds, or counselors. Just stairs and a door. The pain is worse than you thought it would be, and you think about the way that Tesa had looked at you in the coffee shop yesterday. She tried to prepare you for a thing that can’t be prepared for. You don’t notice the small group of people that have joined the lone man with the cardboard sign, too tired and sore to hear their poisonous words.

Back in the car, you speak the first words to Bri that you’ve spoken today. “Can we stop at a gas station? I’m out of smokes.”

“Sure, Honey. You wait in the car and rest.”

—

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He’s asking the question before he’s even fully entered your room and closed the door. 

You’re laying in your bed, waves of pain traveling through your gut and pelvis. He was so easy to convince, you didn’t even have to lie well. Seeing a smile sit sweetly on his face fills your eyes with tears.

“I’m ok. Just hurts.” You tell him. He climbs into the bed with you, and wraps you up in his arms. It’s a mistake, letting him come over so soon afterwards. Hormones compound the pain and trauma. He reminds you that your loneliness is a self imposed thing. He reminds you that you didn’t even let him try to do the right thing. 

So, while he has you wrapped tight in his arms you tell him. You feel his arms go slack while he takes in your words. He says nothing. He listens with loose arms that hold you lightly. He doesn’t say a thing for the rest of his time with you. You stay in his arms, and the silence ricochets off the walls of your childhood bedroom.

[chappellrroan]

In a dream you saw a way to survive, Clementine von Radics