Tragic Love (7 page)

Once I’m dressed, I rake a comb through my hair and pile it in a bun on top of my head. The once glimmer in my eyes is gone, they’re vacant, and my skin is ghostly as I stare at myself in the mirror. The dark purple circles are pooled under my eyes and the limited sleep I got the night before only accentuates their color. I don’t look any different than the days before, yet today I really notice how sickly my appearance is. No wonder Drake has been so insistent I go to the doctor. I look like shit.

Pulling my make-up bag from the drawer, I put on some concealer in an attempt to mask my hideous dark circles. Next, I rub foundation and powder across my skin followed by a dab of blush to add color to my cheeks.

I walk back to my room, throw my dirty clothes in the basket and pull my purse over my shoulder so it lies across my body. As I round the corner, Delilah comes marching through the door, cheeks flushed from the heat. She’s looking like the perfect southern lady; wearing a knee length, khaki pencil skirt and a lavender, button-up blouse. Her long, blonde hair is flowing down her back, and she’s absolutely beautiful. Then my stomach sinks to my feet. She’s home thirty minutes early and is not suppose to see me walk out the door.

“Hey girl, you look nice. Where are you off to?” Delilah asks while setting her purse on the table.

“Umm…I…”I stammer as my brain goes blank. “…errands.” I look down at my hands then at the time on my cell phone. “I have errands to run.”

“Presley?” Delilah’s voice is motherly and accusing all at the same time. Then her face falls and I know instantly Delilah doesn’t buy my excuse because she knows exactly what I’m about to do.

I can’t stay here another minute.

“I have to go.” I start to push past her, but Delilah grabs onto my arm, stopping me from moving forward. Her eyes are filling with tears. They start to pool and spill down her cheeks as she squeezes my arm, however I feel nothing. The numbing feeling still exists in my body and I need it to stay. I can’t afford to feel anything now.

“Please… don’t do this. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” Her voice is pleading, her hand refusing to let go of my arm.

I look her square in the eyes and as coldly as possible, I retort, “Delilah, you promised no matter what happened you wouldn’t tell Drake. I’ve made my decision and there is nothing you can do to change my mind. You know…you’re the only person I can count on now. Please don’t betray me or our friendship.” I yank my arm from her hold, run down the back steps and keep moving myself forward until I am out of view of our house.

I manage to make it to the bus stop just as it’s pulling up to the curb. There are only few people riding it, so I sit in the first empty seat I can find which is right behind the driver. He’s an overweight man with a large belly and hairy arms. His wire frames are thin and the lenses are tinted from the sun shining through the window. The humidity of the air chokes my lungs with every breath I take, the overwhelming smell of BO lingers, remaining stagnant in the air.

Fishing through my purse, I grab a hold of my iPod and put the ear buds in my ears, withdrawing myself from having any conversation with anyone. When the music starts, “Broken” by Seether and Amy Lee starts blasting in my ears, and I start to dissect the lyrics. I can’t help thinking of Drake’s and my relationship. Right now, we are at a crossroads, that metaphoric fork in the road, and the decision I make today will either save us…save me or be the demise of our relationship and the demise of my soul. I have to survive my decision to keep the reason I breathe in my life. If he ever found out what I’m about to do, then we’ll be done. The pieces of our relationship will be left to the winds, scattered amongst the garbage filled gutters and bums.

Just as predicted, ten minutes later the bus pulls to the curb one block away from the clinic. The air is thick from the heat, making me sweat within seconds. When I turn the corner around an old abandoned restaurant the clinic comes into view. The brick building sits on the end of the strip with other empty store fronts attached to the structure.

I pull open the glass door and step inside. The cool air brushes my hot skin and it smells sterile from cleanser. To the right is the waiting room with almost every hard plastic chair filled with a body while the TV hanging in the corner displays The Weather Channel’s scoop of the most recent summer storm.

I move forward to the glass partition and observe that the set up is similar to a drive thru window at a bank. The receptionist pushes a button to hear me speak and I give my name and appointment time while looking at the stainless steel speaker wedged into the glass. She taps on the keyboard and retrieves papers from the printer. Next, she secures them to a clipboard using the automated drawer to send the clipboard out. The steel is cool as it brushes against my waist.

I pull the papers from the drawer and find a seat amongst everyone else. Robotically, I fill out form after form then take them back up to the receptionist. She tells me I will go through the counseling process first with a nurse and she will advise me what will happen from there.

I sit back down in the hard plastic chair and try to turn off my thoughts. Pictures of landscapes cover the walls and out-dated magazine issues are scattered over the side tables. When I look around at the people waiting I notice quickly everyone seems to have someone with them. Young girls, probably still in high school or younger with their mothers, women close to my age with their boyfriends, and other girls with what I assume is a best friend or maybe a sister. Some of the women are crying, others are staring mindlessly at the TV, and others are laughing quietly to their friend. I start feeling over whelmed; start thinking it was a mistake not to ask Delilah to come with me. Then, the reality of the situation crashes into me and I know there is no way in hell Delilah would have supported me in this.

My knee is bouncing up and down as my sensitive stomach starts to churn from the anxiety of what I’m about to do. I can feel the burn of the bile in the deepest part of my throat, but I swallow it down. Before I can let my mind race even more, the large wooden door leading to the back is opened up and a very thin, older woman is holding it open.

She has a folder in her hands, examining it as everyone in the waiting room stares at her. Her brownish-gray hair is secured in a ponytail behind her head and she has glasses fastened at the end of her nose. The nurse is wearing purple scrubs with a stethoscope slung around her neck and white clog type shoes. Her voice is gravelly as she announces my name, and when I get closer, I notice she has wrinkles around her mouth and eyes as well as the faint scent of cigarette smoke lingering from her clothing.

I follow her down a hallway lined with doors on both where the florescent light illuminates the hall. I keep my eyes firmly plastered to the back of the nurse’s head; not daring to look around.

I feel like I am walking to my doom. As though, when I round the corner then step inside a room, a hooded man will be standing behind a table, holding a scalpel, ready to hack me to pieces.

She opens a door and stands to the side, allowing me to walk in. I hesitate slightly, trying to get my legs to move forward, instantly angry my body is malfunctioning against everything my mind has planned out.

The room is small, filled with a small table and two chairs. Nothing hangs on the walls except a slotted shelf designed for holding pamphlets. The nurse grabs three brochures from the shelf and instructs me to read through each one carefully then shuts the door behind her, leaving me alone with my choices.

Each brochure explains the three options a woman has once she discovers she’s pregnant. The first talks about having a child and gives information for a specialist who can help you adapt to being a new parent and classes you can take to teach you how to raise a baby. It is filled with pictures of happy couples snuggling with a beautiful little baby. This is bullshit. No one is this happy when they find out they’re pregnant. Life isn’t this happy unless it’s planned and let’s face it, no one who comes to this place has chosen raising their baby as an option.

The second brochure explains the benefits of adoption and resources to get started with the adoption process. A choice I would definitely make if it were an option with Drake, but it wouldn’t be, so I’ve never given it a thought. I set it aside with the other pamphlet and stare at the last pamphlet—the real reason I am here—the explanation about abortion.

The brochure explains in layman’s terms what will happen during the process, what I can expect in the weeks that follow and so on. As I bore my eyes into each word they all start to blend together because my eyes betray me and as the tears begin to pool. I can’t read this. I know what I’ve decided and it has to be that way in order for me to survive. I start to take deep breaths and blink back the tears. I need to get out of this room. The walls start to close in on me and I feel like at any moment I am going to suffocate. I need air. I need to breathe.

Moments later, the nurse walks in and asks me if I am sure about my initial decision. She is holding a cup of water and a small white pill. “This will start the process and your body will begin to reject the fetus. The pill will take about two hours to work, you will start to feel cramping in your abdomen, similar to menstrual cramps then they will intensify slightly. After that time we will take you back and finish the procedure.” She starts to leave and I look at the small paper cup with the white pill sitting on the table.

Once I swallow this, there is no going back. The baby will die and I will have to be forced to live with this secret for the rest of my life. My stomach lurches into my throat. I know I can’t fight this down. I ask for the restroom, stuffing the pill in my pocket and taking the water with me. The nurse leads me down a small corridor and I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up. Violently, my body rejects everything holding in my stomach stealing my breath as well. I flush the toilet, wash my face and hands and then open the door to the waiting nurse. I look to my right and see fresh air on the other side of the door. I need to get out of here and clear my head.

“Umm…can I sit out there while I wait?” I ask with pleading eyes.

“Did you take the pill? Because I can’t let you leave the building with it.” The nurse informs.

“Yes,” I lie. She nods her head and tells me to be back inside in a few minutes to get my vitals checked and proceed to the next step.

I make a mad dash to the door, allowing it to slam against the brick at side of the building where additional parking is available. There is a dirty, wooden picnic table flush to the building with a nurse sitting at the edge engrossed in a novel as she smokes a cigarette. The metal pail in the middle of the table is filled with sand and discarded cigarette butts. It smells like ash and dirty feet outside, but it’s better than suffocating in that tiny room for one more second.

I walk to the edge of the building and lean against the warm brick, knowing that I have a decision to make and that it’s now or never. The air is heavy with humidity, but my body is cold with the guilt plaguing my mind, so I close my eyes and let the heat warm my cold skin. The goosebumps growing over my skin start to subside, yet the decision growing on my shoulders is as heavy as a tank. I had my mind completely made up when I left the house today, but when I looked at the small white pill in my hand, I froze; my mind screams to stop and my body says run. I search through the images of my future, watching my life flash before my eyes in slow motion in my head. He is not there. I know if he found out that I ever had an abortion Drake would leave me and every instinct in my body is agreeing with that thought. Is it a risk I am willing to take?

Opening my eyes, I look around and try to find anything peaceful. I look for a glimpse of hope in this Godforsaken town before I swallow the pill I’m holding in my shaky hand. I look down one end of the street, noticing a group of thugs tormenting a bum passed out next to a dumpster. The tears start to pool in my eyes as I witness everything that Sulfur Heights represents, but I keep them contained.

When I look to the opposite end of the street a black car is driving fast, closing in on the clinic. I know instantly it’s him, the man who gives me the very will to live every single day. Drake fishtails into the parking lot, leaving black marks on the pavement, burnt rubber in the air and the screaming sound of his tires as he makes a sudden stop.

He exits the car, slamming the door in the process and stalks to the front of the car, but doesn’t take another step. His eyes are burning with rage. The veins in his arms are pushed to the top layer of his skin as he flexes his adrenaline filled hands in and out. I know immediately his heart is broken. Looking into his eyes, maybe I
was
wrong. He will leave me no matter what I decide.

Chapter 6

Drake

I am tearing up the street, breaking twenty traffic laws to make it in time to stop her from making a huge mistake. She would never be able to live with herself if she went through with this, and in all honestly, I don’t know if I could ever look at her the same if she did. Yes, raising a baby is going to be hard work, but getting the abortion is the pussy way out and as long as I’m walking on this earth, I will never allow her to do it.

I know how it feels to be thrown out by the one person who’s supposed to exhibit an undying love for you. My mother proved that heroin was more important than I was, and from a very young age, I swore to myself I would never do that to my own child. Presley and I have had conversations about this topic which leaves me completely confused as to why she would go behind my back to have an abortion.

The air conditioner is on full blast, but it does nothing to cool down the raging inferno in my body. The closer I get to the clinic, the more disgusted and restless I feel. I only pray I make it to the clinic in time. The traffic on Luther Boulevard seems to understand my need to hurry as the cars veer to the other lane, allowing me to speed past them. I’m approaching the clinic and a solitary red light is stopping me from pulling into the parking lot. Making a snap decision, I look quickly to each side and stomp on the gas pedal, flying through the light. The Chevelle accelerates and the motor roars loudly as it passes cars. I swerve to the left lane and quickly turn into the parking lot, causing the back end of the Chevelle to swing. That’s when I spot her.