Dead Flowers | H.S.

Chapter Twenty-Five

"On the menu today, we have either grilled cheese or quesadillas. Pick your poison."

Staring down at the kitchen table with wet hair that Harry freshly washed, I did not answer him. I did not care if I ate.

"Celery. From the market."

"You want celery for dinner?"

"I care about what goes into my body."

Harry did not speak for a moment. He grabbed his coat off the hangar by the door and silently slipped into it, wrapping his scarf around himself before he approached me, quiet and sad.

"Jane?"

I noticed a new stain on the table. It was from the time a month ago when Harry was trying to teach me how to make bread and I left a hot pan on the table.

"Can I leave you alone?"

I did not answer.

"I need to hear you say it. Say it. Say that i can leave you here by yourself and you won't hurt yourself."

I jumped at the sudden pressure of his fingers on my neck.

He pulled his hand back as if my skin had burned him. We looked at each other. It was the first time I had made eye contact that day. It was seven in the evening and the sunset made his skin golden. I missed touching him, but I didn't like the way things felt on my skin.

"I want to give you what you want, Jane. You just have to help me out a little bit. Please." Harry's eyes were big and wet.

I could not get my voice to work. I wanted to tell him that I was so angry that I could rip every hair out of my scalp. I wanted to tell him that I didn't want our baby, but I was upset that I didn't get to make that choice. I wanted to tell him that my uterus still hurt, that I cared about what went into my body, that I could feel Christopher's hand on the back of my neck, that he was hiding in our closet and he watched me while Harry slept.

When I did not answer, Harry cautiously reached out and swiped his thumb under my eye to catch a tear.

"Don't leave."

Harry nodded once, falling onto his knees before me. His hands were holding mine. I was shaking. I didn't know what day it was. I hardly knew where I was.

"Don't you want justice?"

"I don't know what I want."

"I want him to go to prison." Harry's mouth was a flat line.

"I do not want to fight a legal system that does not give women the rights to their own body," I whispered, "especially when there was an abortion involved."

"You didn't have a choice," Harry whispered back, taken aback.

I scoffed, held my eyes in my hands for a moment.

"Women never get the choice. Don't you understand, Harry?" I bit back.

He pulled his eyebrows together and nodded once. He understood. He was not angry at me for raising my voice at him. He was not angry at me.