Trigger Warning: This chapter deals with abortion. Do not read if you find this topic disturbing.
Disclaimer: This chapter takes a clear anti-stance on the topic of abortion which is only developed to advance the plot. It's not meant to pass judgment or criticize women who choose to terminate their pregnancies each year. I strongly believe in the freedom of choice and that each woman has to make her own decision on what is right for her under the circumstances.
8 – Broken
This part is set approximately two years after Patrice confided in her mom and loops back to the beginning of the first chapter.
"Fuck." Despite the nausea that is slowly crawling up my throat, I can't tear my eyes off the little plastic stick I hold in my hand. Two pink lines, not one, as I had hoped. After the two blue lines on another stick and the pink positive sign, my chances that all these tests are wrong are slim to none. I'm pregnant with Marcus's baby.
"Fuck." The swearing doesn't get rid of the unwanted being growing inside me but helps with the growing fear that is crushing my chest. What am I going to do?
The oncoming tears evaporate when anger seethes and my mind lashes out at Marcus. Everyone knows that one-time unprotected sex is enough, but he laughed it off and called me dumb when I reminded him of that fact the day he ran out of condoms. Since I had just gotten off my period a few days earlier, he said I shouldn't worry about it. Now Murphy's Law is coming back to bite us.
Deciding that this is one problem I shouldn't have to tackle alone, I drag my feet across the bathroom floor toward his study. As usual on a Friday afternoon, he's working from home and my mom is busy with one of her AA meetings. Even though she's only going through the motions after being caught while driving under the influence, she has been doing a little better by locking herself into her room when she is drunk instead of leaving the house.
Marcus looks up when I enter and regards me with a small smile. Exhaustion reflects on his face—he has been working a big case that has required a lot of extra hours. Trials are the times I cherish the most since they give me a reprieve. His mind is running in constant overdrive and he's usually not in the mood for sex. As far as I'm concerned, all those criminals should insist on their constitutional right to be judged by a jury of their peers instead of plea bargaining their cases.
"Do you need something, Patrice?" he asks. "I'm really busy."
I hold up the stick with the two pink lines.
His jaw drops as he squints at it. "Is that one of your stupid jokes?"
I can't help but snort. Leave it to him to think I would make something like this up. "I took three tests and they're all positive. I don't know what to do." My mouth dries up as I swallow down the lump in my throat. He looks thunderstruck. What if he is not going to help me?
"Fuck." His palms massage his forehead, his fingernails scraping over his short hair. All of a sudden, his head snaps up. "Who did you have sex with besides me?"
I gasp. "Nobody."
"Don't lie to me, Patrice." His pointed finger almost touches my nose when he shoots up like one of those Jack in the Box toys. "We only had unprotected sex once and that was right after your period. There must be someone else."
"Well, there isn't." I glare at him, refusing to break eye contact. I will not let him blame this on someone else.
His fist hits the desktop and I instinctively pull my head a little closer to my shoulders. His eyes are blazing and for a second, I am afraid he'll strike me, but then his balled fists relax.
"What are we gonna do?" I ask through the pressing silence that follows his outburst.
"Well, Patrice, you are sixteen years old. The only possible option is for you to have an abortion."
My bottom lip begins to quiver as I take a step back, the all too familiar hitch in my throat cutting off my breath. Even though deep down, I should have expected his reaction, it still feels like a punch right square into my stomach.
"That's murder." My breath is heavy as I control the rising tears. No way he can expect me to do this.
"Don't be ridiculous." His anger has been replaced by absolute calmness. "A baby would have a severe impact on your future. I mean, your life would practically be over. If you keep this child, you can forget about med school or ever making a career. A kid will tie you down for the rest of your life."
"But aren't you going to help me?" I lose the battle against the hitch in my throat when the first tears begin to roll down my cheeks. "This is your baby, too. Why don't you just raise it with Mom?"
His laugh is a mixture of bitterness and mocking. "Don't act like a child, Patrice. You know that's not possible."
I realize that the baby will carry his DNA—the undeniable proof of his despicable actions. It's a lost battle.
"Please, don't make me do this," I whisper in a last attempt to avoid the inevitable. My whole body is shaking as my eyes plead with him.
"I'm sorry, Patrice, but as your legal guardian, the decision is ultimately mine. You will abort this child and this is final. Now go to your room. I will call around to get this done over the weekend, so you won't miss any school."
With slumped shoulders, I retreat to my bedroom. The pregnancy test is tossed against the wall with a loud shout, followed by more tears as self-loathing takes over. I should not have given in so easily. Now I feel helpless, scared of what he'll do if I challenge him.
In the end, all that is left is to hide under the covers in total darkness which eventually melts with the growing black void in my soul. The tears keep falling until all that is left inside me is total emptiness.
~~~~
The next morning, he wakes me up before nine to drag me to an abortion clinic downtown. Not a single word is spoken during the drive over. I glare out of the window, battling with nausea and dead tired to the bone after not sleeping at all.
If this is morning sickness, I'm glad it is over soon, I keep repeating in my mind in a desperate attempt to calm my guilty conscious. My hand strokes over my belly from time to time where the small, new life is forming. I wonder if the baby is a boy or a girl and whether it already has a heartbeat. An incredible sadness hits me full force and I wipe over my eyes with the back of my hand to get rid of my tears.
Marcus says when he glances over at a traffic light. "Don't be so dramatic, Patrice. It's unfortunate that this happened, but an abortion is best under the circumstances. I'm not sure why you don't grasp this."
I remain silent—he wouldn't understand. All he cares about is himself and keeping this thing with us a secret. My fingers twist together to control my sudden urge to slap him across the face. It was his fault, after all. If he had just listened to me, we wouldn't be in this situation.
A young woman is already sitting in the waiting area when I lower myself on the edge of a chair close to the reception desk where Marcus checks me in. I chew on my lip, taking in my surroundings. It looks just like any normal doctor's office, the only exception are the colorful brochures that talk about adoption and prevention of pregnancy. There's even a basket with condoms on a table next to the exit.
My gaze wanders to the young woman who is flipping through a magazine. She seems calm, her face not mirroring any of the fear and sadness that bubbles inside me. For a moment, our eyes interlock. A small smile curls her lips before her gaze lands on Marcus. When he turns around, her attention refocuses on the magazine. It must be hard to come here alone and despite the fact that I hate my dad at the moment, I'm still glad he's taking care of the formalities.
I don't have to wait long before I'm called into an examination room. An older lady sits behind a desk and points at the two chairs across from her as she gives us a quick once over.
"I'm Doctor Kendrick. Please have a seat."
My heart is pounding so loud that I'm amazed I can even hear her. Marcus squeezes my arm when I plop down on the plastic chair. I drop my gaze, fighting fresh tears.
"The first thing I need you to do is take another pregnancy test." Though Doctor Kendrick's voice is soft and calming, the words get me even further on edge.
I nod without making eye contact before snatching the cup off the desk. With slumped shoulders, I retreat, asking the nurse behind the reception desk for directions to the bathroom. Five minutes later, another plastic stick dipped into my pee confirms that I'm indeed pregnant.
"Okay, Patrice, first of all, I have to inform you of all your available options."
Marcus clears his throat. "My daughter and I already discussed this in length. She's still in high school, hence unable to care for a child, and an adoption is not an option. As you know, black children aren't easy to place, even babies."
"That might be so, Mr. Forrester, but I'm still legally required to inform Patrice of all her options, so she can make an informed choice." She finds my eyes. "Would you like to discuss this without your dad in the room?"
I glance at him and he gives me his "don't you dare" glare.
"No, that's fine."
As Dr. Kendrick outlines what help would be available if I decide to keep the baby before running through the possibility of adoption, my mind strays. The way she makes it sound, I do have a choice. Maybe I should just flat out ask her whether my dad can force me to have the procedure or not.
"Do you understand all these options as I explained them to you, Patrice?"
I focus back on her face when I nod. "Yes, ma'am."
"And are you freely choosing to end your pregnancy?"
I glance at Marcus again who sits as rigid as a stick next to me, his lips reduced to a thin line. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes when I shrug. "I dunno."
Dr. Kendrick sighs. "Then I'm afraid we won't be able to proceed."
Marcus turns his head, his blazing eyes upon me. "Doctor, could you please give us a minute?"
I shrink in my seat, refusing to look at him. If I don't give in, there'll be serious consequences. He might even beat me. After that, he will kick me out of the house. Where would I go? My mom will side with him, just the way she did before, and my grandparents adore him, always thanking their lucky stars that my mother caught a man like Marcus. My only other relative is my uncle who is one of my dad's closest friends. I would be all alone without any money, unable to finish school and totally dependent on the state to support me. It's not something I could handle. Ultimately, Marcus is right—this baby will destroy my life.
Dr. Kendrick's fingers begin to drum on her desk. "Mr. Forrester, to be quite frank, I can sense a struggle in Patrice. Ultimately, this is her choice. You can't force her."
My head turns. The smugness has vanished, his gaze blank.
"Well, can I think about it some more?" I ask.
"Of course. When was your last period?"
"July 17th."
Dr. Kendrick looks at a chart. "Then you're about ten weeks along which still gives you plenty of time. However, I'd suggest to make a decision in the next two weeks since it's always easier to end a pregnancy in the first trimester."
I nod, quickly rising to my feet. I can't wait to get out of her office. "Thanks, Doctor."
Back in the car, Marcus starts the engine without looking at me.
"I'm sorry, I just can't—"
His angry finger cuts me off. "Shut up, Patrice, or I swear you'll regret it."
I bite my lip, recoiling back into my seat. The silence is nerve wrecking as we drive through the streets, the traffic still light for a Saturday morning. His jaw is clenched, the muscles in his cheeks twitching while he broods.
Every time his hand moves, I expect a slap in my face, but he only steers the car. I wish he would say something. Yelling or one of his tantrums I can deal with, but the not knowing has my stomach in knots. By the time we reach the highway, the back of my shirt is soaked from my sweat and I'm about to throw up.
"Where are we going?" I ask when he takes the south ramp.
"Kerry is working today, so I will brief her on the situation to figure out what to do."
My eyebrows knot together. "You are gonna tell her I'm pregnant with your child?"
"Of course not." His lips twitch. "I'll tell her that you've been sneaking out of the house to go to clubs, fucking every dick who will have you. That you have a severe alcohol problem like your mom, hell, I might even tell her I caught you sniffing cocaine. She'll open a case, maybe even toss you into juvenile detention for a few days, if I'd ask her."
I stare at him. "But that's a lie."
"So?" He chuckles. "Who do you think Kerry and my colleagues at work will believe? The desperate father who is at his wit's end after covering for his daughter for months or some immature child who got herself knocked up." Amusement sparkles in his eyes. "Don't look so stunned, my dear. You brought this on yourself. If you want to keep this child, fine, but be prepared that the life as you know it is over."
Tears fill my eyes. "Please, Dad, don't do this." My heart pounds painfully in my chest. I have never felt more alone.
He pulls the car over and allows me to bury my face into his shoulder.
"I don't want to, but you leave me no choice." He strokes my back. "I can't allow you to have this child. Please, Patrice, be reasonable. Don't destroy the little bit of a family we have left."
I sob against his chest, desperation washing over me. No doubt that no one will believe me, hell, my own mother doesn't even take me seriously. I will end up in juvie or some home for unwed mothers, maybe they'll even force into rehab. Marcus is just too powerful. There's no way I can ever defy him.
~~~~
He ends up taking me to another clinic with a doctor similar to Doctor Kendrick. This time, I go through the motions in a daze, nodding at the appropriate moments before signing the consent form. Once I almost bolt when he talks about the specifics of the procedure. They will suck my baby out of my uterus with a device that works similar to a vacuum cleaner. The whole ordeal will only take five to ten minutes and they will sedate me, but that doesn't ease the sudden fear that turn my legs into cinder blocks. Even the doctor's reassurance that I won't feel any pain doesn't help.
In the operating room, my gaze is focused on a painting on the wall that depicts a meadow. I count the flowers, trying my hardest to drown out the hushed conversation between the nurse and the doctor as they get me ready for the procedure. After my feet are placed in stirrups, he gives me an injection into my cervix to numb it. Helplessness washes over me when he inserts rods to widen my opening for better access. No more turning back now.
When a low suction noise buzzes in the room, hot tears spring loose. I cry in silence, my eyes not straying once from the painting on the wall as guilt threatens to crack my chest open. By the time they wheel me into recovery, the guilt has turned into a dull ache that keeps chipping away at my soul. With every breath, a piece of me is dying. When I stroke over my belly, the hollow sensation draws out a wail. There's nothing left.
Silent tears continue to roll as I twitch around on the bed. I want to scream, demanding that they put my baby back where it belongs. I read once that they will dispose of the fetuses together with hazardous waste. The thought drives bile up my throat. When the sedation eases, the numbness is replaced by light cramps that worsen by the minute. I hope for more pain, certain I deserve the agony.
At some point, Marcus appears next to me. He strokes my arm. "We can go home now."
I can barely keep in the bile, utter disgust and self-loathing pulsing through my veins. What kind of person am I? I allowed for my baby to be killed because I wanted a convenient life. I'm sure he or she was scared when they took its life. In that moment, I plead to God to never gift me another child. I don't deserve to be a mother.
Without even looking at the nurse who fills in the discharge papers, I accept the offered birth control pack and endure the lecture about the importance of protection. Marcus is handed a list of symptoms that would require me to seek immediate medical attention before I'm ensured that light cramps and bleeding is perfectly normal after the procedure.
"I don't think we should tell your mom," Marcus says when he pulls out of the parking lot. "This is our little secret."
Without bothering to respond, I start to play with my cuticles. The guilt has been replaced by a total emptiness—it feels like I'm inside a bubble with my brain the only part still functioning to keep me alive. Nothing matters anymore other than me being trapped in my own personal hell.
Another tough one which was unfortunately needed to fully shape Patrice's character. I am sure at this point, you are ready to murder Marcus which is good. From here on out, the gloves come off when this plot merges with the main story of 'Living With The Choices We Make' (for those who want to re-read the Rena chapters, it is Chapters 20/21 in the first book). For the rest of the novella, we will stay with the main plot and I will fill you in on some of the details that went on in Patrice's life while Rena fought her own battles.
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