"Wait, wait, wait!" Heat rushes my skin and adrenaline surges through my veins in the form of electric chills. "I'm wrong. It's not Sammy. I knew Sammy wouldn't do this to me, she wouldn't take it this far no matter what she thought I've done to her. Sammy has a heart, a conscience, but not Uncle Pete. You never had a moral compass, you bastard. You bastard!"
My throat grows hoarse and raw, the pain takes me off guard, and for a minute his silhouette manifests as solid and as well-formed as it had in my nightmares. Unlike the other times, the chair remains empty, as does his features. Purposely, he cowers in the corner with no specifics to his form, no emotion, no facial expressions to scrutinize. Only his body language defines him.
"How dare you damn me to hell for making the decision I was forced to make, the only one that made sense at the time to a fourteen-year-old carrying your child. You asshole. After all I did to cover up your sick habits, all the lies I believed. 'Keep your mouth shut or next time I'll force it so far down your throat you'd wish you were dead.' Remember that? I can't forget it. I should've bitten it off. It crossed my mind, you know. But just when I was about to act on it, your threats came to mind.
"Sneaking into my room at night. The backyard pool when no one was home. That time while Mom napped upstairs while you—you bastard! You had me convinced. 'Nobody will believe you. They'll just think you're a slut like every other bitch in the family,' you said.
"I fell for it. I was so messed up I convinced my mom that my boyfriend had knocked me up. And she was dumb enough to believe me. What boyfriend? I hadn't let any other people get that close to me. Fear made me that way. I lied directly to Mom's face, to the doctors' faces, just like you wanted. And after weeks of healing and allowing my womb to adjust to suddenly being void, you tell me what I've done is a direct ticket to hell?
"If so, you'll be traveling right alongside me. That's a promise.
"I hope you're not looking for an apology. If I had the chance, I'd slide the steel of that knife through you again. Next time you wouldn't survive to run out of state. The only one who deserves an apology is the one who never had a chance. A chance at life, at love. My child.
"Baby. Poor baby, I'm sorry."
My knees give way and slam onto the concrete as my eyes well up in tears, blurring my vision. My throat aches so bad both hands tremble as I clench it. I cough, collapse, and struggle to breathe. The scent of smoke isn't the cause of my pain. The air is eerily crisp, but increasingly hot. The cause of my agony is unknown, like my fate.