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He rings off before I can argue, and I stand outside the clinic for a moment longer, struggling to keep my breathing steady.

When I’m as calm as I going to get, I head inside for my appointment.

After checking-in with the practice nurse, I take a seat. It’s hard to keep still in the waiting room. Everywhere I turn there are bright posters with clear information. The entire vibe is non-judgemental, but the voices in my head are less forgiving.

Most of them sound like my stepdad and my body tenses, anticipating a punishment because that’s what it’s been trained to receive.

Guilt grows with the thought of how my body reacts to Kincaid. He’s turning me into the slut Mike accused me so many times of being. I resent every flutter of pleasure that proves my stepfather correct, yet in a perverse way, that adds to the experience. A spit in Mike’s face. Revelling in my behaviour, knowing he would have been horrified.

My knee bounces, the motion enough to draw attention from a girl waiting across from me. Each time her eyes fix on my leg, I stop, then it starts with me barely noticing.

Mike would hate this place.

No, that’s not quite right.

He’d hatemebeing in this place and even that isn’t entirely correct. Part of him would rejoice—any excuse to hurt and degrade me.

My knee jiggles. The girl glances over. I stop, this time digging my fingernails into my arm.

“Francesca?”

“Yes.” I spring to my feet and follow her through the door.

Inside, the walls are a pale pastel green, pretty and soothing. I let my eyes rest on the colour, defocusing, and stay that way while I explain the reason for my visit.

A short conversation follows, and I squirm on the chair when she advises, in the softest, most caring voice I’ve ever heard anyone use, that they’re able to perform forensic evidence gathering if I’ve been the victim of a sexual assault.

“No, I—” my throat closes, the spectre of Kincaid’s uncle hovering. “No.”

She continues to another question, and I relax, recognising she’s working her way through a checklist. It’s not that she saw something in my mannerisms that prompted her to ask.

After five more questions, I agree to long-form protection.

“We can insert the IUD on premises if you’re able to wait. The next appointment is in another hour.”

“That’s fine.”

She gives me ibuprofen to prepare, and I take my seat in the waiting area again, not bothered that I’m missing my afternoon classes. I turn on my phone and see a string of messages.

Kincaid

Why aren’t you at lunch?

Kincaid

Aidan doesn’t know where you are. What’s happening?

Kincaid

Meet me in the music room before fourth period

Kincaid

Where are you?

Kincaid

WHERE ARE YOU???