Page 22 of Blade (The Dark Angel’s MC #1)
Luna – Three Weeks Later
I eye the handful of pills sitting on the grubby nightstand with contentment. No fear runs through me, only peace and acceptance.
I thought my heart would pound, my palms would sweat, and I’d have second thoughts at least. I mean, I don’t even know what half these pills are, yet I don’t care.
It’s like my body has just finally given up like I’ve made peace with how this needs to end, the only other feeling consuming me is my skin crawling to get rid of his touch.
Three weeks at a dingy hostel, two hours outside of Rose Meadow, and I can feel myself needing to end everything.
Does it make me weak that I can’t seem to continue to live?
Does it make me pathetic?
Maybe, but when you’ve gone through something like I have during my life, tried to fight the pain and horrors day in and day out, to finally find love when it was supposed to be something fun only to lose it, you’d want to give up too.
If anything, I think I’m strong for lasting as long as I did.
I swallow hard and pick up half of the pills that the guy that sleeps outside of the hostel gave me, believing I just wanted to get high or more like loved the handful of cash I gave him and grab my bottle of water and without thinking twice about it, I shove the pills into my mouth before taking a large drink of water.
I cough and choke as I try to swallow them and I quickly put my hand over my mouth, refusing to allow any of them to come back out, forcing them down my own throat.
As soon as they are gone, I grab the rest of the pills and quickly shove them into my mouth as well and take a big drink, swallowing instantly before following with more water, ensuring none of them come back up.
I wanted to kill Brock before doing this, but it isn’t in my cards. I believe in karma, and what comes around goes around.
He’ll get his comeuppance, and I'll laugh at him from wherever I end up.
Nausea hits first, my mouth suddenly watering, my body wanting to expel whatever I’ve just swallowed, but I ignore it and swallow again and again, needing to keep this down, needing to end it once and for all.
The dirt, the filth, the pain, the nightmares, the love I’ve just lost, I need to end everything. I need to be at peace for once, and this is the only way…
“Miss, are you okay?” someone asks, but they sound so far away, and everything around me spins, and my vision blurs. I blink as vomit rises, but I swallow it and slowly lie down on the stained bed.
“Miss?” the voice says again as black dots swim in my blurry vision before clammy hands grip my cheeks, and I groan because they feel too hot, like they are burning my skin off. They gasp, “Oh god!” before everything goes black and I smile, welcoming the end.
Beep, beep, beep.
Beep, beep.
I groan at the incessant beeping and squeeze my eyes tight, the sounds making it louder than they probably are by how much my head is throbbing.
I move my legs only to flinch at the pain, my stomach feeling like it’s on fire. Damn, I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with a professional boxer.
Wait, why would…confusion hits. I should be dead. I shouldn’t be in pain.
What, why?
I open my eyes and look around ignoring the bright lights wanting to blind me and my eyes tear up, seeing I’m in a hospital bed.
I failed…
“Welcome back,” someone says from beside me and I slowly turn my head and lock eyes with a concerned-looking doctor sitting at my bedside.
“Why…” I croak, and her light gray eyes soften, knowing what I mean.
“Because your life is worth living,” she whispers, and my tears fall as I reply, “A life where I was raped nearly every day for seven years?”
The woman swallows hard but nods and confirms, “Even then…” Not denying my words.
I look away from her and sniffle, and she sighs, “The woman at the hostel managed to get you help just in time. You were unresponsive when you were brought in three days ago and needed CPR, and we had to pump your stomach.”
“She should have left me,” I choke, hating that someone decided to try and save me, not realizing the hell they were forcing me to continue to live with.
“If she had, it wouldn’t be just you dying,” the doctor says, and I look at her in confusion, my head pounding at the movement, and I blink and try to breathe through the urge to throw up, the taste in my mouth already making it hard not to vomit. She continues, “You are three weeks pregnant.”
Breathing becomes difficult.
Three weeks ago, I slept with Leo, and the next day, Brock raped me…
“Now, there is no guarantee the baby will survive after we pumped your stomach, but–”
I cut her off, “Can you determine exactly when it was conceived?”
I look at her, and her brows furrow. She looks down at her notes and then states, “Conception was around the 5th. It could have been the day before or the day after.”
I look away from her, my tears falling hard.
It could be Leo’s baby, but it could also be Brock’s.
My body shakes, chills running through me, knowing what I need to do, hating that I’ve been put in this position because I’m now going to be placed on watch for however long, meaning I can’t just try and kill myself again like I want.
My heart breaks. I was supposed to go to the clinic and get the pill, but Leo’s mama hit me, and he walked away, and I just, god, I was so hurt, so heartbroken that I forgot.
Oh god, no…
“I want a termination,” I demand, and the woman’s mouth opens in shock.
“Now, I have to implore that you think this through. You’ve just gone through something traumatic–” I cut her off and state, “I tried to kill myself because I couldn’t go on living with the fact my brother’s best friend raped me daily since I was thirteen.
What makes you think I can live with having a child that could be his and not my ex-boyfriends? ”
Wait, could I class Leo as an ex-boyfriend?
Maybe ex-screw buddy?
Crap.
The doctor looks down, knowing there is nothing she can say in this situation where she could change my mind. I’m only three weeks, so the baby won’t have a heartbeat yet, and now would be the best time to go through with it.
I can’t risk it being his baby, I can’t risk hating it, I just can’t because then I’d hate myself even more, and I’m already struggling as it is.
I failed by not completing my task. I won’t fail this baby by being born with the chance of having his genes.
“You’ll have to speak with our in-house trauma therapist,” the doctor says, and I try not to start laughing like a maniac at the irony of the situation.
“That is non-negotiable,” she continues, and I just nod.
She sighs and stands and says, “We’ll also have to admit you to our psych ward for three weeks because you have made it clear this was not accidental.
And with your traumatic past that you have, I believe this is something you are going to try again and again until you succeed so some time here would be best for you, and after the three weeks we can discuss your options again regarding the termination. ”
I don’t argue with her. Instead, I turn my head and slowly close my eyes for a moment, trying my hardest not to burst into tears.
“I also have to inform you,” she begins again, and I turn and look at her.
Sympathy and pain shine as she admits, “We ran several tests over the three days you were unconscious, and you have severe scarring to your tissue and vaginal walls along with extensive scarring to your womb. If you were to keep the baby, it isn’t just the trauma of pumping your stomach that is risking your pregnancy but also the trauma that your body has been put through over the years. ”
“And if I decide to terminate?” I question, already seeing where she’s going with this.
“If you decide to terminate the pregnancy, there is no guarantee that you’ll be able to conceive again, let alone carry to term. This may be your only chance if you try and see it through, which I can understand the difficulty with that decision.”
I nod, trying not to scream at her because she doesn’t understand, no one does. Instead, though, I allow my tears to fall. The news just cements my need to end it all.
Brock didn’t just ruin my childhood. He also destroyed my life and a chance for a family.