Nine Weeks #FreeYourShorts

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THE SICKNESS HAD not waned, although I couldn't be sure if it was the pregnancy or the fear that had me doubled over on the side of the highway, heaving until I had nothing left to give. This was the third time Leo had to stop and although I told him he didn't need to get out of the car-- that I didn't want him to see me like that-- but he didn't care. Part of me was grateful but there was another part that thought He's going to hate me soon, I don't want him to remember me like this.

It had been almost a week since the day in the park, most of which I spent with Leo, my head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat or his laugh or his steady breathing as we watched movies. I needed that time with him to keep my sanity, especially because I knew he would hate me when everything was said and done. Maybe not immediately, but later on, that much I was sure of.

This scared me, too. All the options I had ended in fear: I could either have a child I knew I wasn't ready for, or I could get an abortion and lose the one I loved. But one of these choices impacted less lives-- less people-- which was why I chose to terminate my pregnancy.

When I got back in the car Leo looked sick himself, skin pallor and hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had bleached white. I could see him swallowing, his green eyes watery and breaths coming fast. I reached over, touching the arm closest to me, trying not to take it personally when he flinched. I took his hand in mine, squeezing it and trying to steady him like he had me. I don't know if it worked but he merged back onto the highway, headed towards the health clinic two towns over even though I knew it was the last place he wanted to go.

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