"YOU'RE NOT ABUSING ME, YES?"
That's the first thing Suki says when we leave Planned Parenthood. The clinic rests at the bottom of a hill, and we trudge up the inclined pavement until we can turn back onto one of the main roads of Carsonville's town centre.
"What?" The sky is a giant balloon deflating, smothering me as it collapses.
"The nurse was checking that I was safe at home and in my relationships, it's common practice."
"Oh."
We get sushi for lunch and wander aimlessly around the town. When we are alone, Suki drops another bombshell. She is thirteen weeks pregnant.
She explains the different types of abortions. Medical via drug, surgical via vacuum, induced. Surgical abortions are administered up to twelve weeks. Any pregnancy further along can only be terminated for medical reasons, like the health of the mother being at risk. Suki relays this all to me as we stroll through a back alley behind the skate park.
She explains that the nurse didn't exactly lock her into the pregnancy. It is possible to find doctors who will carry out the procedure for her, if she looks hard enough. If she and her parents make a strong enough case for her mental health, she won't have to carry to term. She does all this with a methodical tone of voice, like she's a walking sexual health pamphlet.
Meanwhile, I want to punchmyself in the face.
I was so stupid last weekend with all that talk of laying out our priorities in order of importance. Checking them off one at a time, as if there can ever be less-important tasks when it comes to pregnancy. Check ups, timetables, researching options—they're all equally urgent. I chose one priority while the rest of them snuck up on us.
And now Suki's lost one of her options. Getting an abortion is not impossible. But it means spending time and money she doesn't have to locate a willing doctor, enduring multiple consultations, proving her state of mind, and telling her parents.
Her fucking parents. My fucking Dad. They're all going to implode if they find out.
The more Suki speaks, I see the light leave her eyes as she retreats somewhere less terrifying. Somewhere deep in her brain, unreachable by stimuli, voices, events. Somewhere never-changing, like a memory.
I merely wonder what memory she chooses. I don't try to bring her back like I did last week when she went into shock. I can't. I couldn't if I tried. I'm on the verge of disappearing myself.
Now the sky is also closing in on me, like something is letting all the air out of the atmosphere.
At home, Suki and I message late into the night. She says voice-calling would alert her parents to the fact that she's talking to me, when she should be doing something productive. Like studying, playing the cello or stretching. I can't believe the demands they make of her.
No-one can be productive all the time.
I can tell from the length of each of her messages that she's sitting at her laptop. When she uses her phone, each chat bubble has about two words. Using her laptop, she sends full sentences. Loaded sentences, each word lodging in my heart like splinters.
Suki: When I found out the abortion window passed, I felt relieved for some reason.
Suki: You know when you're indecisive, so you pick one and see if you feel any regret? My heart made my decision for me.
Terrence: I thought you said the heart is not a sentient organ.
Suki: The heart of my brain, then. Ha. Is this just pregnancy hormones talking?
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Worth the Trouble ✓
Teen FictionTerrence Hollister is an expert at breaking the rules and getting away with it ― but this time the trouble he makes has a way of catching up. ⋆☆⋆ The Japanese have a saying: koi no yokan. It's nothing as world-shattering as love at first sight; it...
