Perhaps it was the poor guidance from her fractured home life that led her to this moment.
The bathroom door was locked, beads of sweat dripping down her temples. In her trembling hands was a metal object. A thin wired hanger, twisted and turned to make a straight and sharp tool that Emma planned on using.
She sat on the toilet, tears of fear falling from her eyes. Alex was out of the house, doing God knows what, and her negligent father was passed out on the couch. Emma remembered the fear she felt before this. The corner store she bought the pregnancy tests from with her hood up was an addition to her terror. The reason for her speculation- and thus, her errand- wasn't because she knew and wanted what happened to her, but just because she wanted to be safe.
Emma waited, staring at that box as she hid it in her room. Too young to drive, yet old enough to be impregnated, Emma stared at that testing stick, eyes wide as she saw it go positive. When she saw it, she threw the box of tests across the bathroom, muting her screams as the realization set in.
There was a life that was forcefully implanted inside her.
I can't do this-! She heaved when she found out.
Emma knew there was nowhere to turn. She couldn't ask her father to drive her to a clinic, he was either drunk or unconscious the entire day, and if he was awake, she'd only imagine the punishment that was in store for her once she got a safe evacuation of the fetus inside her. Not once did she think about the fact that he might think about the multiple boys that did this to her.
He's not going to listen. She told herself, holding her body together, wrapping her arms around her midsection as she cried out silently into the night.
It was never her intention to get impregnated. It was never her intention to have sexual intercourse, yet it was what was forced upon her.
A dark alleyway, and her being there at the wrong place at the wrong time. That's what she convinced herself it was. Emma didn't want to admit that she knew they were stalking her, thirsting over her womanly body. When she decided to ignore them, they came after her, looking to take what they believed they deserved.
There were five of them, two of them holding her down while the other three did what they wanted to her body. The boys rotated, ignoring Emma's pleas to stop. She tried to kick, but they ended up pinning her entire being onto the pavement, covering her mouth. Emma fought hard, trying to kick despite them tying her feet together with her pants. She bit and hissed in pain as they touched her in places she never wanted to be touched.
When they were done, Emma forced them off of her, breathing heavily, quickly trying to regather herself. Then, a kick to her sternum grabbed the breath from her.
She laid there, hearing the thunder of a distant storm. Emma knew that if she didn't get up quickly, she'd potentially freeze. It was cold, barely any snow on the ground despite the season. Her body was warm with liquids that were forced into her, but she kept shivering, feeling dirty and disgusting as she managed to get into her house and into the bathroom.
That's where Emma cleaned herself up, remaining silent, keeping the story mute no matter how many times Alex asked if she was okay and where she had been. She never told him. She never told anybody.
And now, as she sat there on the toilet, the bottom half of her naked, Emma wondered if she should've told somebody. She was too afraid to come out with it, knowing that there was some kind of consequence to her forced pregnancy. So, Emma knew she had to take matters into her own hands.
The door was locked, the loud shower going. Her hands were trembling. Emma searched up her basic female anatomy, quickly learning how she was going to do this. She danced around the real question in her search, knowing that it would seem suspicious. It was paranoia that drove her hands down further, lining up the uncurled wired coat hanger.
Emma was breathing heavily, carefully inserting it into herself. There was no pain, yet. The sharp end of the wire seemed to miss her walls on the way to her cervix. Then, she slowly began pushing in.
She spit, trying not to double over as the pain radiated from deep within her core. It was a burning sensation, doubled with the coldness of the wire. A stab inside her abdomen, yet she continued to go, closing her eyes, letting the feeling of intense pain guide her into her uterus. Emma didn't know how much she needed to do to trigger the miscarriage, but she was willing to do everything in her power to prevent the birth of this growing life.
Emma gripped the wire tightly, bending the small metal. Pain seemed to radiate when she began to scrape around in her uterus. She was feeling around, tears coming down her face. This desperate attempt to prevent her early motherhood had her poking around at her uterine lining, crying out into the mist that the hot shower provided. When she thought she felt something, it was quickly gone.
She knew the dangers of this act. The possibility that she might bleed out. But either option seemed better than the last, with her death being an easy way out of this squalor she hoped to pass with her young sister's photos. Like a note with a warning of her inevitable suicide written on it. To her dismay, her mother never showed-never called.
Emma clenched her jaw shut, shutting her eyes tight, continuing on with the act. It was only when blood started to drip onto her fingers did she finally, slowly, pull the piece of metal out of her. Blood was coating her fingers, clots of what she managed to scrape falling out. Cramps oddly similar to her monthly menstrual pains started to come. It seemed that her body was trying to evacuate the damaged tissue. At least that's what she was hoping was happening.
Emma threw down the hanger, hearing it clatter on the tiles. She let her body hit the back of the toilet, her head thrown back as she gulped down air. Blood coated her hands, which rested on her thigh, red dripping down in sickly lines. She sat there, hearing clots hit the water in the toilet.
At first, she thought her consciousness was fleeting. Emma wanted to believe she felt herself floating into the void, but she was still sitting. Feeling started to drain from her legs and she slowly opened her eyes. She was fine, against her invisible wants. Emma glanced down at the bloodied hanger at her bare feet. It was a haunting sight, though some relief started to come to her.
She let her head fall back again, breathing gently. In that silence, the only thing being the pounding pressure of the water in the tub, Emma felt like letting go. But no matter how much she seemed to pray for the sweet release of death, it didn't come. She soon stopped bleeding, and she opened her eyes again. Staring at the moisture as it affected the paint, she tried to breathe, her tired body unable to writhe with the pain that still throbbed within her. Emma, against what she thought she should feel, felt pity and disappointment. Disappointment for prolonging her eventual death.
YOU ARE READING
The Grean Household
Romance"It was a mistake..." She told her mother, folding her hands into each other. "Marrying him..." Her mother said nothing, she simply sat there as her only daughter stood across from her, on the verge of collapsing from bruised ribs and cracked shins...
