The Babysitter

ROOM A3

Samantha

I lay in bed sick, unable to move. My mother brings me medicine and water but it doesn't help. I can't keep anything down. I try to sleep, hoping to wake up to a different existence.

Days pass but not even time seems to alleviate this violent curse inside me. I have to do something about it.

"Hey. We have to talk. Please, it's important," I text Drew.

They're nasty feelings, guilt, regret, and denial. I keep texting Drew to no avail. I feel panic growing inside me and I try to smoother it.

"I'm coming to the house to talk to you," I text.

I manage to get dressed, throw my hair into a ponytail and put on the very basics, eyeliner, and rouge.

I drive to Drew's house and park on the street. His BMW is in the driveway so I know he's home. I check the mirror and realize the mess that is my face. I've been crying and didn't realize it. Oh my god. What are you doing?  I say to myself. I try to clean it up but it doesn't help. Screw it.

I walk to the front door and knock. I can't stop my hands from trembling. I don't know what he is going to say when I tell him. I play it out in my head. He is going to hold me in his arms and tell me it's okay. Everything will be fine and don't worry. We will figure it out.

I knock again and wait. Nothing. I turn the handle and slide through the cracked door. I don't see anyone but hear sounds from upstairs. I walk up the steps and reach the landing. Clothing articles are strewn across the floor. I continue upward as the sounds coming from the master grow louder. It's obvious but I compel myself forward. I push open the cracked door and seem them, naked and fucking. Drew and some blonde woman. She moans and screams as he takes her.

"You whore," I shout and charge her. I grab her by the hair and pull her off him. We hit the ground, clawing and ripping at each other. Drew throws on some sweats, then pulls me off and drags me out of the room, kicking and screaming.

He throws me on to the ground in the hallway.

"What the hell are you doing?!" He says.

"Get off me!" I say.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" He says holding me down.

"What the hell are you doing with that whore?" I say.

"You need to leave Sam," he says, "You don't belong here." He lets go and stands up. I feel tears on my cheeks.

"So that's it?" I say, "You screw me and that's it?"

"Don't be so dramatic," he says, "you're acting like a child. I thought you were more mature than that."

"I thought you weren't an asshole," I say. Drew grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet.

"Ow! You're hurting me," I say. His tight grip pinches my skin. "Get your hands off me."

"It's time to go, Samantha," he says as he pulls me downstairs.

"Drew! You're hurting me," I say as I trip and fall to my knees. He grabs me by the hair and drags me out of the house.

"Don't ever come back here again," he pushes me out of the door and slams it behind me. I'm scrapped and bruised. I'm so weak I can barely walk as I stumble back to my car. I manage to climb inside before I break down. I hold myself, wrapped in my arms as my tears turn into wailing sobs. This can't be real. I think about my future and the visions fade to black and there is nothing. I can't see what is going to happen and the thought of Drew abandoning me now is crushing. He had said he loved me, loved my body, loved being with me.

The blonde woman storms out of the house. She holds her shoes and bag in hand as Drew tries to talk to her. She turns and slaps him across the face and walks away. He stands in the driveway watching as she gets into her car and drives away.

He turns and sees me. He stares for a moment then turns and walks back inside.

I drive away with no real destination. Hours pass as I drive up and down Tacoma streets looking for something. I don't know what it is but it's out there and I have to find it. It isn't until I've parked in front of 3711 Pacific Ave #200 that my emotions settle. I walk inside and talk to the receptionist. I fill out a few sheets of paperwork and then sit in a chair in the waiting room. I tuck my knees up into my chest and lean back.

A nurse wakes me and leads me to room, A3. She takes my vitals and talks to me for a while. She asks about the pregnancy and how far along I am. It's hard talking about something that I don't fully understand yet. I know I'm pregnant and I know I can't keep the baby. But I don't know how I feel about it. I don't want to know. I don't know anything. I just want this nightmare to be over. I want the pain to stop.

The Doctor enters. She's nice and gentle. She asks about the fresh marks on my face.

"How did that happen?" She says.

"I- fell down," I say and choke back my tears.

"You can talk with me, you're safe here," she says. I nod to her. "Are you in danger?"

I shake my head.  We continue talking, and she gives me a lot of information.

"Is the father present?" She asks. I shake my head. "Do you want him to be?" I shrug my shoulders. "It's your choice but some fathers want an active role in the decision. Just don't feel pressured to tell him. When do you want to schedule the operation?" She says.

"I'm not sure," I say. "Is it going to hurt?"

"No. You may experience soreness afterward, but we will help with pain management."

I am afraid of the pain, afraid of the pain after the procedure and of the pain that meds can't mask.

"No matter what happens, what anyone says or thinks," she says, "this is your choice. Your decision and yours alone. There is no wrong choice."

I start to cry and she holds my hand.

After I leave, I drive to Bonny Lake. I get to Mitch's house and park in the driveway. I don't know what I'm doing here and I nearly leave but something stops me.

I knock on the door and wait. Harold opens the door.

"Samantha. How nice to see you again, please do come inside," he says and lets me in.

"Thank you," I say, "I apologize for my unannounced arrival."

"Nonsense," Harold says, "did you wish to speak to Mitch?"

"Yes, I do," I say, "is he here?"

"Yes, he's upstairs, you can go see him," Harold says.

I thank him and walk up to Mitch's room. I knock on the door and wait. Mitch opens it.

"What are you doing here?"

"We have to talk," I say.

"And this talk couldn't wait?" Mitch says.

"I'm pregnant and you're the father."

Mitch stares at me, his face covered in fear and shock.

"Listen, I'm going to take care of it. But I thought you should know," I say and leave.

When I get home, I crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED