Trigger warning: fictional short story about abuse and abortion.
We were having a heated argument about the number of times we were being intimate. I didn’t want to sleep with him anymore because I was slowly backing out of the relationship.
I was tired of all of the cheating, abuse and disrespect, and I had given up on the relationship.
Before I knew it, I went flying onto the bed because he slapped me so hard. I could see him on top of me through the disorientation. Then a throbbing pain surged through my body as he helped himself to me, without my permission. I fought, screamed and eventually gave up the fight. He got off of me when he had fully satisfied himself.
Weeks later, not a day went by without me feeling ill. Everything nauseated me and I was constantly vomiting. He didn’t use protection while using me to satisfy himself, so I took a home pregnancy test.
I was pregnant.
I didn’t even think twice about the fact that I needed to abort. There was no way I could bring a child into this world under these circumstances. How could I bring a child that was conceived out of violence into this world? That would be cruel and unfair, and its father would not love it because of how he treats me. I could give it up for adoption, but carrying that child in my belly would be a constant reminder of that night. I wouldn’t be able to afford the medical expenses anyway.
I didn’t tell anyone about the pregnancy or the rape. Everyone had pretty much given up on me because I constantly complained about him and his abuse, but I didn’t want the relationship to end. I had hopes of us getting back to the place of love and romance, where we were before. He was a good guy – caring, loving and very protective over me, but he had a temper. I learned not to rouse his temper by doing or saying silly stuff just to keep the peace.
I was confused about the rape, thinking that maybe it was just rough sex like he said, but I felt humiliated and ashamed. No one would want to empathize with what I felt.
I went to the clinic to get the procedure done, and afterwards, I felt a sense of relief and sadness. I was relieved at knowing that I kept an innocent life safe from this world that would’ve treated it with contempt, and I’m sad because pregnancy is meant to bring joy, but it only brought heartbreak for me.
As I walked out of the clinic, a reasonably large group of pro-life protestors were picketing outside of the entrance, pointing their fingers at me while chanting words like “murderer” and “devil’s right hand man”. Right at the back of the crowd, I spotted him – my boyfriend – chanting along with the crowd under the guise of doing what’s right because he was one of many medical professionals that were against abortion.
When our eyes locked, he stopped chanting and he immediately knew what I had done.
*image from US Weekly.