I felt ill all the time now. Of course, that just probably has something to do with the fact of feeling dirty all the time. I feared I was slowly falling apart considering I haven’t eaten in…what days?
One morning I walked down the stairs to see my mom making dinner. She turned to look at me in my dismal state, “Oh honey, you got to eat. Please.” I looked in the pan with an expression of disgust. Ew, eggs. The sight, the very smell of them…ugh. I heard ringing in my ears and rushed to the bathroom.
Mom, of course, soon followed and leaned against the doorframe to wait. When I turned to look at her she appeared ghastly. She slowly began speaking, “Hazel…uhm…how can I put this…well…I think you’re pregnant.”
“What?!” I shouted, “But…there hasn’t been-” I cut myself off. There has been someone. That man who raped me. I looked down at my stomach and closed my eyes.
I was carrying the child of a sick, perverted man.
So okay, I was pregnant. That’s not that big of a deal right? Just have to get through it is all. There was no way I was going to have an abortion. The very thought of killing a baby, even a child of a rapist brings chills to me.
But if you haven’t known, being 18 and pregnant is very exhausting. And to make matters worse I’ve caught a flu of some sort.
I sneezed again as I squatted down onto the sofa beside my mom, placing my hands on top of my enlarging belly, “Ugh this stupid cold won’t go away.” I complained.
My mom reached up to feel my forehead, “Oh my, you’re burning up Hazel. Do you think you should see a doctor?” I swatted her hand away, “I’m fine mom. Don’t baby me.”
“Well you should at least go for the baby.” I rolled my eyes.
She had a point though.
“Fine. I’ll go to the damn doctor’s,” I grumbled, “Hate the doctor’s.”