Disclaimer: This story does not represent my views on abortion and came from just a bad mood. Everything in this story is false, and all the medical jargon is purely from internet research.
It had been the third time that morning that she'd darted out of the classroom to the nearest trash can.
Someone had opened a bag of salt and vinegar chips in class.
Wiping her mouth, Tori Vega trudged to the bathroom to rinse what was left of the chip-induced vomit from her gums. She didn't know why she was sick; she hadn't even eaten breakfast that morning. But for some reason, she just felt queasy. When she begrudgingly met her friends at Jade's scissor-covered locker, the smell of hazelnut macchiato made her stomach churn and she hurled in Robbie's bag. At lunch, the mere sight of burritos and taquitos being served from the food truck in the Asphalt Café sent her running.
And now those stupid chips.
Thank god it was her last period of the day. She made her friends promise not to say anything about her throwing up; she'd rather die than get sent home where her mother would interrogate her until she lost all her hair. Aside from the three times she puked, she felt completely fine; it was like any other day.
What if…
No. She couldn't.
There were probably twenty-five minutes left in school. Trina wouldn't mind leaving early to take her home, would she? No, wait. Trina would bombard her with questions, for the brief thirty seconds she would care, and she'd probably blab to their parents.
Getting Trina to take her home was out of the question.
After wiping her mouth with a paper towel, Tori looked at herself in the mirror skeptically. She didn't seem any different. Weren't pregnant women supposed to have a glow or something? She brought her hand to her stomach and sighed.
She couldn't be pregnant.
Well, she could…considering she'd slept with Andre after a lot of beer at a party. She didn't really like him enough to sleep with him, but three shots of tequila and four solo cups full of some German beer she couldn't pronounce made her think otherwise that night. She could have sworn they used protection, though. It hadn't been at the top of her priority list to really check as she slunk out of the room silently, her clothes in hand. She wasn't sure Andre even remembered what happened, or if he even knew they slept together.
Tori sure as sugar hadn't remembered at the time.
She didn't know if they used protection, and she should have tried to get a morning after pill, but she didn't. For one thing, she didn't have money. For another, you had to be seventeen to get one and she wouldn't be seventeen for another three months.
A lot of good that would do her.
How long had it been since she had her period? She usually kept track of it with an app on her phone, but she'd been swamped with school over the past month and a half. She had two acting scenes for Sikowitz, a set design project with Cat, a three minute song that she had to perform in front of the whole school, and a short film script that she still hadn't finished for her screenwriting class. She barely had any time to breathe, let alone think about her period.
She needed to find a way to get to a gas station or something and get a test. Just to be sure.
Tori sighed deeply and stepped backward until her back pressed against one of the stall dividers. Her hands shot to her head as she slid down the cold metal and brought her knees to her chest. She let out a small whimper and closed her eyes.
What if she really was pregnant? What would she tell her parents? What would she tell Andre? A baby would ruin her life; it would no doubt ruin his. Once anyone found out she was pregnant, it would go back to Andre. Her pregnancy would be a double edged sword for him: if he decided to help her raise the baby, he wouldn't be able to do much else with his life; if he decided to shut her out, everyone would hate him and that would probably follow him off into the real world, especially since her parents would probably make her take him to court for child support.
She wouldn't be able to go to college.
She wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to, but she knew it would be impossible to do so if she had a baby. She couldn't take her kid on set with her if she became an actress. Sure, Brangelina probably did it, but they were both older than she was—practically dust bags—and they had money for nannies if they couldn't take their kids to work. Tori couldn't afford a nanny. With a kid, she couldn't even be a nanny. She would have to put her life on hold, at least until she could send her kid to preschool.
And even then, preschools weren't cheap.
Oh, god. What would her mom think? What would her dad think? He wasn't the most…levelheaded person that she knew. Would he kick her out? Would he make her go live with the father, even if he didn't know it was Andre? Would he kill Andre? Would he kill her after the baby was born for being so stupid?
"I can't do this," she breathed.
11 pm.
Tori had never snuck out before.
Then again, she'd never gotten drunk and woken up naked in bed with her best friend, either, but that was a different story.
Her parents went to bed around ten, and Trina had locked herself away in her room as soon as they got home. Tori didn't feel safe sneaking out late at night, but she couldn't risk anyone knowing.
There was a dingy little convenience store down the corner from her house, but her parents never let her go there because her dad said it was a criminal breeding ground. He threatened to make her stay the night in jail if he ever caught her at that store.
Despite the warm night, Tori wore a big sweater and pulled the hood tightly over her head as she entered the store. Nervously, she made her way up to the counter and cleared her throat. The cashier, a tall Asian man with tired features, glared down at her. "Buy or get out," he demanded in a deep, terrifying voice.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up beneath the hood and she lowered her head. "I-I need a... pregnancy test..."
"Speak up," the man ordered, tapping his hand rapidly on the counter.
"I need a pregnancy test," she repeated a little louder, keeping her head down.
His eyes displeased and his mouth set into a disgusted grimace, he turned around and grabbed the first test from his small selection on the back wall by the cigarettes. He slammed it down on the counter, causing her to jump slightly. "Twelve-fifty," he announced after punching the buttons on the register loudly.
With fumbling hands, Tori reached into her pocket and fished out a twenty. She spotted a chocolate bar on the stand beneath the counter—Caramel Crisper, her favorite—and snatched it from its box, placing it sheepishly on the counter with her money. "Keep the change!" she shouted as she swiped the test and the candy bar and rushed out of the store. Embarrassed, she was on the verge of tears.
Now to go back home and use the stupid thing.
*Scene break*
The Caramel Crisper was the only thing that kept her sane while she waited for the results. The test made her wait five minutes to see if she was really pregnant or not, so she sucked on her candy bar slowly, trying to make its smooth caramel center and rocky peanuts calm her nerves.
"Tori, are you in there?" Trina shouted, banging roughly on the door. The sudden noise made her drop her chocolate onto her lap.
"I'll be out in a minute!" she called. She shot up from the toilet and lifted the cover quietly after putting her candy bar on the counter by the pregnancy test. She quickly ripped off her hoodie and shoved it under the counter, closing the doors as gently as she could so Trina wouldn't get suspicious.
"Hurry up!" her sister screamed. "I have a thing on my foot and I need the tweezers!"
With a disgusted face, Tori grabbed the pregnancy test. After wrapping it in toilet paper and shoving it into her back pocket, she was thankful she wore a shirt with a back long enough to cover it. She took the box and wrapped it in toilet paper as well, shoving it in the tiny trashcan beside the commode. As if on autopilot, she mechanically folded the wrapper on her chocolate bar and put it in her front pocket before opening the door.
"It's about time," Trina groaned, pushing past her younger sister. She opened the cabinet behind the mirror and pulled out a bedazzled pair of tweezers. She held them out to her sister with a serious glare. "Pop it for me."
"Ew, no!" Tori exclaimed, fleeing the bathroom. Her sister groaned again and slammed the door behind her. With a tired sigh, Tori went to her room. In the same pocket as the chocolate bar, her phone vibrated and played an 8-bit rendition of 'Firework' by Katy Perry.
Taking in a deep breath, she pulled out her phone and silenced the alarm. Clenching her eyes shut, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out the toilet paper-covered pee stick. Keeping her head up and her eyes closed, she unwrapped it. When she felt that there was no more paper on it, she opened her eyes and slowly lowered the stick.
A digital smile.
"Crap," she breathed, her voice high pitched and terrified. She dropped the test and kicked it under her dresser before she began pacing the length of her room. A string of profanities sounded off in her head as she grabbed her arms, threw them down, shot her hands to her hair, and threw them down again.
This was no good.
She didn't remember falling asleep, but she woke up sprawled on her bed in the clothes from the night before. When she rolled onto her side, she felt something squish. "Oh, man," she whined, dropping her head back onto the pillow. She'd left her chocolate in her jeans all night.
Slowly, she climbed off her bed and trudged to her closet. Her body felt heavy. Nothing felt right.
She didn't deserve a shower. Stupid people don't deserve nice things.
To be completely honest, she felt like shit. She was only sixteen. She couldn't have a baby-she needed to finish high school. That would be way too hard, and she wasn't allowed to drop out—which was pretty stupid in some cases. She doubted she would be able to pass the California High School Proficiency Exam. Even if she did, she doubted she would get parental permission to drop out.
Today was going to be a long one.
She wasn't entirely sure her clothes matched, considering she just picked out the first things her hands touched, but she was completely sure that she didn't give a damn.
She didn't brush her teeth, and she didn't shower. She didn't talk on the car ride to school, and she didn't even lash out at Trina for belting out 'Five Fingaz to the Face' at the top of her lungs. When she entered Hollywood Arts, she managed to go straight to her locker and her first period class without seeing any of her friends.
She went about her day thinking about the baby inside her. Could she really go through with a teenage pregnancy? Could she live knowing that she was just another statistic? That she was pretty much putting her life aside to raise a child she wasn't entirely sure she wanted? How much help would her parents give her? How much help would Andre give her? Or would she even tell him? She could lie and say it was some other guy's kid. After all, no one could pin her conception on the party, and it was unlikely anyone saw them together. She could just say that she went to visit her abuelita and met a cute boy and they got a little too friendly. Everyone would think she was a slut when they found out she'd gotten herself knocked up, regardless of who the father was anyway.
By lunch, she knew she wouldn't be able to avoid her friends. At one point during the day, she noticed that she wore bright pink and white skinny jeans and a pastel orange top. She looked like a train wreck, and her friends would notice. They would see that she didn't feel like herself, and she wasn't really experienced in the lying department.
There was only one thing to do if her friends couldn't see her: skip school.
As soon as the bell rang for lunch, she took off running.
By the time Tori got to the women's health clinic, she was wheezing and gasping for air. She hunched over in front of the doors and put her hands on her knees. She clenched her eyes shut as her body heaved with desperate attempts at air, trying not to think about what she was about to do. Her eyes started to burn, and tears brimmed behind closed lids.
Slowly, she stood up, moving one of her hands from her knee to her stomach. She balled her other hand into a fist and wiped her eyes, breathing in deeply before opening them. With a snot-ridden sniffle, she went inside.
She'd only been here once in her life, and she remembered only being seven at the time. The waiting room that seemed to stretch for miles wasn't even bigger than her living room. The chairs were metal folding ones and crudely-drawn portraits of mothers and their kids hung on the wall. There were two other women in the room: a woman whose middle looked close to busting, and a woman who looked to be over fifty five.
As she walked up to the receptionist's desk, she ran her tongue over her plaque-covered teeth, briefly wishing she'd bothered to brush them. "H-hi," she stammered meekly, placing her fingertips on the edge of the desk that came up to her chest.
"What can I help you with?" the receptionist asked.
If she weren't feeling so glum, Tori would most definitely swoon over him. He didn't look too much older than her, but obviously old enough to go through whatever schooling you had to in order to be a receptionist. His jaw was finely chiseled and she could see brown stubble coming in. His chestnut hair was buzzed just the way she liked it, and she nearly lost herself in his azure eyes when he looked at her with a dazzling, white-toothed smile.
"I…I'd like to schedule an abortion," the frightened girl whispered. "A-as soon as possible, please."
His gorgeous smile disappeared and he lowered his gem-like eyes to the paperwork spread messily in front of him. After sifting through a few sheets, he picked up a clipboard and slid it to her over the desktop.
He grabbed a pen from his holder by his computer and placed it on top of the board. "Fill this out," he instructed, refusing to meet her eyes. "It tells you everything you need to know about what's going to happen. But because you're a walk-in, you'll have to wait in line for the next available time."
"Do you know when that is?" Tori asked, just barely above a whisper.
"No," the receptionist answered curtly, turning back to his computer. "Please have a seat."
Holding the clipboard tightly against her chest, pen clutched in hand, she made her way to the chair furthest away from everyone else. Luckily, there was a corner spot open just out of view of the large window.
As soon as she sat down, she looked at the first paper that went into detail about the procedure. She would need to have her blood drawn, which she was also uneasy about. Her pulse, weight, height, and blood pressure measurements would also be taken before she received an ultrasound; at least she didn't have to look if she didn't want to. She would be able to choose between three types of anesthesia; general,where she would be completely unconscious; light, where she would be awake and feel the cramping that came with the medical abortion, but she would also be slightly delirious from the amount of pain medication in the anesthetic; and local,where she would just be numbed and conscious, possibly feeling cramps.
They would start her on a table and put an IV in her arm. A speculum-whatever that was-would be put into her vagina before her cervix was numbed, and a tube would go in through her cervix and into her uterus, causing some of the cramps. They would continue as suctioning started and the fetus was removed. The paper said it wouldn't last more than ten minutes.
After the process, she would be relocated and monitored by nurses to make sure she was okay.
On the page after that, she had to list the last day of her last period, her medical history, if she was on any medication, and if she wanted to receive the clinical abortion or the pill which would be explained on the next page. There were warnings about what she couldn't do, including eating or drinking after midnight, brushing her teeth, and chewing gum. She was encouraged to buy ibuprofen, a heating pad, and really thick sanitary pads, as well as arrange to have someone pick her up when everything was done.
She flipped the page, her eyes scanning on what the pill would entail. She would have to talk to a counselor, probably to make sure she was committed or whatever. They would give her a pill that she could take orally or vaginally. It was supposed to terminate the pregnancy by cutting off her progesterone since that kept the pregnancy tied to the uterus. Then, she would have to take another pill—which she could do at home—to induce what would look like a miscarriage. Again, either method would suffice. She would have a heavy period and really bad cramps, and she might even have diarrhea.
Risks included allergic reactions, incomplete abortions-where some of the pregnancy would still be in her body-infection, and bleeding. And though the pill worked ninety-seven percent of the time, there was still a chance that it wouldn't end her pregnancy. She would have to come back in two weeks to make sure it had done its job.
If she took the second pill vaginally, there was a sixty-seven percent chance that she would start bleeding within four hours. That percentage increased to ninety within twenty-four hours. She was expected to bleed or spot for nine to sixteen days once she'd taken all of the pills.
Weighing her options, she thought about throwing herself down a flight of stairs.
That would get rid of the baby, and it would more than likely get rid of her. She honestly didn't feel like being alive right now. Stairs would be the cheaper option.
But being more realistic and despite the panic attack bubbling inside her, Tori checked the box for the clinical abortion and filled out her credentials. She debated on whether or not to use her insurance or her mom's credit card. Either way, it would be hell explaining the hefty charge. Though she had the card in her back pocket, she opted for the health insurance; at least everything would be covered, and she wouldn't have to worry about paying her parents back for her mistake.
She felt bad for taking something from her mom's purse, and she felt worse that Trina would probably take the blame.
But she couldn't have a baby.
After signing her name at the bottom of the page, she got up and returned the clipboard to the asshole receptionist. He told her that her name would be called shortly, which she doubted.
However, her anxiety took over and she completely blacked out.
Her name was called three times, but each time was met by silence. Eventually, the receptionist had to get up and roughly shake her. She jumped up and followed his patronizing finger after the doctor with her head down.
The doctor made small talk that she didn't hear.
Testing and measurement-taking scared her.
Her eyes bulged at the procedure room.
She almost puked at the sight of the IV.
And before she knew it, her eyes were fluttering open. The doctor smiled at her, said something about recovery, and she was lead to a small room with a little cot. An elderly nurse sat on a tiny stool by it, waiting for her.
As soon as she could, she lowered herself onto the cot and curled up into a ball. She felt hollow, but a small stinging pain reminded her she was still here. Her stomach felt like it was being twisted the way she used to wring out bubble wrap. She clenched her eyes shut, waiting for her insides to pop.
Another blackout.
Sometime later, the nurse's warm hand on her shoulder woke her. The pain was gone, but not the emptiness. She was told to go to the desk and pay, then she would be free to leave. As she stood, her legs felt shaky, like she hadn't used them in months. If not for the nurse, she would have fallen twice just trying to make it out of the cramped room.
She avoided speaking as she handed over her mom's insurance card, and she kept her head bowed. When everything checked out, she trudged out of the clinic. Mechanically, her legs took her to the small bench near the front doors. She pulled out her phone and dialed her sister.
Trina asked questions, but Tori didn't answer. If she spoke, she only mumbled about how she didn't feel well. And when they got home, she went straight to her room and locked her door before falling onto her bed and sobbing quietly into her pillow.
She knew she shouldn't, but somehow, the feeling of regret managed to claw its way through to her.
It was better this way, she reminded herself. Caring for a child at such a young age wasn't something she could do, and she couldn't bear to ask her parents to help her out. She had no doubt that she would have loved her baby unconditionally, but that simply wouldn't have been enough. Her love wouldn't give him or her food or clothes. If anything, her love would keep her from going to college. Her love would bring shame into her house. Her love would ruin hers and her child's life.
But who was she to take it?
She should have gone through with the pregnancy and given the baby up, no matter how much it hurt her. She would rather have her child in a good, loving home that would provide for him or her than…
Before she knew it, Tori stood in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror.
No.
She didn't know who she was staring at. That girl in the mirror—that piece of filth—wasn't her. Her normally enviable, pin-straight, hair was frizzy and disheveled; the ends were starting to form big curls. Her eyes were red and puffy, her mascara caked in lines down her face. Her lips were dry, pale, and a little cracked. She held a lifeless stare, as if she'd given up on everything.
How could she let herself become this person?
Suddenly, her legs wobbled and gave out, causing her to hit the floor with a loud thud. The cabinet door under the sink popped open, and she stared solemnly at the cleaning supplies wedged between the tiny walls.
She had that stupid abortion to clean out her uterus. No more baby.
But she didn't feel clean.
"Dirty," she whispered, leaning forward to grab the nearly empty bottle of Clorox.
"Dirty," she whispered again, unscrewing the cap. She looked down at the translucent liquid inside and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
"Dirty," she whispered as she brought the opening to her mouth.
She tilted her head back and let the foul smelling liquid slide down her throat. It felt like she was drinking pool water, and it burned a little. She wasn't sure if her eyes were watering from the overwhelming feeling of ineptitude and cruelty or the smell. Her nose twitched in pain, but she continued to drink. Her body shuddered, but she didn't stop until she'd taken in the last drop.
Tori dropped the jug with a loud clutter and hunched over, holding her stomach. Slowly, the bleach sloshed around, eating away at her insides. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep from screaming; her family didn't need to watch her die.
Her chest began to tighten, and she could feel her heart beating rapidly in her ears. Violent coughing overcame her, causing her stomach to turn. Moving quickly, she threw up the toilet seat and tossed her head over the still water. Her chest cavity racked as she dry heaved.
It felt like her insides were on fire, and she couldn't stop the tears gushing from her eyes or the snot spilling from her nose.
As her body heaved with her nausea and blood spewed into the toilet bowl from her hacking mouth, her vision grew dark. Her arms weakened, and she couldn't hold herself up any longer. She collapsed—distinctly remembering hitting her head on the linoleum—but she couldn't feel anything. She gasped for air, struggling to breathe.
Her eyelids grew heavy.
The last thing she heard was her sister screaming.
