The Pill

My throat still burns from trying to dry swallow the pill the first time.  
Val asked if I could get groceries later today. When I reminded her that I was taking the pill today her mouth dropped into an apologetic ‘O’ before closing quickly, her eyes darting down to my stomach then back up to me. She said she could try to get groceries after class, then asked if I wanted anything in particular. 
“Chips maybe. Some Special K for breakfast tomorrow,” I replied, my hand closed around the pill. She nodded, looked down at my stomach again, and then left for work. 
My hand was still closed around that pill while I sat at the edge of my bed, staring at what lay in the palm of my hand, hoping if I stared at it long enough, it would somehow melt into my skin, keeping me from having to actually swallow it. After an hour passed, it still hadn’t dissolved into my skin. I realized that staring at it wouldn’t make the process any less painful. That was quickly proven wrong when I quickly shoved the thing into my mouth, trying to swallow with what little moisture was on my tongue. My throat felt like it was on fire, the pill deciding then that it would melt through my throat and back out. The water from the bathroom sink was lukewarm, but it felt like sweet honey as I took it in gulps, not minding that the water was running down my chin, dripping onto my hair and hands. My hands had slammed on the faucet, stopping the running water before I wiped my chin, ignoring the red eyes staring back at me in the mirror. 

An hour passed sitting on my computer trying to finish a paragraph for this English assignment before I felt it. The tug on my lower abdomen that had me waddling towards the bathroom. A warmth was running down my legs, pooling in my socks before dripping onto the linoleum floor. I quickly stepped into the bathtub, watching the blood continue to drip onto the white porcelain surface. I would have to clean the bathroom floor before Val came back in the next hour. And probably wash my jeans and underwear which were stained beyond repair at this point. I could feel myself pull my pants and underwear down, but my eyes were locked on the faucet of the shower, trying to avoid looking at the blood. 
Like a heavy period, they said. Like a heavy period, some cramping. You may see some blood clots. 
Turning the hot water on, I had begun to strip myself of the rest of my clothes, t-shirt, bra, socks. I hung them over the rail of the shower curtain, knowing full well that they wouldn’t dry with the water still running. But with a steady stream, at least I could finally look down as the blood mixed with the water that ran down the drain. Lying down, I let the water beat against my skin. It felt calming against my somewhat shaking limbs. Reminding me of Jason’s skin against mine. The idea of Jason being here while the blood flowed down the drain made me grip the edge of the tub. Would he sit at the edge and rub my back while I breathed through each cramp? He brought me a warm compress and a blanket that one time I got my period suddenly at his apartment. Hadn’t cringed from the blood. But something tells me that this would be too much. Just a little too much. The insinuation that he was responsible for part of it. He was too sweet, too sweet for what I was putting my body through. To protect him. To protect us. 
Breathe through the first several rounds of cramps, let the water wash it away. 
Maybe I’d call Jason when it was all over. Let him come over and rub my shoulders while he talked about his exams. About that one professor who was trying to fuck him over or what he wanted to do over spring break. I’d nod along and take an ibuprofen, insisting I’m having a bad period. He’d believe me. 

Val knocked on the door an hour later. 
“Michelle, is everything okay?” she asked, opening the door. I guess I should have locked it. 
“Yeah,” I said, my hands still gripping the edge of the tub. “How long have you been in there?” she asked. My head turned, I could see her silhouette through the shower curtain. A thump told me she’d put the toilet seat down and was sitting on it. When I looked down, the red between my legs was lighter, the water slapping against my rusted thighs. 
“An hour,” I replied, turning my head to watch her silhouette rise from the seat before leaving the room.  “I brought some pads for you, and one of those heating pads,” her voice echoed from the other room. The door to the bathroom opened again and I heard Val move several things around, watched her grab my wet clothes from the shower railings. 
“I brought you a towel and some clothes. There’s a pad and fresh underwear on the toilet seat,” she said, her voice calm and controlled, sounding like the nurse that handed me the first pill at the clinic yesterday. 
“Thank you,” I replied. When I didn’t hear her leave the room, I raised myself up enough to turn off the water, letting her know I’m getting out. The door finally closed, and before I got out of the tub, my eyes caught on the red clump near the drain. 

~~~

“Jason texted me today,” Val stated from the other side of the kitchen island, walking back and forth as she put the groceries away. “He asked why you weren’t returning any of his texts.” 
“I haven’t been around my phone all day. And I’ve been trying to finish this essay,” I replied, my eyes scanning over the words on my computer screen. A pain quickly pierced through my stomach, drawing me away from the words for a moment before I continued on.
“Can you close the laptop for a moment and text him back then? He sounded kinda antsy,” Val replied. 
“I’m almost done with my essay. And I want to finish it before break so that way I don’t have to worry about it for the week.” 
“Jason’s worried about you. He asked why you skipped discussion yesterday.” 
“Tell him the truth, I have heavy cramps.”  “Why don’t you tell him?” Val asked, stopping in front of me, her eyes piercing a hole through my screen. Several seconds passed before she leaned over the table and closed the laptop.
“What?” I asked, my eyes darting up to hers, hands reaching to open the screen again.
Val grabbed the laptop and pulled it away from me. 
“Michelle,” she said, her voice in that clipped tone she had earlier today, “are you going to tell him?” 
We remained like that for several seconds. Her hand on my laptop, my eyes locked on hers. 
“Eventually,” I replied, not even sure if I really meant it. Val could read me easily; she lowered herself so she’s resting on her forearms. 
“He has a right to know,” she whispered. “It’s your choice and I respect that. But he should be here.”
“He doesn’t need to be here.” “He’s the fucking father, Michelle.”
“There is no father,” I ground out, rising from the seat, “because there is no baby.” 
Val tilted her head, biting her lip as she reached for my hand but I let them fall to my lap, watching her intently. 
“Fine,” she conceded, “I’m not going to tell him anything, that’s your business.” 
“Thank you,” I sighed, reaching for my laptop. Val raised her hands, letting me open it again. 
“But you have to promise me that you will tell him, soon,” she said. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The look on Val’s face told me that if I didn’t agree to tell Jason, she’d tell him herself. 
“If I tell Jason about my abortion…” I trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.
Val waited for me to come up with something, and when she realized that I wouldn’t finish my sentence, she walked around the island, taking a seat in the stool next to me, grabbing my hands from the keyboard and placing them on my lap. 
“Michelle,” she whispered.
“If I tell Jason about my abortion, how do I know that he will understand? That he can deal with something this heavy?” 
“He doesn’t have to deal with it. He’s supposed to help you deal with it. Work through it with you. The whole point of having a partner is that they help you and stick with you, especially during the hard parts,” Val stated. 
“I know that,” I whispered looking down at my hands. Another cramp ripped through my side. “I’m 21, Val. He’s 21. We’re not supposed to have to deal with something this hard. If I tell him, how do I know that we can move past this? That this won’t stick in the back of his mind? Everytime I think about it, all that I can imagine is him getting overwhelmed with the idea that this could have happened.” 
“It shouldn’t matter about how he’s feeling. He’s not the one having the abortion.” 
“I know that.”  Val and I sat there, her hands wrapped around mine, resting in my lap. 
“I’m 21. I’m not supposed to deal with this until I’m older. I’m on the pill. The one time that I forget it, the one time, the condom breaks. Things like that aren’t supposed to happen to you at 21. I’m not supposed to deal with this now. I’m supposed to complain about writing an essay for English or getting an internship this summer. Not how to break it to my boyfriend that I got pregnant but had an abortion before telling him.” 
Val reached over and wiped away a tear I didn’t know was there. When I looked down, I noticed our hands are splattered with them. A cramp twisted my insides. Val must have seen the visible discomfort on my face, because she rose and reached into the medicine cabinet, taking out a bottle of ibuprofen and placing it in front of me. 
“Are you afraid he would have wanted to keep it?” Val asked. I shook my head. Jason had joked for months about how, god forbid, he’d ever end up with a kid while in college. I had agreed, because the idea of having to care for something else, when I could barely care for myself was idiotic. I still ate cup of noodles at one a.m because Val and I would forget to get groceries. There were days when I’d miss class because I was behind on a group project or my period cramps were “too distracting”. Everytime we had sex, Jason insisted we use a condom because the idea of having a kid seemed idiotic to us. Seemed like a funny joke. 
“You know he’s going to worry about you, if you don’t text him back. He cares about you enough to notice you weren’t in a class he doesn’t even go to. He texted me, and I’m going to be honest, I’ve never given him my number.”
“He asked me for your number once,” I whispered, “In case of emergencies.” 
Val snorted and fell back into the stool, placing her hand on my leg. 
“Talk to him, please.” she whispered. My eyes remained on her hand, but my mind wandered back to the incessant pain in my abdomen. 
“Okay.” 

The bleeding stopped after about six hours. I kept going to the bathroom and wiping and wiping, even when the toilet paper burned a light pink. The image of that dark red clot in the bathtub drain flashed into my mind, making me run to the toilet one more time, to change my pad and wipe again, just to see if anything had changed. Nothing. I was sore down there, and my abdomen still felt a pulse of contractions with the cramps. I waited until Val had left for her evening class before I grabbed my phone that had been plugged in all day. Twelve missed calls.Ten messages. All from Jason. Asking if I was sick, why I hadn’t picked up, saying he got Val’s number, asking if he could come over. It took several minutes before my fingers scrolled through the latest calls and dialed his number again. The phone only rang once. 
“Michelle?” Jason’s voice was audibly relieved, a deep sigh heaved through the phone. 
“Hey, I’m sorry I hadn’t seen any of your calls. My phone had been plugged it all day-”
“Are you okay, are you sick? I talked with Val and she told me you were home but that you weren’t feeling well. Are you sick?” he repeated. My fingers gripped the phone, I sighed through the cramps. 
“Fine, I mean, better now. Yeah I was feeling kind of under the weather. Really bad cramps,” I finally said, deciding that would be a good place to start. 
“Oh, are they bad this month?” he asked. My lips pursed, my fingers picking at the loose strands of the comforter. 
“Pretty bad, yeah,” I replied. “I took ibuprofen earlier and I’ve just been resting. Probably won’t go to class tomorrow either. A little nauseous.” 
“Do you want me to come over?” he asked, his voice full of worry. I swallowed that burn in my throat.  “Yeah. Yeah I’d like that.” 

Jason was at my door twenty minutes later, ginger ale in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. 
“I figured if you were feeling down you wouldn’t wanna do anything too strenuous so I thought we could just watch a movie? A little popcorn? If you are still feeling nauseous I have ginger ale,” he stated, motioning to the popcorn and drink. I couldn’t even hide the tug of a smile on my lips, despite the pain in my stomach. 
Jason sat beside me on the couch, reaching over and pulling a blanket across us before grabbing the remote to flip through the channels. 
“Have you taken anything for the cramps?” he asked, looking over at me. I nodded. 
“Ibuprofen.” 
“Feeling any better?” he asked.  “Yeah, a little,” I lied. Jason beamed and scooted closer to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest. Several minutes into the movie and the only thing I had been focusing on was Jason’s fingers as they slid across my hips and abdomen. After the twentieth time, I turned to look at Jason. He was watching the movie with such intensity, it took him a moment before he realized I’d been watching him. Once he realized, his face lit up and he leaned down to plant a kiss on my forehead. 
“Is everything alright?” he asked. I swallowed deeply, my throat tense. 
“Yeah,” I whispered, “Just a bad period.” 

My throat still burns from trying to dry swallow the pill the first time.