Page 36 of Bring Me To My Knees

A nurse came out, she called my name, and my mother tried to go with me, but she stopped her. She told her that this was something I had to do on my own. My mother grabbed my wrist, gripping hard. She told me to remember what she said. She said that she would ship me somewhere if I didn’t do as I was told.

I followed the nurse down a hallway and into a room. There was a bed in the middle, similar to those you see in a doctor’s office. Everything was so clinical. It was cold in the room. She asked me several questions before a doctor came in.

He told me that we were going to look at the baby. He needed to see how far along I was. It felt like someone had a grip on my chest. I didn’t want to look at the baby that I was killing.

They had me get undressed from the waist down and then lay down with a sheet over me. He used some sort of probe that he stuck inside of me to do the ultrasound. A heartbeat filled the room and my eyes filled with tears. He told me that I was ten weeks along.

After that, I was ushered into what looked like an office. This woman asked me why I wanted an abortion. She asked if I was forced here. She asked several times to be sure. This was my chance to tell her no, I didn’t want it. This was my opportunity to ask her for help. Instead, I chickened out. I nodded along to everything, pretended as if this was all my idea. I gave all the consent for the treatment.

I was so disgusted with myself. I still am.

After what felt like hours of being questioned, with more than enough opportunity to tell the truth, I was taken to another room where they were going to perform the procedure. This is where they numbed me, inserted a tube inside of me, and suctioned my baby out.

It took ten minutes for them to take my baby from me. Ten minutes for them to ruin my life.

An hour later, I was crying in the car on the way home. The only thing I was left with was severe cramping. A painful reminder of what I’d just allowed those people to do. While my mom continued to tell me how disappointing it was that I was planning to ruin my life with a baby.

I’ve never really thought about whether or not I was pro-choice or pro-life. I’ve always just felt like that was something a woman could decide for herself. I can say that when the decision is made for you, that’s not right. When the adult in your life, the person you’re supposed to go to for advice and love, does something like this, it’s a betrayal, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

I haven’t left my room since. I haven’t talked to Beau. I don’t know what to do anymore. I just want to be with my baby.

I’m pretending that she was a girl. I’d name her after Marley, because she’s my best friend. She would have been the best aunt.

I don’t want to live anymore, diary. I just don’t see the point.

Love, Mallory.

I put my fist in my mouth to choke back a sob. I had no idea. What kind of a sister am I? Where was I? I don’t even remember her being sad.

I know after Mallory and Beau started dating we didn’t spend as much time together. We had different priorities. Mallory was spending time at Beau’s house. They went on dates and had movie nights. I was spending my nights with Delaney. We were going to parties, getting fucked up, and staying out all hours of the night.

My brother, sister, and I all had reasons we didn’t want to stay home or be alone. We all had our demons. I just had no idea of the pain my sister was put through.

I get up from the vanity, taking her diary with me, walking out. I feel like I’ve failed her.

Once I’m in my room, I slam the door shut behind me, flopping down on my bed. I don’t even want to read anymore. I don’t want to find out what other secrets my sister was keeping. I’m such a fucking shitty person.

There’s a knock on my door. I try to ignore it, but whoever it is opens the door anyway. Mitch peeks his head inside.

“Are you okay?”

“Did you know Claire forced Mallory to have an abortion?” I blurt out.

“What?” he says, coming into the room, closing the door behind him.

“It’s all here,” I say, waving the journal in the air.

“What’s that?”

“Mal’s diary.”

“I had no idea,” he says, sitting down on the bed next to me.

“Yeah, me neither. She was so fucking sad, Mitch.” I hand him the journal, opening to the page for him to read.

I watch as the horror crosses his features. I see tears forming in his eyes. I see the guilt written all over his face, and I realize now he’s feeling the same way I am.

How did we not know that our sister was going through something so monumental?

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