Page 51 of Forget Me Not

Once I’m in the bathroom, I know I don’t have long before the panic attack sets in. I go into a stall and close the door before falling to pieces on the dirty, cold floor.

Three Years Ago

The weight of the world presses heavily on my chest, suffocating me from the inside out. Like a thick fog that refuses to lift. If there was ever a time to call it quits on this life, it would be now, because this life is ready to quit on me.

My soul has turned to ash, and the only thoughts that now circle through my mind are morbid ones. Each day I tell myself I’m going to try harder, but how can I when each day is harder than the last?

This life is unfair.

This life hurts.

I’d love nothing more than to die and be born again. But chances are, I’d fuck that up too.

Laughter fills the streets of the city. Couples holding hands. Families taking pictures together.

And here I am…

My body aches and my eyes burn with hot tears.

My shoes are barely on my feet. The soles peeled off, leaving me with just a sliver of rubber. Every step feels like I'm walking on the cold hard concrete.

My pants are stained with a rusty hue of blood. The kind woman at Planned Parenthood said I was likely early on in my pregnancy—six weeks at most. She offered me a fresh pair of pants but I couldn't bring myself to take them. I did this. It's all my fault. I should have to live with the memory of what I did. I break things.

It's only been twelve hours since those men attacked me, but something in my brain seems to have shifted. In less than a day I went from wanting to do everything I could to survive and protect my baby, to this. Hollow and worthless.

I didn’t tell Dex about the baby, and I don’t plan to tell him, or anyone for that matter. It’s so shameful and humiliating that I couldn't even protect a life growing inside me.

I scratch at my head, feeling tiny particles of rock against my scalp. My hair is caked in debris and dust from the construction going on near the bench where I fell asleep last night.

The roar of my stomach is a reminder that I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. I went out and got food, ready to feed myself and give my baby some nutrients. Only, my food was trashed, and my baby…is gone.

Why is everyone I love always taken from me?

Am I being punished?

My back slides down the wall, feeling the roughness of the brick against my spine. Sitting on the cold, damp ground, I hunch over and let the tears silently stream down my face.

“I miss you so much, Mama.” I cry into my chest. “I need you.”

I’m not sure how much time has passed when my head shoots up at the sound of something being thrown my way. I blink in shock as a greasy, half-eaten chicken leg smacks against my knee. It drops to the ground and I look at it, noticing there is still some meat on the bone. I'm about to reach for it when a heavy boot stomps down on it, crushing it into the ground. The man scoffs as he shakes the leftovers off his boot, sending them to the curb.

I look up and my gaze is caught with sneers and laughter from a group of teenagers passing by. Every few steps, they turn and whisper. They probably threw it at me just to be cruel.

I swallow down the urge to chase after them and shove them into oncoming traffic.

What’s the point?

There will be another who’ll throw something at me, laugh at my misfortunes, pity my life. I can’t fight them all, especially when I can barely muster the strength to get off the ground.

So I stay. Minutes. Hours. An entire day.

The sun sets, and I’m still here. Three bucks richer because a lady felt sorry for me. At least I’ll be able to buy a cheap meal, possibly my last. I still haven’t decided yet.

These are the constant battles in my head lately. To live, or to die?

It’s crazy how quickly things can change. Yesterday I felt alive, even if morning sickness was kicking my ass. I had something to live for.

Today, I don’t want to feel at all. So, I do what I do best.

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