Owned (Dellucci Mafia Duet)

My face starts to wrinkle because I’m so grateful that it makes me want to cry. My voice is also in shambles. “Thank you.”

She waves it off and shoos me toward the door. “Go. Just go.”

I quickly walk out with the box still hidden underneath my shirt, determined not to come back here, despite the fact that this probably won’t be the last time I’ll need something to get by. But I can’t do that to this store again. Not when these employees are so helpful and kind and don’t call the police, even when someone just stole from them.

Kindness goes a long way. I’ve learned that much in my time spent out on the streets now. And I know that when I finally get back on my feet, I will repeat that same kindness a thousand times over.

When I finally get back to the abandoned house I’ve been occupying, I immediately go to the bathroom and lock myself inside. Even though I haven’t seen anyone come inside this house since I’ve been here, I must take precautions.

I grab a few pieces of the toilet paper that I had gotten from another shop and lower my underwear, dabbing myself. When I look, again, the paper is empty.

I sigh out loud as a knot forms in my stomach.

It’s been weeks since my last period. I should’ve gotten it by now.

Anxiety rages through my body as I stare at the little box I put on the small wooden plank above the toilet. The happy face of the woman on it makes me want to gag.

I snatch the box off the shelf and take out the test. There’s only so much prep one can do for this. Only so much convincing oneself of the necessity, despite the fact that I’d much prefer to stick my head in the sand. There is no way around this.

So I sit down on the toilet and pee over the stick, then put it down on the small sink next to the toilet. I flush, and I wait, and wait, and wait …

Until two red lines appear.

No. No. No. NO!

Pure panic rushes over me as I get up, letting the tears flow freely across my face.

This can’t be happening.

This can’t be real.

I can’t be pregnant.

Bile rises up in my throat, and the sudden urge to vomit becomes too much, so I spin on my heels and throw up in the same toilet I just took a pregnancy test in.

It doesn’t stop until my stomach has emptied itself of all those nutrients I so desperately need while still homeless and jobless.

After I’m done, I flush and sink to my knees in front of the damn thing, sobbing my eyes out. Never in my life have I felt more alone than now. And just for a second, a teeny, tiny second, I wish my parents were just that—parents—and that they were here for me, consoling me, nurturing me, guiding me every step of the way.

But there is no one, not even Andrea, to hug me tight and tell me things will be okay.

There is only me, and I have to be the one to support myself in this difficult time.

Sighing, I force myself to get up from the floor and exit the bathroom. As much as I would like to cry all day, I still need to find a damn job to pay for all the things I need. Let alone the fact that I haven’t thought about what I’m going to do with this pregnancy.

But what am I going to do?

I don’t have anything to offer to a child except pain.

I can’t bring a kid into this. It would be cruel and inhumane.

There is another option. Getting rid of it. But to do so would require so much emotional strength, which is in short supply at the moment.

How does anyone decide such a thing? Especially right after finding out?

I need to come to terms with the fact I’m pregnant before I even start to think about what I’m going to do about this situation. If I’m going to do anything at all.

But that note the cashier gave me about the women’s shelter … maybe I can do something with that.

The clock on the wall in this waiting room is ticking so loudly that I swear it’s going to make me lose my shit any time now. I wiggle around on the plastic chair, trying not to look at the other women in line. Something about watching others in need of as much or even more help than you is unsettling.

This society is really fucked up.

Women of all ages and backgrounds come to this place for help, whether it’s for housing, food, or jobs. Or pregnancies.

I stare down at my belly, feeling nauseous at the thought of having to admit to anyone, let alone myself, that I’m pregnant.