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I slowly looked over at him, not saying a word. He sighed, his hands tightening on the steering wheel for a moment before he dropped them to his lap and turned his eyes to me.
“Bailey, we’re all worried about you. I know you’re not happy about being pregnant. It’s shitty as fuck for you; we all understand that. But you won’t talk to anyone anymore—not even Trent. And we’re terrified of what’s going on in your head.”
I didn’t say anything. So, they had noticed. All of them had noticed.
“I don’t want to see a therapist,” I told him.
He blew out a soft breath. “No one ever does, Bailey, but sometimes, we have to do shit we don’t like to get better.”
Get better.
The only thing that I knew would make me feel even a little bit better was an abortion, and those were fucking illegal.
I made a stupid choice, and now, I was suffering the consequences. I knew that, but it didn’t make this shit suck any less.
I wanted to scream. Do the crime, do the time, right? Wasn’t that the bullshit everyone always said? I’d rather do time in prison. Because I couldn’t deal with this pregnancy. And Dad thought a therapist was going to help me while this baby was still inside of me?
I ran my eyes over my dad’s face. I could see his pain residing there. I knew he hated seeing me like this. And though I already knew therapy wouldn’t help, I decided I would go—for him. I would go for my family.
I looked back at the red brick building in front of me. Sighing, I nodded my head. “Alright,” I told him. “I’ll go.”
He grabbed my hand in his and gently gave it a squeeze before shutting the car off. We both slid out at the same time, and after drawing in a deep breath that didn’t really help, I followed my dad up the small set of steps to the front door.
Here went nothing.
