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“Do you feel sick?”
“No. It’s just cramps.” I try to stand, but my stomach screams in protest, wringing my insides out. Molly disappears from my vision, and I can feel her hand on my back.
“I think you bled through on your period, love. Let’s get you sorted in the bathroom.” She guides me towards the ladies, and I can feel the shame and embarrassment from the blood on my jeans showing. I don’t have a change of trousers here, either. I’ll have to tie my jumper around my waist.
“Can I pop home to change?”
“Of course, but I think you should sort yourself out first. Do you normally cramp like this?”
“No, I…”
Period.
Today is the first time I’ve had my period in months.
She helps me into the toilet cubical and pushes the door closed to give me some privacy. I shakily undo the button on my jeans.
Blood.
Lots of blood staining my jeans and the inside of my thighs.
My stomach cramps up, but the pain is worse. Tears sting my eyes as I try to take everything in.
“Molly!” I cry as tears and panic take over. I pull down my knickers, and my sanitary pad is thick and heavy with blood. I try to wipe away the rest, but it’s thick and lumpy, not like a normal period. I slip down the side of the wall onto the floor. My mind battles with a rational explanation, but I don’t want to go there. Unsure of what to do, what … this is ... Another wave of pain hits, and I can feel something …
I grab at more tissues to clean myself up, but it feels wrong.
My head pounds against my skull, my heart’s hammering in my chest and snot and tears cover my face.
Molly opens the door and looks at my face and then at the floor.
She tries to stifle her gasp and recovers quickly.
“What’s happening?” I sob.
I can see the tears in her eyes, and even though I’ve asked, I know.
“We need to take you to the hospital. They need to get you checked out.”
I shake my head back and forth. “Mum can’t know,” my voice croaks, hoarse and broken.
Molly nods and leaves.
Despair and grief wash over me like the incoming tide, rising and washing away everything in its path. I didn’t know I was pregnant.
I’ve had very light, irregular periods for a few years but never tracked them, and I’ve been so in my head about Jayce I didn’t think to be careful or take note since we slept together.
Over three months ago.
My eyes brave to venture down to the rejected mass of cells and body parts in the tissue. You can make out a form—a tiny, formed thing, in amongst the other stuff.
I tear my eyes away, and more tears drip down my face.
A bubble of laughter rips free as I see another cliché accomplished with the help of Jayce Roberts. Only, when I think his name, my heart doesn’t beat harder this time. My mind conjures the picture of the tiny dead baby between my legs.
Molly comes back in with a change of trousers and a hand towel. “Come on.”
“What are we going to do?”
