My Way Home

.......My crossed ankles swung back and forth like a metronome as my fingers fidgeted with each other in my lap. I finished getting changed as I had been instructed to do so. She left the room to allow me a bit of privacy, stating she'd be back in ten minutes, the eleventh minute passing into the twelfth. I felt cold, moderately cold and the air conditioner humming directly above me wasn't the slightest bit of help. Shaking with apprehension, I focused on the four walls gradually closing in on me. At least, that's how it felt like; you know how your mind likes to play tricks on you.

There wasn't much to look at really. Three of the walls were white and bare with the occasional cracks and chip paints, which surprised me a little because this place was only established a little over five years ago. The fourth wall, opposite of me, was white as well, but medical posters and plaques dedicated to Dr. Nina Sinclair covered a majority of it. A basket with six slots was nailed precisely in the middle. Sitting inn those slots were various medical pamphlets and those pamphlets sent me back to last week.

I wasn't in this same exact room, but I figured all their rooms were set up like this. I sat anxious like I am now, impatiently waiting for the results to come back. My hazel eyes wandered around the small room, gazing over the wall ahead of me. A particular pamphlet had caught my eye; I instinctively reach out for it, read it, and with careful consideration, here I am: sitting in a ten by ten nearly blank room, shivering in a thin white gown. I never imagined I'd ever be in this position with the ill decision I've been dreading all week. I never thought this could happen, not to me at least.

"Miss Brock?"

My hollow gaze that had fallen onto the tiled floor swiftly moved upward to once again meet with the kind brown eyes of Dr. Nina Sinclair. She stood at the doorway with a manila folder in her left arm.

I couldn't seem find my voice, so I pulled the corners of my mouth back to project a weak smile of acknowledgement.

She smiled warmly, pushing the door all the way back until it gently hit the wall. The hand holding a manila folder was then outstretched in the direction she came from. "We're all set for you."

My arms were now securely wrapped around my stomach the minute she walked in so suddenly. When my mind registered what she had uttered, my wide eyes blinked several times before I placed my hands on the table and hopped down onto the floor. I shivered from the cold tiles penetrating the thick, ugly brown socks she had given me.

As I cautiously approached her, her smile grew and I felt a little more at ease. "Right this way."

She let me exit the room first and I turned around, waiting for her to lead the way since I had no clue where she was taking me. She closed the door behind her and walked down the long hallway, past the main desk area, and into another long corridor before we came to a slow stop in front of a set of double doors. Panic consumed me.

I should've stopped him. I should've stopped myself regardless of how we both felt and the numerous of times we had done it before. I could've prevented all of this from happening if I had just said no, because was that night worth where I am now? Preparing myself to perform a deed I swore I would never do unlike most women? I always argued it wasn't right but I'm in a position I thought I'd never be in. I was desperate, and desperation can drive a person to do the extreme measure.

"Miss Brock?"

My glazed orbs blinked once at the sound of her voice and I realized tears had begun to form. I blinked them back and looked at Dr. Sinclair in a daze, remembering where I was and why I was there. I gave her a half-smile before staring straight ahead of me and walking through the now parted double doors and into a room much like the one I was previously in. The only difference was its content. Metal machinery everywhere; big, medium, small, sharp, pointy, oddly shaped - you name it, they got it. They were frightening, but I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering over each one. The more I stared the more I wanted to say I changed my mind and run for my life, but it was too late. Her gloves were on, the doors closed with a loud click, and I was already seated at the white-covered bed.

"Now I know Nurse Fletcher informed you on what and how everything will be done and the precautions of the procedure," Dr. Sinclair began, looking me straight in the eye before placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it for assurance. "But I'm going to go over them ag-"

"Can we just get this over with?" I interrupted with a nervous laugh, my voice quavering. They had kept me at this dreadful place long enough. More than I liked actually, so I wouldn't permit them to keep me any longer. "Please?"

She stared at me with hesitance lingering on her face before pushing it aside. "Are you sure?"

I nodded frantically, hoping she wouldn't see the fear sweating out of me.

"Alright," she said with a sigh. She turned around to face a table where everything she needed was laying in wait. "Lay on one side and hold your knees tightly against your chest."

I did what she had instructed, laying down on my right side and curled up into a ball. She faced me again, a clear plastic tube containing lethal liquid in hand. At the end of the small tube held a long thin metal extending about eight inches up into the air.

"Now this might feel a little bit uncomfortable at first, that's normal. But if you start to feel any pain, I want y-"

"Just do it," I impatiently ordered in a soft stone, lifting my gown up past my hips. My fingers dug into the cheap material as a result of my anxiety rising.

Dr. Sinclair was gentle but wasted no time complying. I cringed at the cold needle slowly making its way in. My body violently shook from great tremor and overwhelming regret as time seemed to slow down and I wondered if the liquid would kill me too. But before I knew it, the needle had done its job and had been removed.

Dr. Sinclair informed me that everything went well and escorted me back to the first room to retrieve my clothing. Holding back the a new set of waterworks, I changed back into my street clothes and soon, I was walking out of the community clinic where I let the first few of teardrops fall to the sidewalk beneath my pale pink flats.

I hated the choice I made, what I decided to just go through. It wasn't right or fair but I could see no other way out. I'm too young, too young for that kind of responsibility. I couldn't throw my whole life away for a whole new level of responsibility. Scratch that: I'm not ready for it. We aren't ready, we are far from ready. He and I were still so immature and have many problems to sort out before taking that next step.

But it was still wrong and unforgivable. Those reasons were nothing but excuses that couldn't repent the sin I just committed. Nothing could excuse me from doing this selfish, vulgar act. Nothing justifies murder.