Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 66503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
She frowns, wary of me, so I swiftly tuck my hands into my pocket. “A pharmacy?”
“Yeah, for medicine and stuff.”
“Oh. Apotheek.” She points at a street a few feet away from this one. “There’s one around there, to the left.”
“Thanks!” I say, and I rush off.
I head to the street she pointed at and find a weird store I’ve never been to but recognize from television commercials. I quickly go inside and search until I find the aisle I’m looking for.
I stare up at the product shelf, wondering what I need. I’ve never done this before, and the thought is quite daunting.
Especially when it dawns on me that I have literally zero money.
I grab one of the boxes that says it has an early detection and look at the price tag. It’s fifteen euros.
What do I do?
Do I just steal it?
I gaze around at the employees and customers, but they’re all too busy buying and selling stuff at the counter to even notice me. My conscience is weighing on me, but I still shove the package into my pocket and pull my shirt over it, praying they won’t notice.
With sweat drops forming on my face, I make my way to the exit, looking around the store like normal customers do when they’re just looking without buying. But when I get to the exit, my entire body begins to shake.
BEEP! BEEP!
Uh-oh.
Without thinking, I run off as fast as I can while the employees rush out of the store after me.
“Stop!” They yell, but I ignore them.
A pang of guilt shoots through my body. I don’t want to steal, but I have no other choice.
If I had the money, I’d pay them.
And maybe, if I make it out of this hell alive, I’ll pay them back … one day.
But for now, I keep running, past the point where my legs can carry me until I can physically feel them caving in on me.
When I’m sure no one is following me anymore, I stop right in front of a train station.
Everything hurts.
I bend over and take a few much-needed breaths.
But when I open my eyes, I find exactly what I need to make this happen. Fifty euro cents stuck between the tiles of the pavement.
A smile spreads on my lips as I fish it out and clean it up a little. It’s not a lot, but it’s all I need right now.
I head into the train station, ignoring everyone’s looks as I push the fifty cents into a box and go into the toilet, locking myself inside.
It stinks like old piss, but even that is better than the stench of blood I still so vividly remember from the day before.
I place some paper on the toilet and fish the package from my pocket, staring at it once more before I lower my trousers and sit down.
I close my eyes for a second and breathe out another breath.
Then I take it out and pee over the stick that’s inside.
I flush and wait, nauseous just from the mere idea of having to wait for the results.
The seconds feel like hours.
A drop of sweat rolls down onto the stick.
But no extra line appears.
I let go of a giant breath and slowly begin to smile. Then laugh. Then cry.
All at once.
Because even though I’m happy I’m not pregnant, that I’m not carrying … an actual baby.
It was his.
I would have been.
I would have had something of his.
Something to remind me he was once alive.
Even though this would’ve been the worst time to have a baby.
Sucking in a breath, I wipe away the tears, then chuck the stick into the trash. I rush out the door and slam it shut behind me. I need to get away from there, that toilet, and that stick as fast as possible.
Storming away from the train station, I march on until I no longer feel the sting of my own tears on my cheeks and my heart and body feel numb.
I pause for a moment when my muscles can’t take it anymore.
An alleyway next to me calls to me, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help but walk inside. Out there on the streets, I feel watched. Unsafe. But here, behind all the rubble and in the dark, no one will be able to find me.
It’s a darkness akin to the cell I’d grown so used to.
Now it all feels like a distant memory.
I sink down against the building and watch the people walk by, oblivious that I’m even here, stuck in a place between.
Two sparkling eyes suddenly catch my attention a few feet away as they blink. A man moves around on the ground, croaking and clearing his throat as he sits straight. “Hoi meisje.”
That sounded Dutch, and I definitely don’t speak Dutch. Although I’ve lived here for ages, my papa never let me mingle with any of the locals. And the school I briefly attended was also for English students. So I have no clue what to say.