Page 161 of Rules

BROOK

Nibbling at my lower lip, I look at the offending paper sitting at the bottom of my single bed. I’ve moved as far away from it as possible without actually falling off the bed, my back pressed against the wooden headboard.

I should have thrown it out.

Then why didn’t you?

I wish I knew.

Oh, you know. You’re just too big of a coward to admit it.

“Ugh.” Running my hand through my loose hair, I let my head fall back. Pain radiates through me as it connects with the wall, but I ignore it, happy it shushed the nagging voices in my head.

Sighing, I look around the room. It’s a small guest room with only a single bed covered in white bedding, a nightstand and a little dressing closet with mirror over it. Not like I need much more than that.

But your baby does.

And there it is, the most terrifying thought of all. It’s easy not to need much when you’re used to having so little, but what about the baby? He’ll need more. Hell, hedeservesmore. And I… I swallow hard, tension setting in my bones. I’m not sure I’m able to give it to him.

Lifting my shirt a little, I let my hand slide underneath, touching the warm, smooth skin of my stomach. It was still hard to wrap my mind around it, that there is a baby growing inside of me. Somebody who’ll need me to survive. Somebody who’ll depend on me to take care of him. How am I supposed to do that when I can’t take care of myself? When I’m barely surviving as it is? Living under somebody else’s roof.

The crumpled pamphlet mocks me, daring me to take it.

There are options.

My whole body shudders, but I don’t look away. Slowly, I disentangle my limbs, my hand reaching for the paper.

There is a weight in my stomach, heavy and unsettling, but even that doesn’t stop me.

There is no shame in admitting you can’t do this.

I open the small brochure, my hands trembling so vigorously that it’s hard to read. Tightening my grip on the paper, my teeth dig into the soft flesh of my lip to the point of pain as I force my eyes to take in the words in front of me.

When Dr. Perez said I have options, I knew what she meant. Just because I didn’t think of them at first doesn’t mean I’m clueless. But hearing her words has brought those thoughts that I’d pushed to the back of my mind front and center.

Abortion.

Adoption.

A strangled laugh rips out of my lungs.

Who’d have thought that my whole life could fit into those two words. Myoptions.

Why isn’t there an option to be happy? To be able to have this baby and give him all he needs? Why does it always have to be so damn hard to have what I want? Truly, deeply want?

Brushing at my cheek, I feel the wetness of my skin.

There are flutters in my stomach, so soft they’re barely noticeable, but I can’t help but rub my hand over it.

My baby.

“I want to give you all you deserve,” I whisper, my eyes looking through the window into the darkness of the night. “I want to give you everything, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. And you, you deserve better.”

* * *

Breathless, I look at the brick building in front of me, the white and blue sign taunting me.

I swallow hard, a tremble going through my whole body, although my skin feels flushed. My chest squeezes painfully, and as I lay my hand in the middle of it to rub the pain away, I can feel the erratic beat of my heart.

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