Page 82 of Dash

I fold the papers, stuffing them in my pocket. I feel worse than I did before I walked in here. I’m not sure what I expected. Did I think she was going to coach me through my poor life decisions? Give me the answer to the never ending conundrum of what to do when you’re pregnant with an overbearing biker’s baby?

When I leave the clinic, I just stand there, unable to make my legs move. I should head back to work, make up the time I lost coming here, but I need a moment to breathe.

There’s a small park across the street from the clinic. I walk over and sink on to a lonely bench.

It feels weird that the world is still turning around me while my life turns to shit.

I watch a little kid running around the grass, shrieking as a man chases him. He catches the boy, lifting him and kissing his belly.

My chest aches seeing that.

I pull out the printout the doctor gave me. My throat burns with every word I read, every decision I have to make. Every step I need to take that will decide the rest of my life.

I splay my hand over my stomach, trying to imagine every scenario playing out.

I keep the baby and Dash is happy.

I keep the baby, Dash runs, and I drown in debt, selling soul and sanity to survive.

I keep the baby and fall on the mercy of my mother, praying she hasn’t burned through her inheritance and can help me with finances.

I have the baby and put it up for adoption.

Or…

There is no baby.

And everything goes back to how it was.

Except it won’t.

There will always be that baby-shaped what-if seared into my bones.

I lower my head between my knees as a wave of nausea rolls through me.

I want my baby.

I want it so much it burns, but I can’t afford to do it alone.

I need to know whether he’s going to be involved or whether the decision to keep my baby is going to be taken out of my hands.

No.No. Even if he’s not on board, I have to find a way.

I head back to work, my head full.

Either way, there is one thing I know I need to do. I have to tell Dash that I’m pregnant and I need to do it soon.

Because whatever happens it’s not just me to think about and I have to make plans.

TWENTY-ONE

DAYNA

I don’t knowhow I get through the rest of the day. My brain is on autopilot, my soul dragging through broken glass as I continue to weigh every decision I’m facing.

Everything feels too big, too much, and over my head, that clock ticks away.

Time is not something I have the luxury of with this, and the only decision I’ve stuck with is that I have to tell Dash.

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