I might be pregnant. The whole thing
suspends me in shock…that I may be opening my legs to…a machine that cleans you
out.
If this is the case, it means the return
of him in my life. I debated not telling him. I fear that all of the strength I’ve
gained will flitter. A semblance of hope has grown inside me…but maybe that’s
the baby.
No, this hope centers on the idea of another. Somewhere
out there, with whom to laugh and have sex with, in a more phenomenal
way…probably because we’ll be sober more than 10% of the time during
intercourse. We spent more than half our nights together drunk. Alcohol rushed,
escalated, heightened everything; from our first kiss, to our first fuck, to
our break-up. I may be in a family way from one such encounter. A drunken
encounter with my ex-boyfriend could have been the night I got pregnant with
the fetus I will inevitably abort. What the fuck happened to my life?