I instruct the Uber guy to park. He says he has another customer, so I hand him a wad of uncounted cash. Fifteen minutes tick by, and my patience runs thin. I get out of the car and creep up to the window. I don’t see Eliza, so I open the door and go in, the eyes of teen girls with bulging bellies staring at me. The lady at the desk asks me if I need anything.
“I’m here for my girlfriend,” I whisper. “Eliza James.”
The woman looks down at her Book of Life, then smirks at me. “Sorry, can’t let you back there. I can tell her you’re here, if you like.”
I shake my head. “I’ll wait. Is there a bathroom I can use?”
“Right around the corner,” she says, motioning with her pen.
“Thanks.”
I bypass the bathroom, and continue down the hall. There are only two rooms of the approximate ten which have closed doors. She has to be in one of them.
I look over my shoulder. Fuck it. I grab hold of the door knob, then press my ear against the door and hold my breath.
The voice is muffled but still clear enough to make out. “You can change your mind at any time up until the start of the procedure,” the doctor says. “What this tool will do is vacuum out the contents of your uterus. You may feel some discomfort. Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes.”
Oh my God, Eliza. Oh my God.
I throw open the door. My fiancée is on the table, her legs spread, a vacuum hose ready to be shoved into her body and suck out a baby that I’m not entirely sure isn’t mine.
“Brooks?” Eliza gasps.
“Sir! Excuse me!” the doctor shouts, quickly covering Eliza’s private areas. “You cannot be in here. Jeanine! Jeanine!” she yells.
“Eliza, what the fuck are you doing?” I try to run to her, but the doctor puts her hands on my chest and pushes me out the door.
“Eliza!” I shout.
The doctor pulls the door shut behind us.
“Is that my baby?” I shout to Eliza through the door, reaching around the doctor to pound on it with my fist. “Eliza! Is that my baby?”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, or I’m going to call the police. Right now.”
I can’t believe this. Eliza must be aborting our baby. My baby.
“Why, Eliza? Why?”
“Sir, you need to leave the building immediately!” the woman from the front desk says as she storms toward us.
My fingers lock behind my head. I spin around in circles, unsure what to do. I think I’m having another panic attack. I can’t breathe. My heart hurts. I clutch my chest.
“Sir, are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?” the doctor asks.
Steadying myself, I look back at the door again and pound once more. “Eliza!”
“Sir, you’re going to have to leave immediately,” one of them says. The doctor and Jeanine push me farther down the hall. I’m not going to accomplish anything other than getting myself arrested if I don’t leave.
Watchful eyes pierce through me as I walk through the waiting room and step into the parking lot, thankful the Uber guy is still waiting. I get into the car, and he turns around.
“Whoa, you okay, son?” he asks.
Son. My son. Or daughter. No. I bury my face in my hands. I have to accept what I know is the truth. It can’t be mine. Eliza wouldn’t abort our child, not when we are about to get married. Were about to get married.
His son. His daughter. Whoever he is. I can’t respond to the driver. All I can do is nod and motion for him to drive while I open Emily’s text and press play.
November 9, 2015
I feverishly enter the code to Brooks’s gate, but to no avail. Press the intercom button. Repeat. He changed the code, and now he’s ignoring me. This is, without a doubt, the worst day of my life.
He texts, the vibration jolting: Get off my property.
I respond: Please, babe. Please let me in. I’m so sorry.
The gate opens, a rush of hope filling me to the core of my soul. Maybe he hasn’t found out. Mark couldn’t have told him. He doesn’t even know I’m pregnant. Maybe Brooks grew suspicious recently and followed me. I know what he must have thought, seeing me on that table. But I can fix this. If I can just reassure him that the baby is his, that I was simply not ready to be a mother yet, everything will be okay. The wedding will go on as planned, and if he finds out after the baby is born, it won’t matter by then, because Rachel’s idea is genius. He would already be in love with it after spending nine months waiting for it to be born. Then I could get down on my knees with our little bundle of joy in my arms and beg for his forgiveness. I could tell him how foolish I was and how desperately sorry I am. He won’t be able to turn his back on us, to kick what will have become his newborn son or daughter out in the street.
The front door opens. I get out of the car, hesitating because I can’t read his expression. He walks onto the porch and descends the steps until we meet in the middle of the driveway.
His eyes look swollen like he has been crying. Pain doesn’t look good on him.
“Brooks,” I whisper, reaching out to touch him, but he backs up before I can.
“Do you have anything to say?” he asks, his voice colder than ice. But his eyes await an apology, and they promise a future.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice chattering. “God, I’m so sorry. I just didn’t think I was ready to be a mother yet, for us to be parents.”
His lips press together, and his nostrils flare. “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You’re going to lie to my face after ten years? Ten fucking years?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, my voice rising in volume. “I wanted us to have time to ourselves—”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, goddamn it!” he screams, the blush of his pain turning crimson in anger.
I flinch a step back, away from the veins that bulge from his neck. Though he has never done anything but love me, for the first time I fear him.
I say nothing.
“How could you fucking do this to me?” he shouts. “Why didn’t you just leave?”
It’s going to take a bit more convincing. He seems to be sure I’m lying. I don’t understand. “Brooks...”
He pulls his phone from his back pocket. I swear if he calls the police on me, I’ll never talk to him again. How dare he—
Voices come from his phone. After a few seconds, I am horrified to hear one of them is mine, and the other is Rachel’s. I begin to shiver uncontrollably, processing the horrors of this moment—the breaking and pulling apart of life as I know it. I cover my ears, unwilling to listen to be humiliated, and try to put two and two together. I only come to one conclusion. “Emily?” I gasp.
His brows raise, and he tilts his head in confirmation. I try to step closer to him, to explain this monstrosity, to fix what is being shattered, but he retreats again. “Don’t come near me,” he warns.
“Brooks, please,” I scream, my voice turning hysterical. “We can work on this, we can fix this, please. You have to forgive me; you have to understand!” I shout, snot running from my nose onto my lip.
“I will never forgive you,” he hisses. “The wedding is off.”
“You don’t mean that.” I shake my head. “Please! We can go back to what we were. We can forget this happened. Brooks, you love me!”
“Loved. I loved you, Eliza. But I can’t love you anymore. It’s over.”
My knees give out beneath me. I collapse onto them, the pain shooting through my legs as tears spill freely from my eyes. Brooks turns and walks away from me, back to the house that would have been ours if it weren’t for this baby. My life is over. The blurry blob of blue jeans and green polo jogs up the steps, then stops and turns around. I start to rise, hopeful he’s changing his mind.
“And about that baby,” he says, motioning to my stomach that has yet to expand. “If you don’t tell your boyfriend, I will.”
The door slams.
Mrs. Jansen. It could have been me. I
t almost was.
November 9, 2015
I watched as Brooks calmly walked into Planned Parenthood, then stumbled out looking distraught only moments later. Poor guy, but his life will be better for it. And I watched in wonderful, delicious amusement as Eliza rushed out behind him, clenching fistfuls of her hair in an amusing tantrum. Wiping tears and screeching tires as she left the parking lot.
My stomach hurts—overstuffed from my celebratory steak dinner. I think I’ll take a nap once I get inside my apartment, maybe see if Jared is back. The hairs stand on my neck when the elevator doors open, and I get the feeling I’m not alone. I poke my head out and look around but don’t see anyone, so I step out and round the corner to my door. My head turns in both directions, before I shake it and laugh at myself.
But then my head collides with the door handle. It really is true what they say about things happening in slow motion. It feels like a million seconds before I crash to the ground.
I feel woozy, my vision failing me as darkness clouds it, interrupted by the occasional darting spark. I roll onto my back, my forehead throbbing yet numb.
“You fucking bitch!” Eliza growls. “You wanted him for yourself, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”
The blackness fades, allowing me to visualize her now. Her mouth is curled into a snarl, her eyes that of a rabid animal as she grabs fistfuls of my hair on both sides.
“Eliza,” I manage, my voice strangled from the pain of her ripping my hair. “I don’t know—”
“Don’t bother,” she says through her teeth as she straddles me. “He fucking told me, you stupid bitch!”
I attempt to grab for her, to push her off, but her hands go for my throat. She squeezes them hard as I try in vain to free myself. She’s so strong—feral and wild.
“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? I knew you were in my closet that day after the movies. You think I’m stupid, Em? Then when I found green glitter in there after your party, I knew you were up to something. I thought you were my friend. Thought you were different.” Her fingers are still pressed into my throat, but she’s quickly losing strength as I continue to fight. I can’t let her kill me. It’s not supposed to end this way. “No way in hell I was going to leave you in the same city with him while I went to Vegas. But that was a mistake, because now look what you’ve done, you stupid cunt! You ruined everything! You ruined my fucking life!” she shouts, her voice cracking on the last word. Slams my head into the concrete floor, the pain rippling down my neck and shoulders.
Her grip loosens as she breaks into a sob, allowing me to breathe again, my throat raw as I gasp for air. If I wasn’t sure she’s still pregnant, I’d push her down the stairwell and not feel the least bit remorseful about it.
She screams, her bloodcurdling scream echoing off the walls. Gets up again. Easily grabs me by the neck again because of my exhaustion from almost suffocating. Pulls my head up and pushes it into the floor again, the impact sending exploding stars across my eyes. So many stars.
Something wet and warm lands on my cheek. Spit, I think. “Fuck you,” she shouts. “I would kill you if I could get away with it.” A door opens down the hall, and she retreats. “Fuck you!” I’m afraid she’ll come back for one last head slam or kick me in the vagina, give me a nipple twist or something, but my vision returns to normal, and her lime green flats disappear around the corner.
Fuck you, too, I whisper, still lying on the floor. She may have hit me twice in the face, but I hit her permanently in the heart—and hopefully the wallet, too.
“Oh my God … Emily?” Hands are on me, pulling me off the ground—the face of a god all I see before I pass out in Jared’s arms.
March 17, 2016
I got a dog—an apricot poodle named Lucy. I needed someone—or something—to keep me company other than a dildo and Jared, and an old lady in my old building talked me into taking her. Said she didn’t anticipate how difficult a puppy would be.
I didn’t, either, though I’m grateful for the distraction she’s been. The last few months have been one behemoth of heartbreak. I’m certainly not where I thought I’d be when I began this journey. I haven’t heard from or seen Brooks since I told him Eliza was pregnant. It’s been terrible not being able to see him, not knowing what’s going on in his life since he shut his Facebook down. I’ve relived those moments on his porch over and over, replaying the brokenness in his eyes. I’m not in denial. I know he loved Eliza, and it would be unreasonable to expect him to instantly recover from such a long and brazen betrayal. She didn’t just cheat on him. She carried on a decade-long affair, from which she got pregnant. He needs time. And I love him enough to give it to him.
Eliza seems to have fully moved on, however. She’s moved in with Mark, farther north in the suburbs where things are cheaper. I know this because I still snoop on her daily from my fake model scout account. She posted recently—a photo of the two of them in a field of grass, opening a box of blue balloons with the words “boy” written on them. To my surprise, her mom liked the post, so it’s evident she has some familial support. But her grandparents are mysteriously missing from her friends list, so maybe she won’t get that twenty million, after all. Maybe her fairytale will be a riches-to-rags nightmare.
Regardless, I didn’t expect her to look so happy. Happy isn’t what she deserves. She can’t do what she did and walk away and be happy, especially after nearly squeezing the life out of me. She should be in jail for assault, but calling the police would have meant risking Brooks finding out I was Ivy, so that wasn’t an option. Yeah … no way I’m finished with that evil bitch, but her baby is innocent. He helped everything unravel, so I’m endeared to him in a strange way. He deserves nothing less than a peaceful transition into this fucked up world. It’s the least I can do for him. Then, when the time is right, I’ll twist the sword I’ve already plunged into his mother’s heart. Baby Cole will thank me later.
As far as Brooks, if I’m wrong about us, at least I did get to kiss him again and have made a new life for myself and gained a real friend in the process. Believe it or not, Jared is actually a really awesome person. Cooks his mom dinner on Sundays because she’s old and lonely, brings me soup and tampons when I need them, and even offers to lick my pussy to lift my spirits. But I don’t let him. And he laughs. And we laugh together.
Lucy attempts to sprint ahead of me, so I tug on her leash, two dogs barking at us as we pass their owner. We’ve been walking Chastain Park every morning. It’s a great place to clear my head and mourn Mom and Dad, other than talking to their ashes. I miss them now more than ever after losing contact with Brooks. Jared fills part of the void, but sometimes I suspect he wants more than friendship, and things will never be romantic between us. He’s too goofy for me, and I’m still strong in my belief that Brooks and I aren’t done—that one day my patience will pay off.
I dream one day I’ll have him again, that it’ll be as real as Eliza and Mark are, that infinite force that pulls people back together over and over again. I dream one day he’ll drop down on one knee just as he said he would, and ask me to be his wife. That I’ll never have to say goodbye to him, and that one day I can give him a child. A son or daughter whose paternity he doesn’t have to question, because I’ll never need to give myself to anyone else so long as I’m with him. I think of our chromosomes saying hello to each other, then melting together to create one perfect little life. I wonder if our baby would look like Plain Jane Ivy, God rest her soul, or whether his aesthetically superior genes would prevail over the weaker ones. I smile. Realize it doesn’t matter whether our offspring is beautiful or something in between.
Not everyone can be an Emily.
March 17, 2016
My shoes make a scraping noise against the sand-littered sidewalk. The air is cool, but not cold. Spring is just beginning.
I run as often as I can—a ritual to keep myself sane. My therapist says positive rituals are healthy and mind cleansing. Deacon joins a lot, but today he had t
o bail. Said he had a meeting to attend. It has been rough for him since he and Emily split. He tried to reconcile with Kara, but they can’t seem to make it a week before calling it quits again. So now he goes to some type of self-help meetings a lot and—weirdly enough—has started doing some naked yoga shit that he swears is the best thing he has ever done for himself. Aside from Deacon, I have become a bit isolated, dropping most of my friends who couldn’t understand my sadness over a failed engagement lasting more than a week.
But I am fine now. I say fine, and that is exactly what I mean. No better, no worse. Just sort of numb, I suppose. Eliza seems to be doing great with Mark. Sometimes I hate her for it, resenting the fact that I was the good guy in the relationship and ended up with the raw deal. But then I snap out of it, because I do want the best for her. She obliterated my heart, but wishing her unhappiness or being angry won’t help anyone. I just hope I’m happy, too, one day.
Besides, I’ve come to realize we obviously weren’t the ones for each other. If we were, she wouldn’t have done what she did. I’m not completely absolved of guilt, either. If Eliza was the one for me, I wouldn’t have been so distracted by Emily. My thoughts were nothing but Emily, Emily, Emily, no matter how hard I tried. I think of her still. I do. Honestly, I think of her every day. I know she hates me for how I treated her, shoving her out of my house and screaming at her, implying she was crazy, like I hated her. I did hate her for a few days. If I could have snapped my fingers and vaporized her after she told me Eliza was pregnant, she would have been gone, nothing but a little puff of smoke left. Really, I hated myself for being so blinded by her and the chemistry we clearly had that I ignored what was going on with Eliza right before my eyes. If I had only paid attention, I may have been able to save myself at least a little bit of heartache.
The Evolution of Ivy: Poison Page 22
