DRAG ME THROUGH HELL

BLOOD MEMORY

CHAPTER SEVEN: BLOOD MEMORY

The sound of running water echoed in the bathroom.

But there was no water.

Only blood.

It ran down my legs, warm and terrifying, pooling beneath my feet, soaking the thin soles of my worn-out sneakers. I clutched the edge of the grimy sink, my breath short and sharp, teeth clenched so tight I thought they’d crack. I wanted to scream do bad, and it was lodged in my throat, ready to tear its way out.

“God… oh God, no....."

Another contraction twisted inside me like a knife.

My knees gave out.

I crashed onto the floor with a dull, wet thud. Cold, cracked tiles met my back, and the flickering fluorescent light above blinked like it couldn’t stand to watch. But it watched anyway. It saw me, fifteen, bleeding, terrified.

And giving birth.

“I remember the tiles,” I murmured.

My therapist, Doctor Simone sitting across from me glanced up, sitting up properly “Hmm?”

Yes, I had to get into therapy before I started hurting myself again.

I didn’t answer her right away. My eyes were fixed on the mirror on the wall, just above her head, but my mind had slipped backward, years backward, into that filthy gas station bathroom between nowhere and worse.

“They were green,” I whispered. “At least… they used to be, faded. Graffiti all over the walls, I remember thinking, ‘This is where I die."

My therapist smiled at me gently, twirling her pen around, her eyes boring into me, I almost felt like she was picking me apart.

“Laura you don't need to do this if you aren't ready to”

“No.” My voice cut through her concern like glass. “Let me talk.”

She nodded and sat back, giving me room….space. I needed space to say this aloud.

“I had just left the restaurant, didn’t even tell my boss. I could feel her… Trisha… pressing down on everything inside me. I walked like a ghost, people stared.....one man laughed.”

Another moved away, disgust evident on his face.

I felt my lips twist….not into a smile…..not even close.

“I made it to the gas station, locked myself in a stall, put down a plastic bag….

One of those black nylon ones, the kind bread came in. It didn’t help, and when she came, she came like fire, tearing me in two.”

I remember this feeling, it felt like I was in a movie, and I was the pregnant teen who lost her life in a public bathroom, either with the baby dead, or the baby alive.

The room was so still, It buzzed with actual electricity and fear.

“I screamed, but nobody came. It was just me, piss-soaked tile, bleach stink, and blood. Then… she slid out of me, pink and wrinkled and pissed off at the world. I held her in my arms, and all I could think was,

‘She’s mine.’”

My voice cracked, but I didn’t cry.

“I didn’t have scissors, the cord was still there, and even if I did, I still would never had tried cutting it...."

I saw a glimpse of disgust flash in my therapist's eyes for a split second, before she composed herself.

Her composure was great, just not great enough for my quick eye.

"I never had the time or resources to get ready for that moment."

I said, trying to play on her emotions.

"I wrapped her in my apron, I walked out. There was blood on me, arms, legs, face. I remember the way they looked at me, like I was a monster. I still ask myself sometimes, if I was being overtly dramatic coming out of the public restroom like that."

Doc Simone swallowed. “How did you get to the hospital?”

“I passed out outside the building, right there on the sidewalk. Someone called an ambulance, said I looked like I’d escaped a murder scene.”

I let out a bitter laugh that barely escaped my throat, It wasn’t funny…..none of this ever was.

One of my darkest secrets and guilt had just come to light, there was no going back.

That night, after I had left my therapist’s office, I stood in front of the mirror again. Not Trisha’s, mine.

I pressed my fingers against the glass.

“She looked just like me,” I said softly. “Except her eyes, darker. Almost like his.”

I sat on the bed, and the weight of everything pressed on my shoulders until I folded forward, my head in my hands.

I loved God, but I had never loved myself.

I knew I loved my Trish, from the moment I held her in my arms for the first time.

I knew I was going to give my all to give her a life that she deserved.

I swore I was going to protect her for life....but instead I ended up handing her to the same devil that almost took my life.

“I gave her what I could, a roof, food, bible verses, but not me…..not all of me.”

My voice cracked again.

“She needed me. And I… I gave her God instead.”

And where was he when the devil came for her?

This question kept knawing at me consistently.

“I used to tell myself,” I said the next day to Fiona, Pastor Mark’s wife, “that God would fill the parts I couldn’t.”

Her look was sharp, but kind. “And now?”

“I think I used Him to hide, I hid behind the hymns, behind fasting, behind Sunday clothes and scripture I didn’t even believe half the time.”

“And Trisha?”

“She started asking questions when she was nine, about her father, about why I jumped when she laughed too loud, and then she started asking for me, for who I was…..what kind of life I’d lived.”

“And you couldn’t give her that?”

“I didn’t know how.” I clenched my fists. “But now… I know I failed her.”

He was going to take her. He always took what he wanted.

“I need help,” I whispered.

“Are you okay Laura?”

I knew I couldn’t continue coming to the church, If I decided to tell anyone about it, they wouldn’t believe me…..they never had. They’d drown me in oil and scripture and call it healing.

I needed someone else.

Someone that would believe me,

Someone who wouldn't call me crazy,

Then I remembered her.