I guess we were living together. You were banging on the bathroom door asking me what was wrong. I was holding a pregnancy test. It was positive. You came into the bathroom and took it from me and saw it. You backed up into the wall and slid to the floor. You were angry and sad. You told me to get out of your face.
You came into the room and threw me to the bed. You held my arms down. You choked me till my eyes rolled to the back of my head. You called me a ****. A *****. A *****. You beat me till you couldn't anymore. You say at the edge of the bed. Your head buried in your hands. You stood up and took my hand. Pulled me to the car and drove. The hospital smelled like aspirin. You told the doctor what was "wrong" with me. Two hours later I woke up in a coma. My stomach stitched up. The bed drenched in blood. You could have told me you didn't want a baby. It was a boy. He was almost three months. He could have lived. You should have told me. You didn't want a future.