Eighty-nine

I am pregnant.

Three words. Three words I don't want to be associated with. Brandon's hand returns to my knee but it weighs a ton, I shrug it off, I don't want his support. My lung closes, the pressure in my chest spreads. I wheeze, a cold feeling of fear whips through me. My breath catches in my throat, a strangled sound escapes me. I don't want to be pregnant.

Reaching for something close to me to keep from drowning in this sea of nothingness, my hand closes around thin air and I gasp. The image of the doctor blurs, I cradle my head in my arms and choke on a sob. I don't want a baby.

"If you want, we could-"

I jump, flailing my arms in protest, we shouldn’t have come. "I don't want anything." My chair clatters to the floor, Brandon hisses, a look at his face shows a nail scratch on his cheek. The thin line turns red, looking scarier than it should because of his pale colour. But I don't apologise, he put the baby in me. Staring at the wall, I ask, "Can we g