Chapter 9

 I knew that keeping this baby was crazy.   I was homeless and on the run, and if I  didn't get across the border before this baby was born, it was highly likely we'd both die in the harsh, unforgiving wilderness.   I wasn't afraid to die, but I wanted my child to have a chance.  

If I had been smart, I would have figured out a way to end the pregnancy as soon as I found out, because this isn't a life I'd wish on anyone.  But I couldn't.  Maybe it was selfish, but I wanted this baby. I felt a connection, already, to this tiny life inside me.  If it weren't for the child I was carrying, I would have given up a long time ago.  But with every tiny flutter in my belly, I was reminded of why I had to keep going.  I would do everything in my power to keep this child safe.  

But even now, I never felt truly safe.   I hoped that would change once I had crossed the border.  At night, even though I was exhausted, it took hours to fall asleep.   His words would come back to me, like he was right in the room.   

"You're lucky to have me, who else would want you?"   "If your mother really loved you, then why doesn't she come to see you?" "There's something wrong with you"  "You're a miserable bitch"   "You're fat" "Don't say anything in front of my friends, you say stupid things and it's embarrassing and you don't even realize how stupid you sound."  

When I finally did fall asleep, I would be plagued by nightmares, often waking up in a panic, remembering his hands around my throat, or being shoved against the wall, or thrown on the bed, while he slammed his fist on the pillow, inches my face, sneering as I flinched.  

One time, he had grabbed me by my neck and threw me to the floor, pinning my neck down with his hands as I cried and begged him to let go but it only made him angrier.   The pain in my neck was excruciating.   After he finally let me go, I had screamed that I couldn't do this anymore, and had grabbed a knife and tried to slit my wrists, as he mocked me for being "dramatic" and stood by impassively, watching.  

But the knife was dull, and, although I made two or three deep gashes, apparently they didn't go deep enough, because I passed out, and when I woke, up, he was in the living room watching t.v. and there was blood everywhere, but I was still very much alive.   I had accomplished nothing; except for making a mess I had to clean up before he got angry again, and my wrist hurt like hell. 

Maybe, just maybe there's a reason I'm supposed to be on this earth, but I know this - that purpose isn't with him.   All I know now is that I have to keep us safe.