Trigger warning for tokophobia, severe dysphoria, self-injury, use of a homophobic slur, and on-screen domestic violence. I had a very visceral fight-or-flight response and made myself cry while writing this [but it was a catharsis I needed], so please be mindful of your own mental health with reading it.
_
About the abortion itself, there's not much I can say except "it happened". I came to after the procedure, I was out of it and barely remember Judith driving me to Nigel's house. I spent most of that weekend in my old bed in my old room, mindlessly zoning out to television - I attempted to read a book and listen to the music of my youth, like old times, but I was too emotionally and physically worn out to concentrate.
I was given painkillers because I'd technically had surgery, but because of Mum's history with alcoholism I was reluctant to take potentially-addictive drugs unless absolutely necessary. However, the cramps I had were bad enough that I did have to take a couple, and when the medication wore off and the pain came roaring back, I remember breaking down crying and Nigel came to give me a hug.
"You don't have to go back to him, you know," Nigel told me. "You could stay here while you file divorce papers. You could just... live here again. We wouldn't mind."
That was a very, very tempting offer. But it also felt like running, and I already felt like my pride had been broken enough without also feeling like I was being a coward - even though I wouldn't judge someone else for taking that same offer. One more week, I told myself when it was Monday morning, and time to go back to work, and go home to Steve that night. You can start the divorce process on Friday, and move out over the weekend.
Of course, it wasn't that simple.
I had been told before the procedure that I might bleed and have cramps for anywhere from two days to two weeks, and at the time that seemed like a small price to pay for not going through with the pregnancy and feeling more and more trapped in a female body. But it's one thing to be told and another thing to experience it oneself. No amount of talks or reading up could have prepared me for the days that followed. It was like having the worst period of my life.
What made it even worse was that I had most of a bottle of painkillers left on Sunday night, and to avoid both temptation to abuse them - it was all too tempting to self-medicate the stress - and the potential for Steve to discover I'd got a prescription and wonder why, I left them at Nigel's house and driving there to get one was a pain in the arse when I felt like this, nor did I feel right about asking him to drive across London to bring me pills. And I had already used up two sick days within the last couple of weeks, so going home early or taking yet another day off was going to get me in some sort of trouble... and I didn't need work problems on top of my personal problems.
So every day that week I went into work with only over-the-counter ibuprofen in my system, and having to run off every hour or so to change my pad.
And on Monday night, you know Steve was feeling randy because I'd been gone all weekend, and immediately after dinner - even though I was visibly exhausted from cooking when I felt this poorly - Steve was all over me, groping, kissing. I gently pushed him back, shook my head, and told him, "I'm on my period."
It wasn't really the truth, but I was bleeding and he wouldn't know the difference unless I told him. Usually Steve was too grossed out by my period to want to have sex then, so I expected him to back off, but to my surprise and disgust he continued feverishly kissing and groping, rubbing his hard-on against me. "Awww, come on, Toni."
"Steve, no." I backed away, feeling my body tense, my fists clench, heart beating faster... hoping he would take no for an answer this time. "I'm having really bad cramps. I'm in too much pain." I decided to sugarcoat the "no" with a little white lie. "Your big dick banging around in there will make it worse..."
Probably because I stroked his ego, Steve managed to laugh off the rebuff instead of throwing a fit and just gave me a few pats and walked off, and I heard him satisfying himself in the bathroom a few minutes later. I would have been sick - he actively repulsed me these days - if I wasn't too fucking worn out from the pain and feeling that flood of relief that he was going to leave me alone.
Unfortunately though, that relief didn't last long, and I spent the next few days worrying that Steve would try again thinking "my period" would be over and done... while I kept cramping, kept bleeding. Especially when, on Wednesday my fears were confirmed and Steve once again tried to initiate sex and I had to tell him I was still "on my period". Steve then made some lewd remarks about what he'd like to do this weekend once "my period" was done, and if I was still having cramps and bleeding I knew I would have to prove I was bleeding and he would tell me to go to the doctor - if not drive me there himself - and I didn't want to confess I'd had an abortion... and if I was done with the cramps and bleeding I still really didn't feel like having sex with him to "go along".
So on Wednesday night after Steve had gone to bed and I stayed up for awhile, sitting alone at my laptop, I opened up the application to file for divorce online. I had the money in my bank account, I'd been saving it for this.
I couldn't do it. I had a panic attack, my heart pounding in my ears, my breath ragged, hands shaking. My mind swam into a blur. I clicked out of the tab and broke down crying - quietly, so Steve wouldn't hear me. And then I got angry, which made me cry harder, muffling my sobs with a couch pillow. I could be done with this arsehole in just a few mouse clicks, I could tell him on Friday, move out Saturday, I didn't want to stay with him, but it was one more thing. I felt like I'd been running an emotional marathon for over a month now and I couldn't do it anymore.
It was the perfect storm of everything, all at once. I didn't regret having the abortion - and I still don't, two hundred years later - but the ongoing cramps and bleeding that week made me feel as trapped in this body as if I'd gone through with the pregnancy. At least when I had my period I knew it would be over in a few days, and the severe cramping only lasted the first two days or so. This went on all week. The pain and the blood loss made me tired and cranky, anger intensified by resenting that I even had to do the abortion at all, anger intensified by the constant nagging reminder of being a woman, wishing more and more that I had been born a boy...
Then Thursday came. Thursday, July twenty-sixth 2012, will go down in history as one of the worst days of my life, but not the worst. That would be later.
Most of my trouser suits for work were black, both because I felt it looked more elegant and professional and also because my menstrual flow tended to be heavy enough that an accident was less noticeable in a black suit. Unfortunately, I'd learnt early into my law career that if I wore black every single day, my co-workers started to make remarks that I looked like I was dressing for a funeral - and inevitably someone would comment my entire life was a funeral because I was a "cold bitch" - so I bought some suits in grey and blue as well to shut people up.
Because of how much pain I was in and how worn out I was, I didn't have energy to do a lot of extra chores - just grocery shopping knocked me on my arse - and of course, I ran out of black suits because they needed to be dry-cleaned and it was always my job to take things to the cleaners, Steve never lifted a finger to help me and I bitterly wondered if he would finally get his arse in gear and do things for his bloody self once I'd left.
So even though I was still bleeding, I wore a light grey suit to the chambers on Thursday, and told myself I would try to excuse myself to the bathroom once an hour to check my pad and change it. Life has a way of interfering with one's plans, and I was only able to get in roughly every ninety minutes. After the first two checks where it looked like the flow was getting a little lighter, I decided I could wait until after my lunch break.
It was on my way out of the Great Hall at Lincoln's Inn where I was stopped by Kate, one of the executive assistants who I was on a nodding acquaintance with but we never worked closely. Kate pulled me aside and in a hushed voice she said, "Antonia, you've... um... got some blood on your trousers."
My mouth fell open. I nervously glanced around, hoping she was the only one who noticed, but then I saw a few people at a table who were staring at me and laughing.
My first instinct was to run to the bathroom, change my pad, then either go home to change clothes and come back or just take the rest of the day off work, even though I knew it would look unprofessional considering how much time I'd already taken within the last thirty days. But instead of flight, the fight instinct took over - something in my head snapped, and I found myself striding towards the table where people had been gawping at me and laughing, feeling like my mind was on fire.
"What's so funny?" I asked, even though I knew perfectly damn well what they were laughing at.
And then one of the solicitors, Ben, grinned at me and said, "I see The Shark is bleeding." And guffawed at his own joke, his laughter immediately drowned out by the hysterical uproar of his friends.
I grabbed my own wrist so I wouldn't slap him, and dug my nails into my flesh. My nostrils flared. "I wouldn't talk, considering you're a bloody cunt," I snarled, and then I stomped off, my face burning, tears stinging my eyes.
I had another panic attack, like I wasn't already wrung out enough from the one I'd had last night. I had a meltdown in the bathroom. There was no way I could wear these trousers for the rest of the day... and now I had to worry about being reported for unprofessional conduct, there were witnesses, even though Ben making a remark about the blood was also something he could be censured for.
I walked out. I knew I was going to get in trouble for leaving without telling anyone, but I felt I was already damned no matter what I did.
I marched over to my Audi, got behind the wheel, and before I could put the key in the ignition, the dam of emotions broke. I popped open the glove compartment, got out the Swiss Army knife I kept in case of emergencies, rolled up my sleeves and started slashing away in a fiery mindless haze. Watched the blood drip onto my suit, which was ruined now. Then I tossed the knife out the window and doubled over the steering wheel, hearing broken sobs heave out of me, ashamed of myself for giving in and hurting myself like this.
You'll never escape being female, a small voice in my head mocked. The Shark is bleeding. The Shark is bleeding because YOU'RE A WOMAN...
I covered my mouth with my hands, let out a little scream, and then I tried to start the car to get the hell out of here before anyone came out, saw me bleeding like this, and thought I was having a psychotic episode. Except as I sat there with the engine running, the panic came back. This time I had very vivid mental images of getting into an accident. I knew it was magical thinking to assume that everything that possibly could go wrong, would go wrong, but there was no reasoning with my brain as it continued to scream at me. I tried to breathe, tried to wait, but every time I told myself "now" and put my hands on the wheel to try to start backing out of my parking stall, the panic flooded over me again and I froze.
There was no way in bloody hell I was going to safely drive myself home. I thought about texting Steve and asking him but then I looked at the cuts all over my wrists - cuts I would have to explain to him unless I wore long sleeves once I got home and even then he might still find out - and knew that was a bad idea.
Somehow, I managed to call a recovery vehicle to tow my Audi. I waited in the car until I saw the vehicle enter the parking lot and then I stepped out and gestured, even though I'd described the car.
They weren't going to let me sit in the car on the way to my house, so I was going to have to call a cab. I didn't want to do it here - I was still afraid someone was going to come out, see the blood and cause more problems - so I made myself take a short walk over to Queen's Square and asked for a cab to pick me up at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery. I felt self-conscious about it, like I was going to an awful lot of trouble to avoid discovery, but I was still panicking.
It was a long wait for the cab. When ten minutes passed from the time the company said the cab would arrive, I called to ask. I was given another estimated time of arrival. The cab was late again. And again.
By the time the cab arrived I was perfectly frazzled, and could barely give my address. I think I looked rattled enough that the cab driver knew not to make small talk with me - which had been something I was dreading, but the prospect of driving myself home like this was worse.
But then, at the very end of the ride, the cab driver said, "Have a nice day, ma'am."
I knew he was just being polite. I knew he meant nothing by it. And I was still so agitated from all the everything that I heard myself growl, "That's sir to you. Sir. Not ma'am. Sir." And then I slammed the door after I got out. I didn't even tip.
I felt like such an arsehole. I went off on him for no reason, and if I needed a cab again anytime soon there was a non-zero chance he would be my driver again and he would remember me as "the bird who insisted on being called sir and didn't tip".
"Fuck," I said under my breath.
But now I had a new problem. Steve was home. Early. His car was parked in the driveway. And my Audi had arrived before I did.
"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK..." I clenched my fists. The panic started again.
I saw him peek through the curtain and my heart slammed in my chest. When I got in the door he was sitting on the couch. I looked away from him, looked straight ahead, and walked to the bedroom. I needed to get out of these clothes now. I grabbed a long-sleeved shirt, a fresh pair of knickers and my pyjama bottoms and let myself into the bathroom, locking the bathroom door behind me. The minute I began taking my suit off, Steve pounded on the door.
"Antonia."
I didn't answer.
"Antonia. What's going on?"
I still didn't answer, kept undressing like I was some automaton. The sight of my naked breasts in the mirror made me want to smash the mirror, but I held myself back, knowing that would make everything worse.
The bathroom doorknob jiggled, and then Steve banged on the door like I couldn't fucking hear him the first time, like it didn't occur to him the noise was going to upset me even more. "Antonia, if you don't answer me right now, I'm getting the bathroom key out of the kitchen drawer -"
I doubted he even knew which drawer it was in, but I didn't want to call his bluff. "Go sit in the living room."
"...What."
"You heard me," I muttered, pulling a shirt over my head, not wanting to deal with my breasts anymore even though my naked cunt was dripping blood on the floor.
"Antonia. What the bloody hell is going on. Talk to me -"
"Go wait in the living room." I heard the steel in my voice, felt the fire ignite in my mind once again. "Please," I added, even though I was tired of being polite with him.
And I knew then it was time. After I heard him stomp off, grumbling under his breath, I pulled on my knickers with a fresh pad - put on your big boy knickers, I told myself - and then my pyjama bottoms, and then I looked myself in the eye in the mirror. I looked like I had been in a wreck. I took a few deep breaths. I was going to tell him I needed out of this relationship, now. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't keep the mask up any longer.
That meant I also needed to prepare to leave. I exited the bathroom, hoping he wouldn't be back in the bedroom waiting for me instead of the living room. The bedroom was clear. I grabbed a duffel bag from the closet - the one I'd taken "camping" when I was actually at Nigel's recuperating from the abortion - and then I began to shove clothes in it. I couldn't take more than a few days' worth of things with me, so I put in a couple of suits for work, casual clothes... then my laptop, and my important papers that I kept in a locked box in my knickers-and-socks drawer.
With my ruined suit draped over one arm, I brought my duffel bag down the hall and paused it right in front of the hall closet - I needed to be able to take a few steps to grab it and go if shit hit the fan, but if I just brought it out into the living room with me I had a feeling there would be an escalation, and it was better to not come out like I was looking for something to go wrong.
But first, I walked into the kitchen, got out a rubbish bag, and put my ruined suit in the rubbish bag. Even if the cleaners could get the blood out, I never wanted to wear it again. It was going to carry too many bad associations for the rest of my life. I would get a different grey suit, a darker shade, "that cold bitch's entire life is a funeral" comments be damned.
It was as I was shoving my suit into the bin bag that Steve came to the kitchen entryway but didn't step inside. "Toni?"
"Sit down," I said, firmly but calmly. I wasn't calm, of course, but...
"Antonia. What. Is. Going On."
I met his eyes and squared my shoulders. "Sit. Down. Now. Please." Fucker, my mind silently appended.
Steve sat on the couch and folded his arms. I took the armchair, bringing the bin bag with me.
"Toni, why is your suit..." Steve shook his head. "What the bloody hell is happening? You tow your car, you come home in a cab, your suit is in a bin bag..."
"Steve, we're over. I'm getting a divorce."
Steve's mouth opened and no sound came out. Then he made a high-pitched sound which would have made me crack up laughing if I wasn't so panicked.
"That still doesn't explain why you came home early and your suit..." Then Steve's eyes widened. "Oh my god. You've been bloody cheating on me, haven't you? You didn't go camping last weekend, you went off to fuck some bloke, and now you came home early and towed your car because... what? He took you drinking? And you've got his cum on your suit -"
Steve was good - he would have made an interesting prosecutor - but he wasn't that good. Now I did laugh, but it was the hysterical little laugh of someone having a nervous breakdown.
Something in me snapped again, but this time instead of swearing, I came over to the other side of the couch and kissed him, a deep French kiss with tongue. It made my skin crawl, but I felt like it would hurt more for him if I got his hopes up for just a moment, and he deserved to have me twist that knife.
"I'm not cheating on you, Steve," I said.
Steve was breathing harder, his pupils blown wide. Before he could grab me for another kiss, I scooted as far away as I could while still being on the couch with him. "No, you see what happened is, I had an abortion and I spent the weekend recovering at my uncle Nigel's house, and I've been bleeding all week. I bled through my suit at work and I'm going to put it in the rubbish."
"You..." Steve recoiled like I'd just slapped him, only it had been with words. "You. You had... an abortion."
"I. Had. An. Abortion." I set my jaw and nodded.
"You had an abortion and you... you didn't tell me?" Steve's eyes widened, his eyebrows shot up... and then there was a look of rage on his face that made me want to bolt. "YOU FILTHY BITCH, YOU CHEATED ME OUT OF MY BLOODY INHERITANCE -"
I laughed again, this time a menacing laugh. "And this is exactly why I didn't tell you, because you would have tried to make me keep it. You disgusting prick, you don't even want children, but you're so hungry for money that even though you're already getting a handsome inheritance, you would use me as your broodmare and put me through the horrors of pregnancy -"
"Horrors of pregnancy? What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Antonia? Every woman goes on about how beautiful and magical it is and you make it sound like some sort of... monster transformation..."
"That's because to me, it is." And my voice broke. I didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of making me break, but I couldn't help it, the tears spilling out, my jaw trembling. My voice shook again as I went on, "Look. I can't do this anymore. I can't be your wife. And I can't be a mother. Don't you see? It's been obvious all along. Women go on about how wonderful pregnancy is and... I'm not a woman. Whatever female is, or means, my brain missed the memo. It should be plain as day to you, I'm a boy on the inside -"
Steve backhanded me. "I'm not a bloody FAGGOT."
I held my cheek as the pain stung through my entire face, then focused on that cheek, throbbing. It was tempting to slap him back, but I didn't. I needed to get out of here, now, in case he did more than just slap me. I grabbed my duffel bag and then I ran. I didn't even stop to put my suit in the rubbish bin.
Even though I hadn't been able to drive myself home with the panic and had paid money to get the car towed, I found myself hopping in the Audi now, as if my survival instinct was able to shunt away the panic enough for me to Get It Done, I needed to go now.
I knew if I showed up on Nigel's doorstep, he wouldn't turn me away. Him inviting me to live with him again was one of the few things that I remembered clearly from the weekend at his house after the abortion. But I also knew going to Nigel's was a bad idea. I had mentioned to Steve that was where I had been over the weekend. If Steve was out for blood, he was going to go to Nigel's house. Nigel was a war vet with PTSD. If he felt he had to protect me... well... it wasn't going to end well for Steve, and I didn't want my favourite uncle to go to prison.
I drove to a hotel, and checked myself in.
That was one of the most miserable nights of my life. Despite my aversion to alcohol because of my mother's history with it, I drank anyway, and I got shit-faced. I mean, shit. Fucking. Faced. I had no tolerance for alcohol due to not drinking and being on the slim side, and it didn't take much, but too much wasn't enough.
I woke up next to some man I didn't recognise, and he was naked, and I was in pain, both with a splitting headache and my vagina felt like it had been stabbed. Sexual intercourse was not what my body needed mere days after an abortion, and now I was going to need the morning-after pill as well.
Even though I didn't feel up to it with my hangover, I still went to work like nothing had happened, knowing that I would probably get censured for the incident with Ben but wouldn't hear about it until next week and if I didn't go in today there would be even more problems for me.
I couldn't go back to that hotel room though - it felt tainted after I'd fucked some random bloke in that bed, I still don't know his name. While I was still afraid of Steve showing up at Nigel's house to start trouble, I knew he was most likely to do that yesterday and would probably cool down over the weekend... especially now that he was free to fuck Trisha.
So after work, first I stopped to get a morning-after pill. Then I drove over to the house to get more of my things - enough to tide me over till sometime next week when I would have Nigel and his partner Steve help me move the rest. It was raining, there was a thunderstorm...
...and when I arrived at the house I saw several rubbish bags on the curb, the rain pouring on them. Steve's car was in the driveway, he was home. Thunder clapped and I jumped in my skin.
I half-ran to the door - I was in too much pain to do more than that - and I put my key in the lock.
The key wouldn't fit.
I tried again. I tried a third and last time before I realised he had changed the locks while I was gone last night. I walked over to the rubbish bags, a sinking suspicion in my stomach, and opened one just enough to peek inside. There were my clothes, getting soaked through the bag.
I loaded up my car. I drove to the nearest Starbucks drive-through to get myself something to drink to calm my nerves - a nice iced hazelnut coffee with whipped cream, and then I pulled into the parking lot, not wanting to deal with more people. As I sat in the Audi with my iced latte, watching the rain, I took out the morning-after pill and mentally prepared myself for another weekend of cramps and bleeding.
Another weekend of my body rudely reminding me that I wasn't a boy on the outside. My mind rudely taunting me about the fabulous gay life I could never have...
I broke down crying. I had "masked" and kept calm all day at work, and through the visit to the clinic for the morning-after pill, and collecting my things from the curb. But now, as I sat in the Starbucks parking lot, I felt my entire life crashing down on me. I was relieved to be done with Steve, but that didn't mean that him forcing me out like this felt great.
I rang Nigel, he answered after the third ring and I heard myself sobbing for a good long minute before I could find words. "Can I stay with you? It's over. Steve and I are done." I didn't want to be rude and not ask first, even though I knew the answer was 'yes'.
Nigel and his partner unloaded my car the minute I pulled up, and once I was inside and there was another loud roar of thunder, I let out a little squeak, startled, and Nigel gave me a fierce, tight hug.
"Welcome home, Toni. You're safe now."
He was wrong. I wasn't safe from myself.
chapter 7 | return to A Place Called Home | return to Original Works | return to index