I shook my head. “I’m not… on my… period.”
“Then what the fuck is wrong wit’chu?”
“I don’t—Ahhh!” That pain almost took me to my knees again.
“Dame! Do something.”
“I’m in a meeting right now. I can't leave. Just take her for me, Nev. Here.” He reached inside his pocket, handing her the keys.
“I got my own car. Come on, Jela.”
She helped me put my shoes and coat on while Dame stood, glaring at me. I wanted so badly to cuss his stupid ass out, but I feared getting my ass kicked again.
“Where’s your purse, sis?”
“On the table… by the… door.”
“Okay, come on. Dame, I’ll call you to keep you updated.”
He walked up to me and grabbed my chin. “Make sureyoucall me.”
I knew what that meant. He wanted to be sure I didn’t run my mouth to anyone since he couldn’t be there to monitor me. My calling him was his way of ensuring I wasn't going to tell everyone at the hospital about him practicing his boxing skills on me.
I nodded as I allowed Neveah to help me to her car. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I hoped to God everything was okay.
I had a miscarriage.
According to Dr. Moore, I was eleven weeks pregnant and had no idea. Because my periods were always irregular, I didn’t think anything of it when I didn’t menstruate for two months. My heart hurt because, although I didn’t want another baby with that demon, I never would have gotten rid of it. It would have added life to my loneliness, but having another baby with this man would have surely taken me under the dirt.
Neveah sat by my side during the whole process of the D&C. She rubbed my hair and held my hand as tears continuously fell from my eyes. Thankfully, she had clothes in her car that were a little loose on me, but I didn’t care. I was just glad to get out of my stained pajamas.
After the cleaning, they gave me pain meds, and I called Damien to let him know the news.
The phone rang three times before he picked up. “What’s going on with you?”
“I, um… I had a miscarriage.” The line was silent for almost thirty seconds before I spoke. “Hello? Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. How far along were you?”
“Eleven weeks.”
“Eleven weeks, and you ain't say shit?”
“I didn’t know, Damien.”
“Man, whatever. The baby had a body at eleven weeks, Jela. You didn’t feel nothing moving around in there?”
“Women usually don’t feel any movement around that time, Damien.”
He chuckled menacingly. “So, you killed my son… all because you want to be a ho.”
This motherfucker is crazy and delusional. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
The fact that he was blaming me for this was fucking insane. “What are?—”
“Aye, I don’t want to hear shit else from you today. Get home so you can cook me and my niggas something to eat. We’re hungry, and you’ve been gone all damn day.” He hung up in my face, and I cried audibly.
I was tired of this shit. This couldn't be my life.
