Empty is a word I have used here before but now my emptiness is filled with grief. Grief I never allowed myself to feel at the time but that now fills me, top to bottom with an aching I have never known.
I wasn't far along, I had only just found out myself and had yet to decide what I would do but he knew, he always knew. He was nice to me that day, friendly, chatting. The L I had first fallen for. He asked me if I wanted to come to his house after school, never truly a question as he would take me there whether I wanted to or not but this time it felt different. I agreed.
We walked to his house together, I thought maybe I would tell him, let him in on my secret. His parents were away, somewhere on the south coast, I don't remember where exactly. I do remember he had the house to himself. I had told my parents I was staying with a friend, at 17 they didn't really question who they just left me to it.
The minute we were in the door he turned on me. The anger in his face, the accusation as he pinned me to the door by my throat, "You have been keeping a secret from me, bitch." For the first time in a long time I was truly afraid of him, no longer numb to his assaults and rapes I feared him and what he might do.
"I won't let you keep it you know." Still pinned against the door I couldn't fight. His fist hit me in the stomach, one hand on my throat, the other punching me over and over. I tried to fight and protect myself but I couldn't. Dots clouded my vision, he was cutting off my air, I couldn't breathe, the pain in my abdomen excruciating and then nothing, blackness, the mental safety of blacking out.
When I came to I thought he still had hold of my throat, it was just the bruising where he had held me but that wasn't the worst of it. Blood pooled around me, I knew what it was. The cramps held me incapable of moving for hours as they helped me pass the tiny part of us that had begun to form.
Eventually they eased and the bleeding stopped. Sometime in the early hours I managed to drag myself to the shower and clean myself up. I knew he would be mad at the mess so I started cleaning it up, numbing myself to what it was I clearing away.
The next morning he glared at me as he came downstairs and looked at the area where he had left me. He kicked me and told me to get his breakfast. When I struggled to get up he spat and told me to sit back down since I was going to take so long he would get it himself.
I spent the rest of the day on his sofa, much to his disgust, in and out of cramping until eventually it eased and I was able to walk home. My parents noticed there was something wrong but I told them I just had some dodgy food, my guess is they assumed I was hungover or something.
I was sick for a long time after that, anaemia took away my energy to. No one even questioned it. So I carried on in silence pretending nothing had happened. I only got two days break before he wanted it again whether it hurt me or not.