Trapped and Choiceless

Content Warning:

This story deals with sensitive topics such as rape. Please do not read if you are upset or unsettled easily.

This does not go into graphic detail, so you may be able to handle it.

...

My job was crushing me. I could feel it. Scrambled eggs beneath my fingernails, my fingers raw from scrubbing the endless pots and pans, my hair frizzy and wild, escaped from my bun- the way it always did, the untameable mane.

But that was just my outside.

Inside, I felt like a caged bird. Longing to get free, to live the life I wanted.

Go to college, publish a book, write songs, live.

But no, my parents wouldn't allow it.

Even though I had the money, I wasn't allowed to go to college after I finished high school.

Even though I finished the manuscript.

Even though I had written so many songs, I couldn't count them.

They wouldn't let me see a publisher. They wouldn't let me see someone who could record and release my songs. They wouldn't even let me just go to college.

No, they told me I had to spend the rest of their lives in a kitchen scrubbing pans.

If they had it their way, I would spend the rest of my life doing that too.

"It says to 'honor your father and mother' in the Bible," he said, thumping the book in the middle of the front cover.

I longed to scream at him, "Honoring your father and mother doesn't mean that you live the strictest, most spartan life just to please them. It doesn't mean I have to bend over backward to please you!"

But I never did.

...

The chef, Lois, handed me a pot. I looked inside it and frowned at the charred mess inside.

"Lois," I said, "The bottom has burned food on it."

"So?" he asked. "Boss isn't paying for a new one. Scrub it out."

I huffed, setting it in the sink as he walked off. He is the most detestable man, I thought irritably. He never took responsibility for anything.

I looked back down at the pot. There was no way I'd be able to scrub that off.

I took it out into the alley, to the dumpster. I opened it and dropped it with a clang. I wiped my hands off on my apron and stepped away from the dumpster. I opened the side door of the cafe when I heard voices coming from down the alley.

"Hello?" I called, walking a bit down the shadowy alleyway.

The voices quieted. "Hello miss," said one of them, approaching me. Because of the long-necked bottle in his hand and his unfocused expression, I could tell he was drunk.

His dark hair was wild. He had a bit of messy stubble on his jaw. He leered at me with unpleasant, muddy eyes.

"Sir," I said, trying to regain my composure. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Oh, I don't think so," he said, slinking forward like a tomcat. "See, miss, you're looking real fine tonight. How about I get you a drink at the bar?"

"No-no thanks," I stuttered.

"Why not?" he asked, leaning into my face, his foul breath muddying my thoughts.

"B-because I'm on a shift," I said, stumbling back into a wall as the other men advanced as well.

"Oh, we'll make this quick then," he said, grinning as he untied my apron.

...

I told them to stop. Begged them. Screamed. But I was powerless as they pinned me to the brick wall and pulled the clothes from my body. Just enough so that I paid the price for their actions.

...

I came into the house, trembling, and all the blood was drained from my face.

I walked into the kitchen and found my mother there cooking dinner with Father at the table reading the Bible aloud.

He raised an eyebrow at me as I walked in. "You're home early," he said suspiciously.

"I didn't do anything," I snapped defensively, glaring at him.

"Watch your tone!"

"I didn't do a thing," I repeated more calmly. "I came home to tell you something."

"What?" Mom asked, drying her hands. Her hazel eyes shone with worry.

"I-" My voice broke. "I- I was raped."

Mother gasped. Father's eyes became daggers.

"I need a pregnancy test."

"No," Father said firmly. "You do not."

"But Father, if I need an abortion-"

"You will not get an abortion. You will not get a pregnancy test."

"What?" I asked, my heart dropping into my stomach.

"You can't abort," said Mother. "If there's a life inside you..."

"You cannot kill it," Father added.

"But it wasn't my choice!" I argued.

"NO!" Father shouted, slamming the Bible on the table. I jerked back, tears of fear coming to my eyes. I leaped from the table and raced out the door.

"Annelise," called Mother. I ignored her. "Annelise!"

I slammed the door shut.

...

One months later, the doctor confirmed it.

I was pregnant.

"Please," I begged from the chair. "Please, just let me abort!"

"I'm sorry, but seeing as you're a minor, I can't let you abort without parental consent," he said, leaving the room.

I went to my father with my renewed supplications. Still, he denied me.

"You will carry this child," he said. "That is final."

I fell to the floor, sobbing.

"You will be able to adopt it out," he assured me. "It is sacrilege to kill an infant in the wound, but I will allow you to put it up for adoption."

I came up to my knees, grabbed his hands, and whispered, "Thank you."

...

Finally, the day came. The day I had the child.

It was hours of contractions, pure agony. I could not wait to send the child off for adoption.

To be free of the burden.

Then it was out.

"Okay," I said. "We need to find someone to adopt it."

"Him," the doctor corrected.

"Okay. Well find someone who wants a baby boy," I said, holding the baby out to the doctor.

The doctor hesitated. "Bring in the parents," he said.

I stared around in confusion as my parents entered the room. "What is it?" I asked, sitting up and looking at them.

"Your mother and I have decided-"

"I was no part of this!" Mother shouted, her face red with anger.

"I have decided," he compromised, "That you need to keep this child."

My world spun. "What?" I asked. "NO!"

"You need to learn some responsibility," he said calmly.

"No!!" I sobbed, clutching the blankets. "I've been doing this for years! I've been responsible!! Please!"

He walked out of the room with a cold expression.

It was clear his decision was inveterate.

I broke down.

I was inconsolable.

Heartbroken.

Everything was dull shades of blue and gray.

The doctor handed me the baby. I stared down at it without an ounce of love for it.

Someone else wants this baby. Someone else deserves this baby. Someone else can love this baby. I can never love him.

He is my ruination.

I will never be able to marry.

I will never be able to go to college, publish a book, or sing.

I'm just a seventeen-year-old who works scrubbing pots at a local bistro.

And now I have a child.

And, unfortunately, the world isn't very kind to my type.

...

Thank you for reading!! I really appreciate it!!

I am all for women being able to abort if they are raped or in mortal peril with their pregnancy. I don't think that abortion should be entirely illegal and that in these cases you should be able to abort.

However, I believe that some women would use it irresponsibly, so abortion rights should be restricted.

Like, comment, and share if you agree!!

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