Mollen - Live Fast Die Hot

H ow pregnant do I have to be before I can get an abortion? I called out to Jason from the hotel bathroom, trying to sound rational.

I sat on the freezing-cold toilet, wearing only thermal socks and a headband, focusing intently on the plastic wand holding my destiny. Swallowing hard, ingesting one more moment of freedom, I tried not to look down at what I could already sense was a smug pink smiley face glaring up at me. Overwhelmed and unprepared, I fell into my lap, hyperventilating.

It was 2008, and Jason and I had been dating for only six months. Two months prior, wed secretly gotten engaged in Saint Martin, but that was only because Id found a picture of another girls underwear on his phone and he didnt want me to jump to conclusions or light him on fire. I considered his proposal more of a negotiating tactic, a pillow-talk promise I could easily extract myself from if he turned out to be a philanderer or somebody who owned a bunch of aquariums. I was falling in love with him, but it was too new a feeling to trust completely. Id never been in love and, I have to say, I didnt enjoy it. I was always more comfortable in relationships where I held all the cards, where I didnt have to feel and I couldnt get hurtwhere there was always an easy exit.

Over Christmas I vaguely remembered taking ecstasy and letting Jason finish inside me, then washing down a morning-after pill with the next days breakfast. I gave no thought to the notion that I could actually be pregnant. I wasnt even sure I could get pregnant. I was twenty-eight years old and Id never been on birth control. At some point along the way I just decided that I was blessed. Accidental pregnancy was one of those things that happened to other girlsthe ones in high school who smoked cigarettes and listened to Courtney Love.

Granted, Id never let guys finish inside me. But it was the holidays, and I was feeling festive. It wasnt until a few weeks after New Years that I suspected a problem. We were skiing with friends in Vermont when I started experiencing cramps that felt like I was being shived to death in a womens prison for not sharing my clarifying shampoo. My boobs were swollen torpedoes of estrogen. Every couple seconds Id check behind me to make sure I wasnt turning my double black diamond red. I wasnt.

After two more days of waking up on unblemished sheets, I grew concerned and bought a pregnancy test. Like buying a Lotto ticket or a rolled-up drugstore scroll with my horoscope on it, I wasnt expecting more than a few seconds of entertainment, followed by a tinge of buyers remorse.