No Way Back (Mia's Way, #1) (13 page)

“Take this to the lab,” she says, shoving it into my hand.

Disgusted, I step back fast. They have lids, but I’ve got awful luck and I can see them all spilling on me. None of them do. By the time I look up to ask where the lab is, the woman is already down the hall.

Irritated, I return to the reception area.

“Lab?” I ask the woman there.

“Two halls up, five doors down.”

I follow the instructions, walking slowly. I so want to take a picture of this tray full of pee for Ari. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her how bad this place is. I reach the lab area and set the tray on the half door.

“Hello? I have … um, bottles of pee here,” I call awkwardly.

“Come in!” someone calls from the back of the room. “One minute and I’ll be out.”

I enter. There’s a lot of lab equipment on one side, but it looks old. There’s duct tape around one machine. I set the tray down on a clean, stainless steel counter next to a deep sink and wait. One of the machines is on; I hear humming.

“Okay, our first batch.” A trim, middle-aged woman appears from the back room.

I don’t know how these people can be so cheerful. Wendy, the receptionist, is the only one who looks like she hates her job.

“You new?” she asks.

“Involuntarily, yes,” I answer. “I’m Mia.”

“Ah. You’re part of the special program.” She smiles. “I’m Ricki. Who’s your sponsor?”

“Gianna.”

“A total sweetheart. Nice to meet you. Now, grab some gloves.”

“I’m not like, trained for anything.”

“This is easy. Gloves are on the wall.”

I turn to see several different colors of gloves on the wall. White, green or purple. I go with purple.

“You allergic to latex?” Ricki asks, gaze on my gloves.

“No.”

She smiles curiously. “The green and white are latex, the purple non-latex for people who are allergic to latex.”

“They match my shoes.”

She laughs. “I’ve never heard of anyone choosing gloves to match their clothes.”

I’m not sure what to say. She points to a box on the counter. I grab it and hand it to her.

“This is easy. All you do is drop one of these strips in each of the samples.”

I frown. I don’t really want to mess with bottles of pee. She puts the box of strips on the tray then moves away, towards the machine I assume is humming.

“What’s up with the duct tape?” I ask, noticing the magic tape helping to hold together a rack on the wall.

“Limited funding. We push as much money as we can to those who need it. Sometimes, our equipment is that last thing we have money for,” Ricki replies. “But, we mainly do routine, simple check-ups here and refer people who need something more to the hospital.”

“And what am I doing?” I ask.

“Pregnancy tests. You ever had one?”

“Uh, no.”

“Insert the test strips,” she instructs me from across the room.

I grimace as I follow her orders. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Set the timer for five minutes.”

I do and stand back, watching her move a vial of what looks like tar from one machine to another.

“Watch them. If they turn pink, it means they’re pregnant. Blue, not pregnant,” Ricki says.

I look down. There are twenty bottles, and all of the strips are pink.

“It looks like they’re all pregnant,” I say.

“All?” Ricki crosses to me. “That means these are probably all bad. Throw those away in that bin then try them again.”

I grimace and walk each of the dripping strips over to the bin with a biohazard sign on it. I put in new strips. Not even a minute passes when they start turning pink, one by one.

“All pink,” I say to Ricki, who is buzzing around doing stuff I don’t understand.

“There’s a new box in the drawer behind you. Try those. I just can’t imagine all the results are positive.”

“Okay.” I do as she says, and I report back to her in a few minutes. “All pink.”

“That can’t be right,” Ricki opens the drawer where the box was. “That’s the last one. I can’t imagine two boxes being bad. You pregnant?”

“What? No,” I reply, surprised.

“I might be, so mine may not help. We’ll test both of ours to act as baselines.” She hands me a bottle and wet wipe. “Use the bathroom around the corner. I have my own in the back.”

Today sucks worse than the first day. I throw the purple gloves away and go to the bathroom. When I return, I put the bottle of my urine next to the bottle I assume is Ricki’s, on the counter beside the tray of twenty. With a sigh, I drop new strips into the twenty, one into mine and finally, one into Ricki’s.

As before, the samples all turn pink slowly. Mine does, too.

I roll my eyes. Figures a place that uses duct tape to hold itself together has defective test strips.

Ricki’s turns blue.

I stare then look at the strips to make sure I didn’t use some from different boxes. Puzzled, I remove all the strips then replace them and wait.

The same thing happens. Mine turns pink. Ricki’s turns blue.

“Well?” Ricki appears from one of the back rooms, her arms full of boxes. She dumps them on a counter and starts to stack them.

“I don’t know. I think they’re all defective,” I say, starting to feel sick.

She walks over to me. “These are ours?”

“Yeah.”

“So I am pregnant. They’re working, if yours is blue. What’re the chances?” She grins. “I’m gonna be a mama.”

A familiar sense of tunnel vision fills my head. The world is too big again; I need my closet. A sense of confusion and fear make me nauseous. Ricki is talking, but I don’t hear her. I don’t hear anything but buzzing.

I lean against the counter then look towards the rooms in the back. Ricki says there’s a bathroom, and I’m feeling sick. I stagger through the lab and push open one of the doors. It’s a storage room with long shelves filled with supplies. The door to a bathroom is open on the left, and the light is on.

I go into the small bathroom just as my legs give out. I push the door closed and huddle against a wall. I squeeze my eyes closed and try to steady my breathing. I’m trying hard to imagine myself in my safe closet, but all I can see in my mind is the test strip.

Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I got my bottle mixed up with Ricki’s.

But I know I didn’t. I remember placing mine right where it I was.

Then it was a mistake. Something was wrong with the strips.

If so, why did Ricki’s turn blue?

I can’t process the thought that I might be pregnant. Daddy says it’s not possible. Suddenly remembering I have my cell, I pull it out and search the internet. What I find makes my hands shake.
Thousands
of women who are raped get pregnant every year! I drop the phone and start to cry.

Ricki knocks. I can’t hear her voice. Rather, I can hear her, but I can’t understand her. I’m back to the night when I was raped, struggling to understand what’s happening to me. This must be a dream. This isn’t possible, even if the search results say it is. I thought I was done with Robert Connor. He’s leaving town. He can’t hurt me, if he’s gone. But now I know: he’ll never leave me.

Someone tries the door knob. I hide my face. More voices outside the bathroom. I huddle farther into the corner. My tears stop after awhile, but I can’t move. I can hardly breathe. I feel like I’m dying.

I want to die. That night almost six weeks ago will never, ever, ever let me go.

Someone touches me. I wrench away and push myself into the corner. Whoever it is leaves.  hear voices. The flashbacks are creeping into my thoughts. My fingers curl as I remember the pain of shredding the tips against uneven stone, until they were raw. I couldn’t escape then. I can’t escape now.

“Mia.”

I know this voice.

“Mia.”

I turn my head. Dom is there, like he was the night I should’ve died. He’s kneeling beside me, his large body taking up the rest of the space in the bathroom. He touches my arm lightly. The sight of him pulls me from the nightmares.

“You know who I am?” he asks. His dark eyes are concerned. He’s dressed in his police uniform.

“Dom,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“I need to go home.”

“What happened?”

I shake my head. I can’t even say the words. My eyes water again.

“It’s okay. C’mon.” He helps me to my feet.

Ricki, Gianna, Fabio and a couple of others are outside the bathroom.

“I’ll take her home, Gianna,” Dom says. “Fabio, come with us.”

Dom’s arm is around me. I balance myself. My legs are working, and I step away from him. I feel numb. Dom glances at me then offers his arm. I take it, because I’m not at all sure I’ll make it to the door across the room let alone the car.

Gianna hands me my phone. I tuck it into my pocket after three tries. We walk out of the clinic and I climb into the passenger seat of Dom’s police car. I feel like I’ve been up for hours. Fabio gets in back, and Dom drives us away.

“You okay?” Dom asks, looking at me.

“I don’t think so.”

“You need a doctor?”

“No. I just need to go home. Please.”

“We gotta stop meeting like this.”

I look at him. His smile is tight, but he’s trying to joke.

“I’m so sorry, Dom,” I say.

“Don’t be. It’s lucky Gianna’s car broke down.”

We say nothing else as he takes me home. I see Daddy’s car and chauffer in the driveway.

“Thank you, Dom,” I say, darting out of the car.

Daddy’s car is running, an indication he’s getting ready to leave. Not before I talk to him. I run down the hallway to his study and open the door. He’s not there. Chris is and looks up. I go to the next door down, to Daddy’s official office, where he meets with important people.

He’s seated at his desk on the phone. He glances up and waves me away.

For once, I won’t be pushed aside or ignored. Hands shaking, I walk over and hit the button to hang up on whoever he’s talking to. Daddy looks at me, frowning.

“Mia –”

“No. You wait,” I say and draw a deep breath. My voice is shaking like my body. “You lied to me, Daddy.”

“That was the vice president you just hung up on.”

“You
lied
to me, Daddy!” I shout. “You said … you said …”

“Chris, what is this about?” Daddy looks towards his lackey.

“It’s about you not letting me take the morning after pill,” I answer, my anger rising. “Because you said a woman who is raped can’t get pregnant.”

“That is not why I oppose the …” he starts.

My ragged breathing is the only sound in his office. Daddy stands up. I’ve never seen him anything but poised and wearing his poker face. But right now, he’s surprised.

“You lied to me! You told me …” I can’t finish.

“Mia, are you saying you’re pregnant?” Chris’s voice is hushed.

“Y…yes.”

They’re both silent for a moment.

“Call Shea,” Daddy says.

Chris disappears from the doorway. Daddy crosses in front of the desk and sits on the edge.

“You’re going to be a mother.”

“No,” I say. “I’m not.”

“Our family does not believe in abortion.”

“
You
don’t believe in abortion. I won’t live my life with –”

“You cannot kill an innocent life, Mia. Minors need parental consent for an abortion in this state. I won’t give it.”

“What about
my
life, Daddy?” I demand. “What about the fact I was raped?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “What happened to you is the thing of nightmares for a father. But committing another sin will not right what happened.”

“It’s not –”

“It’s murder, Mia.”

I want to scream. The look on his face tells me he’s not going to listen. If I was Molly, he might. But I’m not.

“Now, we need to assess who all knows, so Shea knows how to handle it.” He returns to his chair on the other side of the desk.

Like that, I’ve gone from his daughter to another issue he’ll pass to his team to handle. I feel empty and sick. I’ll never matter enough to him for him to treat me like another human, let alone his own daughter.

I still can’t understand the concept of pregnancy. It’s too foreign to me. Just like being raped, it doesn’t make sense. What makes sense is that Daddy lied to me and expects me to live with
his
decisions.

I turn and walk out of his office. I expected … wanted a confrontation. But he’d have to care about me first to care what I’m going through. Chris says something as I pass the study. I don’t hear it. I go to my room, curl up in my closet and pray to wake up from this nightmare.

Chapter Eleven