the progress project [3]

1 7 8

fiona

she trudges home, mental and physical health shittier than it's been in a while. christian is there, leaning against the kitchen counters with his arms crossed. his shoulders are slumped, hollow eyes flickering up to her and back to the floor.

"hi," she squeaks, eyes brimming with tears already. "i did it."

he doesn't walk over to her, doesn't hug her like she thought he would. he doesn't move at all. she wipes her eyes and her nose, straightening her back. "i... am going to go get a shower."

she rushes forward and to the bathroom, but not before christian catches ahold of her elbow, yanking her back to him.

she looks up at him, sees the pain in his own bloodshot and swollen eyes. his grip on her loosens, and she watches his adam's apple bob. "i'm sorry."

"am i a terrible human being?" she asks, frightened of the answer. she killed an innocent life, when there are so many women who want a child, who may suffer miscarriages, or may be infertile, or... she took that away.

"it was your decision to make," christian says, as if reading her mind. "not anyone else's. not your parents', or your religion's, or mine. it was yours, fiona. your choice."

she sobs into his chest, and she can hear him sniffle. they hold each other up, in the dimly-lit kitchen.