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19.Megan

My eyes blurred with tears as I stared blankly at the departures board. A vice-like grip on my arm prevented me from breaking for the exit and running as fast as I could from this horrible mess. I felt another tear escape from the corner of my eyes, following the million that I had shed over the last two days in it's path down my cheek.

"Don't make a scene, Megan. Not here," my father hissed in my ear, tightening his already painful hold. "This will be over soon, and everything can go back to normal."

Normal? What the hell was normal?

Me, miserable and alone and stuck in that hateful house my family called home, watching my mother drink herself into oblivion and allowing my father to dictate my life.

I hated myself for allowing it to happen.

But I simply had no choice.



I stood, mute, at the door as my father waited for me to speak.

"Aren't you going to invite me in," he asked, already barging past me and into the hallway.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered hoarsely, turning to face him, but unable to meet his steely gaze.

"Well, let's see," he began, his voice icy cool. "A little bird tells me you are in a whole heap of trouble."

I lifted my head sharply. How could he know? How could he have found out so quickly?

"How do you know?" I finally managed to vocalise my thoughts.

"I know everything, Megan. You should know that by now," he answered with a wry smirk.

He turned away from me, striding into the kitchen and settling himself at the table.

"Coffee would be good," he instructed. An order, not a request.

I slowly followed him, busying myself with the activity, glad of the distraction, glad to have an excuse not to meet his eyes.

"So, where would you like to start? The lap-dancing club, maybe? The prostitution? Or how about the boyfriend who's in jail for assault?" His anger was barely concealed in his sarcastic tone.

My hands shook as I spooned coffee into the machine, taking deep breaths and desperately thinking of excuses.

"Brett Taylor is still in hospital, by the way. Broken nose, cracked rib, concussion. His father called me, he is plenty mad," his conversational tone wasn't fooling me. He was furious, and he was going to blow up at me some time soon.

"It isn't what you think, Daddy," I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "I'm not a prostitute. Brett tried to rape me," I rushed out, before he had a chance to interrupt.

"Don't give me that bullshit," he leaped from his chair, banging his fists on the table, making me jump.

"I swear, Daddy. I wouldn't lie to you," I answered weakly.

He moved towards me, gripping my arm tightly, turning me to face him.

"Like you wouldn't lie about the DA? And like you wouldn't lie about where you worked? Do you think I'm stupid Megan?" his eyes were narrowed slits as he spoke to me through gritted teeth.

"Daddy, you're hurting me," I tried to wriggle away from his grasp, but he only gripped me tighter.

"You are a disgrace to this family," he continued, ignoring my pleas for him to let me go. "And you are going to do exactly what I say, or you're boyfriend will pay for it," he spat the last words at me.

I felt a cold fear grip me.

"Joe didn't do anything wrong. He was defending me," I protested weakly.

"That boy has been nothing but trouble since he arrived on the scene. Now he's going to find out just what trouble is," the look of disgust on his face made me cringe away from him.

"Daddy, please. Leave him out of it," I begged "I'll do anything you want. Just leave him alone."

"You're damn right you'll do what I want," he released his grip on my arm. "Now sit down, and I'll tell you exactly what happens now."

I did what I was told.



"Sir, your car is waiting out front."

Daddy gave a curt nod to the chauffer who met us at JKF, following him towards the waiting car.

I trailed behind him, fighting desperately with my emotions. Everything inside me told me to run, get away from him and worry about the consequences later.

But I couldn't. Because I knew what would happen to Joe if I did.

The drive to the clinic took over an hour. The early evening traffic was horrendous, and I stared at the passing scenery, seeing none of it. Usually, I loved New York. But I would never love it again. Because it was the place where my baby would be taken away from me.



"You can't do that!" I shrieked at him as he outlined what exactly he was going to do.

"Megan, this is not up for debate. Either you come home with me now, or Joe goes to prison. Simple," he shrugged.

I was incredulous. Could he do this? Did he have enough influence to make this happen?

I didn't doubt for a second that he did.

"You know, I'm owed a few favours by a few judges here in Chicago. I can make sure he gets prison time. Brett's father said he would handle the case himself if necessary," he stated, almost as though he had read my mind.

He waited for me to reply, and when I didn't he sighed angrily.

"Don't fight me on this Megan. You come home with me, I'll pull a few strings, you'll finish up school at Harvard in the spring. You won't even have to face Joe again," he offered, as if it somehow softened the blow. "Brett will drop the charges, Joe walks, everybody's happy."

He made it sound so easy. Easy for everyone but me.

"It's not that simple," I whispered, shaking my head.

"Yes, Megan. It's that simple," he was angering again, frustrated at my failure to agree with everything he said.

"No, Daddy, you don't understand," I yelled back at him, jumping up from my place at the table.

"So make me understand," he jumped up to face me.

"I'm pregnant," I screamed back at him, my face only inches from his.

His hand connected hard with my cheek.



I slowly pulled myself from the car and stood outside staring at the sign for the clinic.

"Family Planning" it read.

Ha, what a joke. But I certainly wasn't laughing.



"Megan, you can't do this. What about the baby?" Angie tried to reason with me.

Every word she said cut me like a knife.

"I can't Angie. He's going to make sure Joe goes to prison," I could barely speak through my tears.

"Shouldn't Joe get some say in this?" she pleaded with me, trying to stop me from packing my things.

"You've changed your tune," I snapped at her. "Yesterday you were calling him every name under the sun for beating Brett up."

"Yeah, well that was before..." she trailed off, clearly unsure what to say to make me change my mind.

She watched me packing.

"Oh, before you decided I was telling the truth," I rounded on her. I was taking my anger out on her.

"Megan, we can work this out. You can finish school, take up that job with the DA. I'll help you with the baby. Joe will help you with the baby..." she frantically threw ideas at me.

I shook my head sadly.

"If I don't go with him, he'll tell them. He'll tell the DA where I worked. That I was a prostitute," I choked the words out.

"But that's not true," she exclaimed.

I knew that. But my father would stop at nothing.



"Miss McCormack?" A kind-faced nurse smiled at me as she called my name.

I slowly got to my feet and followed her into a sterile consulting room.

"Just change into this gown and the doctor will be with you shortly," she instructed me, handing me a hospital gown and indicating a screen for me to change behind. She turned to leave.

She must have seen something in my eyes.

She turned back, laying a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it lightly.

"Don't worry, this will be over soon," she tried to reassure me.

That's exactly what I was afraid of.