“You’ve never been to the gyno?” her friend’s mouth gaped open. Sara was completely freaked out by a very late, very light period with severe cramping and nausea and had turned to her friend for advice.
Jess noticed Sara’s immediate shift – her posture, her whole being – she shrunk into herself, turning toward her door, “You know what? Nevermind. It’s just a bad period – gotta run,”
Once on the safe side of the door, Sara breathed. It was always this way: her history turning her inward, barring her from close friendships.
How many times had she been at this point? Wanting to tell someone but sick with the guilt and shame? Too many. She was embarassed that she couldn’t bring herself to go to the doctor, be asked to undress, be touched. The very thought had her over the toilet heaving.
The boys at school were fascinated by her – so pretty but never wanting to date. This was the price she paid for the sins of her father. Even after his death he still managed to keep a hold.