"Well Abby, these readings show you're about five weeks along," Weaver tells me.

"Thanks," I say. "And Dr. Weaver, do you think you could keep this under wraps. I don't know what I'm going to do about it yet."

"That's fine," she says. "If there's anything else, just call."

I nod in reply. It's strange how nice she's being, but it's still comforting.

Five weeks means it's not Luka's baby. It takes me a while before I remember the one-night-stand I had the night I started drinking again. I don't know his name. I don't even remember the color of his eyes.

Oh God, what have I done? I've been drinking every day of my pregnancy. I've ruined this child's life, and for what? For a few hours of escape. I'm such a selfish horrible person.

I get out of my hospital bed and look beneath it to find my clothes. I pull the curtain and change. I have some serious thinking to do, and this isn't the place to do it. I run my hands through my hair, trying to make myself look like something other than a drunk. Opening the door, I look around cautiously. I don't want anyone to see me leaving. I make it all the way out to the ambulence bay before I hear the one voice I really didn't want to hear.

"Abby. We need to talk."

Carter. The only one who knows the truth about my drinking. His voice is firm. He sounds angry.

"We don't NEED to talk about anything," I reply, not once turning around to face him. I try to keep on walking, but he grabs me by the arm, pulling me to him and turning me around to face him. I've never seen him so angry.

"Why the hell did Luka bring you in drunk and passed out?"

"Well, I guess it scared him. I don't think he's ever seen a passed out drunk before, well at least not anybody he's known personally," I reply. I know he really wants an explination as to why I was drinking in the first place, but since he gave up on our friendship, I don't think he deserves one.

"Abby!" he snaps, not happy with my sarcastic reply. "What the hell were you thinking? Why did you drink?"

"I have no reason not to," I explain.

"You have friends who care about you."

"Really?" I ask. He lets go of my arm then.

"You went on a drinking binge because of me?" he asked, thinking he had the answers to everything.

"Well somebody's a little self-centered, aren't they?" I said, putting him in his place. "And it wasn't a binge. I've been drinking for over a month now. And you know what? I liked it. That's right John. I liked falling over furniture, and throwing up at two in the morning. I especially liked forgetting about my shitty life."

"But why? It's been six years, why start now?" he questioned.

"I don't know. Everything just came to a head I guess. I lost my reason's for taking care of myself. I don't have a point anymore."

"Why didn't you come to me? I could have helped you, maybe we could have stopped this whole thing from happening."

"No you couldn't have. And I couldn't come to you either. Things have changed between us. No matter how much we want them to be the way they were again, it won't happen. Things are just too awkward now."

"Why? Because I'm with Susan?" he asked with a twinge of anger in his voice. He was upset at the implication that his sweet blonde-winged angel could do harm. But it wasn't her fault anyway.

"No, not because of you and Dr. Lewis, it's because of the choice you made regarding her. For some reason you felt you had to cut me off in order to be with her. So you did, and it changed things."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"Don't worry about it. And don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"Abby, you're an alcoholic. You're not fine. You need help," he pleaded.

"I know, but you can't help me. I need to do this by myself."

"Abby, please."

"Sorry, John. Too little too late."

It's storming outside now as I lay in bed. I feel terrible, and it's not physical pain. I feel guilty. I feel guilty I involved a child in this life of mine. I feel guilty I ruined it's life before it even began.

But why am I talking about it like it's already been born. I still have a choice to make. Any life with me would be miserable. I already spared one child that fate. Who would want me as a mother, and Maggie as a grandmother for that matter. What kind of mother would I be? I don't exactly have a good example to draw from. I would be sparing it the misery I've had.

Yet somehow it doesn't seem right. I've already been so bad to the child, how can I do worse to it now? After what I've done, how cruel would it be to kill it?

I need a drink.

"No!" I snap at myself. I'm pregnant now, I have another person to think of.

I run to the freezer and find the two bottles of vodka inside it. I rip them from the shelves, remove the caps and pour them down the sink. I run through the house then, finding every bottle I had that had even the slightest drop of liquid in it. I pour it all down the sink.

Still in a frenzy, I gather up all the empty bottles and haul them out to the dumpster beside my building. I manage to get rid of all alcoholic paraphanalia in my home. I'm going to give this up. I'm going to give it up for the baby. This little baby's living inside me, and right now it needs me more than anything. It feels nice to be needed. It's exactly what I need.