Hellspawn
"Is the baby alright?"
No no no. No. The baby is not alright. The baby will never be alright. I will never be alright. Nothing. All right. Ever. Not after that.
"Ma'am...ma'am...? I need you to sign here, please. No, right here."
Signing. Names. That illegible squiggle. It means me. Those lines are me. Me giving away some of me. Me giving rights to some of me. Me. Us. We. He can't sign yet so I do it for him. Like I eat for him, breath for him, my heart beats for him. For him. My body lives for him. And I couldn't stop it if I tried. And I have. I willed myself to stop and I couldn't. The deep me doesn't care who it is down there - it's my baby. It's me and damn it, it hurts.
"Ma'am? Do you know who the father is?"
I hate her. Her and her glassy stoic faux-compassionate eyes. Do I know who the father is? Do I? What kind of woman do you think I am you judgmental bitch. She hates me too. I feel it. She hates who she thinks I am. Welfare sponging slut. Too stupid to say no, too stupid to keep her legs together. She hates me for letting myself end up here. Red eyes, stringy hair, she probably figures me for a drug addict. Fine. Fine, we can just hate each other. No. No, you self righteous, scrub suited, clipboard wielding crone. No, I don't know who the father is. I don't. And I'm not sure I could. You had better just pray, pour your little priggish heart out to whatever you believe listens that he doesn't come round to visit his son. That he doesn't come round for his son. That he doesn't come round. Please please please let him never come back. Please.
"Ma'am, this is Lisa, she's a social worker that's been assigned to you. She can help."
I doubt that very very much. Thank you Lisa but no. Why don't you just close your folder and go because I don't care how many tenements you trod through, how many infants you've taken away from strung out moms, how many abusive relationship you've broken up, how many dark dark tomorrows you've witnessed - you are not prepared to deal with me. I don't believe me half the time, why would anyone else. If I start talking it might all come spilling out and I will drown your skepticism in the nightmares of the last eight months and your only option would be to have me committed and I can't blame you. How could I? I wished that I were crazy. Wished this was all in my head but I can't can't pretend that it is. It's not in my head. It's in my belly. Down there. Growing. His son. Just waiting to slash his way free into the world. Oh sweet little terror. I wish I had the courage to end it. To die a martyr's death and take you with me, little whelp, little hellion. But I can't. Not now. Can't. Yet. After. Then maybe. After. If I can't remove the problem, at least I can take the coward's way. Slip away into what I hope is nothing black nothing and let someone else suffer for me and my weakness. Maybe you Lisa. Maybe this will be your burden, your cross. Just so long as it's not mine. Not then.
"Here, ma'am. This will help you sleep."
No! No no no no. There's no way. No sleep. Can't sleep because then he can find me. That's how it all started in the dreams. The blood and the sex in the dreams. Handsome devil. Can't sleep. I'll wake with his hands on me. His feral smile. His breath. No. No sleep. Not ever not til this is over. No. NO. Not sleeping ever ever again.
No no no. No. The baby is not alright. The baby will never be alright. I will never be alright. Nothing. All right. Ever. Not after that.
"Ma'am...ma'am...? I need you to sign here, please. No, right here."
Signing. Names. That illegible squiggle. It means me. Those lines are me. Me giving away some of me. Me giving rights to some of me. Me. Us. We. He can't sign yet so I do it for him. Like I eat for him, breath for him, my heart beats for him. For him. My body lives for him. And I couldn't stop it if I tried. And I have. I willed myself to stop and I couldn't. The deep me doesn't care who it is down there - it's my baby. It's me and damn it, it hurts.
"Ma'am? Do you know who the father is?"
I hate her. Her and her glassy stoic faux-compassionate eyes. Do I know who the father is? Do I? What kind of woman do you think I am you judgmental bitch. She hates me too. I feel it. She hates who she thinks I am. Welfare sponging slut. Too stupid to say no, too stupid to keep her legs together. She hates me for letting myself end up here. Red eyes, stringy hair, she probably figures me for a drug addict. Fine. Fine, we can just hate each other. No. No, you self righteous, scrub suited, clipboard wielding crone. No, I don't know who the father is. I don't. And I'm not sure I could. You had better just pray, pour your little priggish heart out to whatever you believe listens that he doesn't come round to visit his son. That he doesn't come round for his son. That he doesn't come round. Please please please let him never come back. Please.
"Ma'am, this is Lisa, she's a social worker that's been assigned to you. She can help."
I doubt that very very much. Thank you Lisa but no. Why don't you just close your folder and go because I don't care how many tenements you trod through, how many infants you've taken away from strung out moms, how many abusive relationship you've broken up, how many dark dark tomorrows you've witnessed - you are not prepared to deal with me. I don't believe me half the time, why would anyone else. If I start talking it might all come spilling out and I will drown your skepticism in the nightmares of the last eight months and your only option would be to have me committed and I can't blame you. How could I? I wished that I were crazy. Wished this was all in my head but I can't can't pretend that it is. It's not in my head. It's in my belly. Down there. Growing. His son. Just waiting to slash his way free into the world. Oh sweet little terror. I wish I had the courage to end it. To die a martyr's death and take you with me, little whelp, little hellion. But I can't. Not now. Can't. Yet. After. Then maybe. After. If I can't remove the problem, at least I can take the coward's way. Slip away into what I hope is nothing black nothing and let someone else suffer for me and my weakness. Maybe you Lisa. Maybe this will be your burden, your cross. Just so long as it's not mine. Not then.
"Here, ma'am. This will help you sleep."
No! No no no no. There's no way. No sleep. Can't sleep because then he can find me. That's how it all started in the dreams. The blood and the sex in the dreams. Handsome devil. Can't sleep. I'll wake with his hands on me. His feral smile. His breath. No. No sleep. Not ever not til this is over. No. NO. Not sleeping ever ever again.