Humans: Book IV

XVI

•

There was absolutely only one way I was doing to do this.
With "Sweet Dreams" on repeat and so loud I think my ears would burst.

The song echoes off the infirmary walls, a curtain of white sheets flailing around us as the speakers beneath the bed thump the ground, the vibrations feeding into my back. Everyone but me is wearing tactile military sunglasses. Peter. Hank. The midwife whose name I cannot remember for the life of me. Jesus, what was it? Ruby or something...

Focus. You're having a damn baby.

"Okay, I'm going to need you to start pushing," she screams, because the music is so ungodly loud.

I can feel my nails digging into Peter's palm. I nod and start to push, my body aching and spazzing. A scream rips from the back of my throat.

Peter screams too.

"Good, good. Keep going for me," the midwife encourages.

"You're doing great," Hank states, fitted into his scrubs and standing beside the midwife.

I take another glance around, at everyone's black marble eyes, before I give another push with streams of yellow energy and light gushing out into the air, wrapped around all of us like a forcefield. I scream again.

Peter screams too.

I grit my teeth, "Peter, stop screaming."

He's pale, "Sorry, sorry."

"One more push," the midwife tells me.

"God, I'm so sick of this song," Hank mumbles.

There's a final rush of adrenaline, a final wide flash of light and a crack like lightning as the energy pops all of the lightbulbs, speakers dying. An ocean of air sucks in through my mouth as I give the last push, as we're left in pitch black as all the energy dissipates. As I slump back onto the sweat-heavy sheets and head the sound of high-pitched wailing in the dark.

There's the screeching of rubber against the floor as Peter flashes away and back with an armful of rainbow-colored glow sticks, clamping them around everyone's arms and lighting up the room.

The midwife steps away to quickly clean off the baby, to clean off our son. I'm so tired I can barely hear, so it sounds like a whisper when Hank chuckles and says, "You know we have a whole closet of electric lanterns in case of blackouts."

"But these look cooler..."

I feel a warm palm on my arm, my heavy lids lifting to see a bundle in the midwife's arms and her white smile as she tells me, "He's perfectly healthy."

He lowers into my arms, the plush blanket like snow wrapped around him. He wriggles in the prismatic light, a microscopic foot escaping the blanket. His squishy head falls against my chest as he settles into the crevice of my arm, his energy pouring into me, soft and calm and happy.

Then he opens his eyes.

They're warm and brown like Peter's. They look at me just the same, with so much awe and so much love, until everything inside of me feels gooey and gold like tree sap. And I fall in love all over again, the streams of energy sprouting from me into the room again even though I know my body is so tired. But I'm awake. I'm looking down at him and I want to be nothing but awake.

Peter nuzzles against my neck, his eyes wide and gaping and their reflection in my arms.

"Do you want to hold him?" I ask.

I sense him tremble, "I...uh..."

"Go on, Peter. It's alright," I reassure him, lifting up our son to him. Peter holds him like glass, never once breaking eye contact as he pulls him against his chest. He laughs and shakes his head in amazement, our baby smiling back at the sound of his laughter playing out into the air.

Peter places his lips gently against his head. Pulling back with another laugh, "Why does he smell so good?"

Hank wanders over, wiggling his finger at the baby. "Does he have a name yet?"

Peter and I answer at the same time, "Bo."

A thought pops into my head, "Is...he a mutant?"

"We could test for the mutant gene," Hank says, "but I would need to collect blood samples."

Peter's grip on Bo tightens, "Touch my kid and I'll shave you, Blue Monkey."

Hank takes a step back, "A majority of mutants don't express the gene until puberty. But both of you have the expressive gene so who knows when he'll start showing."

I take another look at Bo in Peter's arms, his eyes meeting mine from the short distance. All at once I imagine a million lifetimes playing out for him, realizing that he could turn out to be anything and I would be content. He could be green and covered in scales. He could be horned or polka-dotted or shining.

As long as he's safe. As long as he's happy.

I feel the exhaustion catching up. I take a mental picture of Peter, Bo, and Hank before I close my eyes, the images imprinted on the backs of my eyelids. A whisper slips from my lips before I drift off into a dreamless sleep, "I guess we'll just have to wait and see..."

Author's Note:

Ahhhh, there's only one chapter left for this book! *cue the hugging and heavy sobbing*

I started this series four freaking years ago, what the heck. It's followed me throughout so much in my life and I know it's low-key gonna be so weird to let it go.

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