Veronica, December 2020
Peaking through the heavy curtain, that now covered our living room window, I spotted the bodyguard that was stationed out the front of our house. He was a solid, gruff, no nonsense looking man who I wouldn't like to challenge. He was one of five bodyguards that monitored our house now, they worked in shifts, around the clock, one out front and one stationed around the back, just to keep us safe from being attacked again.
The guard out front is dressed in a bottle green t-shirt and light brown pants, making him blend into the shrubbery that lines the perimeter of our home. He's like a hawk, watching every movement, ready to pounce.
"You're meant to be resting baby." Sam whispers in my ear, making me jump because I didn't hear him sneaking up behind me. I'm willing to bet though that G.I Joe outside would have sensed it and attacked.
Sam snakes an arm around my waist and gently leads me away from the window, back to the couch where I've been planted since I came downstairs this morning. I detest bed rest but I know I have to follow my doctors orders and not risk my blood pressure spiking again like it did after we discovered I was targeted.
"I thought I heard a noise out there." I tell Sam, leaving out that the actual noise I heard were the sounds of school kids, laughing and talking as they passed by our house. I'm so completely desperate for any excuse to be up and about.
"Kevin is out the front, you let him worry about noises." Sam says as he helps ease me back down onto the couch, fluffs the pillow behind me and takes a seat on the floor beside me. I never thought I was capable of hating an inanimate object but this couch was beginning to feel more like a holding cell, each day I was forced to spend lying on it. I'd even started having vivid ideas of how I plan to destroy the couch, once the baby is born. Setting it on fire and watching it burn is the winner so far.
"How long will we be under guard?" I ask Sam, as much as I liked feeling protected in my own home, I hated the thought that we were keeping these men from their own families.
"Until we know for certain that your life is no longer at threat." Sam tells me, reaching behind him and picking up a mug from the coffee table, which he hands to me. I had been hoping that there may be coffee in the mug, only because I can feel the heat radiating from it but when I see the clear, watery liquid, I screw up my face in disgust. "It's camomile tea." Sam laughs.
"It's liquid shit." I rebuff, swishing the mug around, hoping, by some miracle, I can turn the tea into coffee but it doesn't happen. "I need caffeine."
"You had a coffee with breakfast." He reminds me. "One cup a day, that's what the doctor said."
"I know but couldn't I at least have decaffeinated coffee, so that I can still fool myself that it's the real thing?" I beg him, mentally adding chamomile tea to my burn list. I bring the cup up to my lips and sip the liquid, swirling it around my mouth before I make the reluctant commitment to swallow. "This shit tastes like flowers."
"Herbal tea will help keep you calm." He says, laughing to himself. "I forgot how moody you get when the withdrawals kick in. You were exactly like this too, when you were pregnant with London, refusing to drink the tea and trying to trick me into giving you more coffee than what you're allowed."
Occasionally I've been getting flashes of what my last pregnancy was like, the memory would come through randomly and there was no way for me to predict what would set off more so I just tried to hold onto the ones that graced me but they never stuck.
"It would probably help if you stopped sneaking soccer balls into my womb for Claire to kick around." I joke, taking his hand and placing it on my stomach so that he too can feel our daughter kicking. The smile on his face mirroring my own, every kick is a reminder of how hard we struggled to even fall pregnant, Claire is our miracle, she's what we've waited years for. "She's strong, I can feel it."
