Love Stamps

4 ~ Dawson

Loud wails erupt from the monitor beside my head, and for a few seconds I pretend not to hear them. I can't do this. Not again.

The bed shifts beside me, and Flynn groans sleepily, shaking my arm roughly.

"Ava." He growls, "Ava, go shut him up."

My eyes flutter open. I'm lying my stomach on the right side of the bed, the duvet piled on top of my freezing body.

The gas heater broke and the company said we had to wait until tomorrow for them to send the person out to fix it.

Poor guy, he's probably shivering.
"He's your son too, you know." I mumble, rolling over sit up - I am instantly greeted by the ice-cold air.

I shove my feet into my fluffy slippers which had been gifted to me by Flynn's caring mother, and I wrap myself up in my thick soft rope which had also been gift.

"But you're his mom, and moms shut their sons up before their fathers get angry." He growls, his voice low.

I gasp and hurry down the hall at Flynn's threat, swinging open Dawson's bedroom door.

The walls are painted pastel blue, stuffed animals and toys strewn everywhere on the navy carpet. A bird mobile hangs above Dawson's crib, where he is thrashing and wailing.

I rush over to him and scoop him up into my arms.

"Hey, hey." I coo softly, gently bouncy him up and down to sooth him. "Mama's here."

He is cold to the touch. I balance him in the crook of my arm while I bend down to retrieve his blankie from the crib. The fabric covers his tiny body in a cacoon.

I undo my robe to bundle him to my chest, adding extra warmth from the soft cotton.

As if by magic, Dawson has stopped crying and is sleeping soundly. I smile to myself. Just like his father.

If he gets a little attention, he stop whining. That is, when Flynn isn't in one of his violent moods.

I blink. Did I just compare them?

They are nothing alike. I can say for damn sure that Dawson would never treat a woman with any kind of violence.

I carefully make my way towards the sturdy rocking chair in the corner of the room, try my hardest not to disturb Dawson.

Lowering myself into the seat, and my muscles relax and undo my robe a bit to let him lay in my lap. I let out and exhausted sigh.

Dead as a doornail, except from the sweet whispery sounds coming from his lips. I let my tired eyes wandering around the bright room.

Cringing, I notice the smudge marks on the far wall, remembering the time me and Flynn got carried away up against it. Flynn can be sweet and charming when he wants something, especially sex.

I almost jump out of the chair when a leaf smacks against the window. To my relief Dawson stirs but doesn't wake.

I know why he's so tired. We've both had a very hard day. My limbs ache from all the stress.

My mind flits back to the vase Flynn threw against the wall earlier today. Without realising, a tear has rolled down my cheek.

"It wasn't always like this, baby, it wasn't." I whisper in Dawson's ear before kissing him swiftly on the small tuft of blonde hair on top of his head.

"It wasn't." I repeat, and everything goes dark.

Dawson's ripped harshly from my arms, and so is the chair, making me tumble to the floor of the dark void.
My blood runs cold, and I search frantically for any sign of light.

"Hello?" I yell into the nothingness.

"Flynn?"

I am suddenly transported to a very white room, but everything is hazy and unclear. In the background, voices and yells can be heard, as well as the repetitive beeps of a hospital machine.

Baby cries echo all around me, but I know it's only one baby.

My baby.

"Dawson?" I yell, and the doctors orders become clearer.

"Quickly! We're loosing him!" A man shouts and my heart sinks.

No. Not my Dawson.

The heart monitor and his cries ring in my ears, drowning out the voices.

My soul breaks in half when the moniter gives out one long persistent beep and Dawson's wails stop.

I double over in pain, and I scream at the top of my lungs until my throat burns, and I give out soft whimpers. I slide to the floor with my head in my frail hands, my knees tucked to my chest in agony.

No form of physical abuse could amount to the pain of a mother loosing her child.