A Hero in the Dark: 2nd Edition

Chapter 131: Today

~ June 21st / 2017 ~

There's an awful ache in the pit of my stomach. I roll over onto my side to remedy it, but it doesn't go away. My back is killing me. I hate when it's that time of the month.

My hands clench under the sheet and I shut my eyes and try to focus on my breath, try to ignore everything. Everything hurts as if I'm grinding through a meat blender. My face contorts into a wall of tension. I try to focus on my breathing like Marina told me to, but it's hard. My bump is hard, and my chest feels swollen. I sneak a glance under the blanket, but it's fine.

It worsens when she kicks, and I get an inkling of an idea of what's really going on. Oh god, no, not now. Everyone's asleep; it can't be now. I can't do this on my own.

I try to count the seconds, but I only get to a count of ten before I lose track under the impenetrating soreness; it feels embedded into my skin and bones, tightening every muscle, every molecule, every blood vessel, constricting every passageway my blood travels through.

It's worse than regular menstruation cramps; Marina didn't call them that though. She said they're different. She said they're contractions, something I'll feel while I'm in labour, "and they'll get more difficult as your labour progresses," she said. I hate it. I longed to hope it wasn't true.

I don't care that she's a month late. At first, it was a relief; I still had time. Then it was worrying, more worrying, and I still wonder if something went wrong. But now, my initial fear is back. It's time. It's finally time, and I can't do this.

I try to get up, hoping maybe I can walk it off, but it only seems harder. It's hell, like I'm walking on a bed of nails. Yet, somehow, I'm able to stand with the help of the ship's wall. I lean against it, try to catch my breath. I make my way across the floor—to Henri's cot, trying not to wake anyone. I stumble past the purple curtain, using the wall to aid me across the dome.

I'm not subtle in the slightest when I wait beside him. My foot falls hard on the last step, and Henri stirs. Little Maybe kicks, making my knees buckle, but amazingly, I don't fall. She seems to drop from my stomach into the pit of my pelvis, and I drag in a breath. "Emily?" Henri asks, his voice scratchy as my hand falls to him. "What's wrong?"

What's wrong?! You've got to be kidding me!

Another kick knocks me to the floor before I can utter a word. I buckle over and hold my knees in my chest as close as possible to shield the bump. Henri straightens; I barely pay attention to him or the hand he rests on my shoulder. He mutters words that I can't comprehend; all I feel is the pain and dampness between my legs—it's all a blur. "It's too early," I mutter, trying to rock myself to a state of calm—any calm. "I'm not ready, I'm not ready..."

I've spent the entire trip trying to prepare myself for this day—231 days exactly. I've spent our entire journey through space up to this point between not thinking about this day and thinking about it in full, wondering if I'll ever get past it or how.

"Where's John?" Henri asks, sounding to be on the far end of a cave. I want to cover my ears from his echo; they ring and ring and ring. "Emily, talk to me. Focus."

"Sleeping," I spit through strangled breath, like it's obvious.

Elusively, there's the ringing of a tiny bell, but I have no idea if I'm imagining it or not. I wonder if it's Pixie. I wonder if she's awake. "Come on," the old man says, holding me by the shoulders before pulling me up by the waist. "Let's get you on a cot. It'll be more comfortable."

It's too much. This—and it's funny sort of. I'd say I want comfort, but that's not strictly true. I just want this to stop. I want an out. I want this baby out! I'm tired of going through this every day, every hour! I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired...