Chapter 5 I Love You Baby
I toss and turn in my sleep. Side to side I go. “No.” I moan out. I grab the sheets and squeeze it so hard I start to lose feeling in that hand. “No.” I say louder. I release my hand for a split second to just grip on the sheets again. “No!” I scream.
I rise up in bed with sweat pouring out of my face. I let my hand release and use my other hand to rub it back to feeling. I look around freaking out and then realizing it was just a dream. I look over and see it is only two twenty-four PM. Greta’s at work.
I whip away the sweat that has formed on my forehead. This is what I get from taking naps, I think to myself. I slowly get out of the bed and go examine myself in the mirror. I feel as I may have gained a little. I see from the mirror you can’t really tell unless you look closely but it is starting to get more noticeable that I am gaining on weight. I rise up my shut and see the little pregnancy bump that is forming. I lightly rub over it and feel it’s real. This is real. All of this is real. I’m not in a dream. This is all real. Everything is real!
I go back to the bed for a second and recall the nightmare that I was having. I was in stratum like thing. I was in the middle and on both sides there was a door. Each door had a name on it. One read, Reese, and the other one read, Damon.
A voice comes over me that I couldn’t detect where from. “Choice one door” The voice tells me. “Choice the one you love. For the other one will experience high punishment. You have one minute to choice the door you want.”
I stood there for a second taking in everything I heard. I dashed towards the door with Damon and opened it. He hugged me and kissed him. Then I ran to the other door even though the announcer told me I couldn’t. I opened it and Reese appears and confused. And then out of nowhere the speaking came back on. “I take it you don’t understand the meaning of choosing one. So now, they must both die.”
I started to scream on the top of my lungs. “No!” and then they got taken up in the sky by looked to be birds. They each got places into their personal stand up cages. And then there’s a high pitching sound. I held my eyes because it hurt too bad; then the smell. Fire. I screamed louder. Then I woke up.
I brush it off not wanting to think any further into the pain of choicing one. Yes I may know which one that may be, because I love him, but the thought of losing my closest friend. . .
I whip away the tears and head to the kitchen. I may not want too, but I got to eat a little something. Finally I decide on a banana. I slice away the peeling and start slowly eating it lost in thought. I want to talk too Damon. I want Damon to be here to tell me everything is going to be okay. But he’s not here. And he can’t tell me that.
I’m on my own. I’ve always had to be on my own. But then I met Damon . . . and he didn’t make me feel alone. He made me feel loved and wanted, the feels I’ve always wanted, he gave me. But then . . . I lost him.
I go and walk into Damon’s room. I start rummaging through his closet that is now filled with my belongings. I drag almost everything out until I find it. I pull out the box and let it bounce on the bed. I quickly, but organizely put my belongs back into the closet.
I sit on bed exhausted from all the work it took to get this box out of the closet. But I’m not done yet. I’m not going to let all the work I just did go for no reward.
I scrap my hand across the top of the box and remove a little bit of dust but nothing of a big amount. I rub my hands together then rub my hands on my jeans to remove the durst from my hands.
Damon Pictures
The box read. Tear’s fill my eyes reading the Title Greta put the box. Greta told me after Damon’s death that he had a box in his bedroom closet filled with multiple albums and pictures of himself from when he was born till now. I haven’t had the courage to even look at the box and more than that look at the pictures until now. That’s why I buried the box with my belongings. Scared that viewing the pictures will only make the wound of loosing him tear deeper into my skin. But right now I’m hurting. I need that protection and love and everything I felt when Damon was here. I’m hurting to have him back with me.
It’s like somebody having to get weaned off of something. How it’s hard for them to get off of that one thing. It’s where everything will remind them of that thing. It may be a taste, a smell, a picture, or anything that can trigger them to go back. Well Damon is my everything. He’s everything I need right now. But I’m having to get weaned off of him because he’s not here anymore. . . there is no way for him to be able to come back to me on this earth. I’m all alone. I have nobody. I don’t have my Damon.
I slowly start on the side and remove the tape that is on the box to keep it counseled well. It takes me a second to get a good grip on the tape and slowly remove it just enough to get the box open.
The first thing I’m confronted with is a smell that shows just how long it has been since this box hasn’t been opened.
I figure the albums and frames and everything I can that’s on the top of the box. More tears fill my eyes.
I open a album that’s marked 0-12 months. Baby pictures of Damon are on every page. There are pictures of just him, pictures of him and his mom, very little but one or two pictures of Damon and his dad, and a few pictures of Damon and both his parents, together.
I look deeply into the pictures of Damon and his dad and the pictures with him and his parents together. In one of the pictures of Damon and his dad you can see similarities in both of them. Damon is smiling in the picture and him dad seems to be smiling too; like he’s happy, happy to have Damon as his son. In another picture of them too Damon is grinning again and so is his dad, but if you look closing it looks like that smile on his face was being forced . . .
Did Greta have to somehow try to get him to look happy for this picture? If so . . . why? That’s his son, he should be happy to get to have and see his son.
I start thinking what it would be like if Damon was still here holding our child for the first time, for pictures, or just in general. I feel the picture wouldn’t be forced. I feel he would show our child the love he didn’t exactly get from his father.
I push the pictures aside so I can pull my legs up to my chest. I cover my eyes with my hands and just start at it with the tears. They keep traveling down my cheeks like there is no other rode to take. I whip them away with my cheeks hurting. Then I just wrap my arms around my legs and hold them and shut my eyes as tight as I possibly can. Tears leave out of eyes for the few seconds I open my eyes and it just makes me cry more knowing I’m crying, because of the hurt of feeling so empty and alone without Damon. And knowing nothing is going to be able to take this pain away.
Damon was my lover and best friend. Damon was everything to me, and now losing him, I feel so lost.
When my vision comes back in focus and I get the tears to a controlled level I slowly raise my shirt up and examine my stomach. I slowly and gently rub it and feel the pregnancy bump.
“I love you baby.” I whisper. “I love you Damon, and I love you Damon Jr.”
I start thinking on what gender mine and Damon’s baby may be. I start thinking of cute little names I could name him or her. I have never really had a favorite on what gender I want my child to be. It’s a mystery to me.
I quickly find a blank sheet of paper and pen and start writing down names I may want to name my child. I look back down at my stomach and start to smile. This little thing right here means everything to me. This little baby is the closest thing I have to Damon, and there is no way in the world me and him or her are going to be apart. I love him or her already . . . I can just feel it. This baby is why I am still here . . . to raise him or her. Till now till the last breath I take on this earth. I just wish Damon was still here to help me . . .
