Paths Cross

{14}

Seven months now.

That's how long it had been since I last saw Jesse.

All I'd done for the past seven months was sit in my cell and stare.

Seven months of sitting and staring.

Any day now the baby could arrive, and I was on the edge of my seat, waiting anxiously.

Any day.

Any hour.

Any minute.

Any second.

I never slept at night, just always stared at the ceiling awaiting the baby, when I could see Jesse again, and my execution. I was coming up on my last days, and trying to figure out how to spend them right.

I figured out I had been locked up for 217 days, according to the tallies on the wall. 217 long, wasted, lazy days. Actually, I figured I'd rather die than sit in here any longer.

The baby's constant kicking didn't help my anxiety any more, acting as a constant reminder that I still had something to live for.

I'd been thinking of suicide, but I didn't know how I'd do it. There was nothing in my cell that could kill me. Nothing at all.

I'd rather kill myself first than be killed by her.

Her.

President Jenkins. Aunt Jenkins. The very woman who killed my parents, soon to kill me too. 

As I sat, the uneasy feeling that, in time, I would be dead spreading inside me, I soon fell asleep, exhausted from the days of sleep I'd lost. And as soon as I fell asleep, I started to dream.

The dream started, pale light filling an empty room. Suddenly I saw myself, sitting seldom in the center of the white room with my hands behind my back. 

My aunt came into the room. I remember screaming at her. She wouldn't move, but dark red, fresh blood would splatter the white floor around me and scattered cuts would appear on my face, arms, or any exposed skin on me. I would cry and beg for her to what sounded like "stop." But she wasn't doing it, it seemed. She never moved. 

I didn't remember much else of that dream. Just that my aunt's lips were stained the color of my blood. 

* * * *

When I woke up from that terrible nightmare of mine, I sat up, breathing fast. The cot below me felt cold. I shifted and pressed my hand to it, and I felt a sticky, wet residue that came off on my palm. 

My heartbeat slowed. 

My water broke.