Anything But Normal

Chapter 16: This is It!

I'm sorry for the lack of knowledge about labour, I haven't gone through it myself and I've done as much research as possible online. I hope it's sufficient

Valentines Day, the worst day of the year. And if I'm honest I'm not into all of that slushy romance stuff. I'm not totally UN-romantic, I would watch The Notebook if it was on the television, but to be honest I'd much rather watch some action movie like James Bond.

I know that Sam is much more romantic then me, he cried at Bridget Jones for god sake! And it wasn't even on TV, he had gone out and bought the DVD and watched it with only a man size box of tissues as company. That was probably the most oddest thing that I have ever experienced in my life.

San knows that I'm not romantic, he knows that I hate cheesy dates and cringe worthy love letters and he told me he wasn't going to do anything for Valentines Day.

But I don't believe him.

~

When I wake up, my mouth is dry from dehydration but my forehead is dripping with sweat.

I had had another nightmare about Eve and her Father again. She was running through a maze, and her Father was gaining on her fast. I had tried running after them but it seemed that every step I took the further they got away. I screamed at him to stop trying to hurt her and I cried at Eve to run faster, but the further I got away, the slower Eve ran and the closer her Father got.

Then my stomach grumbled in hunger and began to release a excruciating pain, and I knew at that moment I was going into labour.

I have these nightmares quite a lot, about going into labour, but still I check that I still have a massive pregnancy bump and that water hadn't leaked onto the bed.

My nightmares were something I couldn't run from, I was literally trapped inside them. Last week I had a nightmare that I was sitting in a hospital bed, and I was cradling a little baby, fragile and perfect. Then someone emerged from the darkest most dangerous corner of the room, holding a second baby.

Dame.

He clutched the baby, not even attempting to hold it gently, then the baby let out an ear piercing scream as it fell to the floor and smashed into glass, spewing out deep crimson red blood, then I screamed too and melted like a wax candle, hot and useless, as the room dimmed and screams became louder, and through it all, the loudest noise was Dame laughing like a psychopath.

The only person I has actually told about my dreams was Sam, who ever so casually suggested that I go to see a therapist about them. I had curled back, shocked and scared at his suggestion. I'm not crazy am I? If I am, an I doing the right thing bringing babies into the world whilst emotionally unstable? even I had told Sam this but he somehow managed to convince my that I'm not crazy, that I just have a lot of feeling that I'm not letting out. I'm incredibly stubborn, and I'm still slightly unconvinced and paranoid about it. I haven't forgotten a single one. Recently they have become more vivid and more real, like a virus. They're infecting my brain and taking over every file, you can fix me but it's a chance I'll get them back again.

My mind is still swarming with the horror of them when the clock beside my bed creeps onto the 6, showing that I've been trapped in this horror since 1am. Now I'm sleep deprived, incredibly hot and grumpy. I climb out of bed and take a slightly colder than warm shower, letting the ice run though my veins and making me more alert.

By the time I get out of the shower it's 7:30 so I walk into my wardrobe and lazily pick out a red floral top and legging with red converse. That was the least I could do at trying to be romantic. I curl a few strands of my hair but decide that I didn't feel like my hair flying around in my face today, so I French plaited it and secured it in place with a lacy black hairband.