Queen of the Night

9

When I woke up in the morning, my stomach hurt.

Why Did my stomach hurt?

Because my son was kicking the shit out of it.

I groaned and put my hand on my stomach.

"I know you're awake, please stop kicking me. It won't help your cause." I said looking at my tummy.

After grumbling for a bit I got up and got dressed. I decided on a striped navy dress. I hated how it did really nothing to hide my bump, but I couldn't do much better, I was giving birth in a few weeks.

So I didn't really know anything about this Poppy girl, but I guess I'm meeting her today. So there's that.

I mean is it a little strange to give your newborn child away to some lady the baby daddy knows to just raise your kid for you?

Yes. It is.

Very very strange.

But it seems only fitting for my strange and unusual life.

So I'm kinda down for it.

I walk downstairs and have breakfast that I'll probably be throwing up soon anyway. I've found that my son apparently loves making me throw up, and his favorite meal is lunch, because I can never stomach breakfast, and dinner is basically me eating mint chip ice cream. His favorite food is probably mint chip ice cream. We get along so well. At least we both have the same favorite ice cream.

By the time Mark arrived at my door it was noon. I opened the door and he looked at me, taking in what I was wearing I suppose, and he looked back into my eyes.

"Let's go." Was all he said, taking my hand, and leading me to his beautiful car.

Have you ever been in a car, and just been so uncomfortable that you wanted to see if the car door locks really work?
That's how I felt driving with the guy who got me pregnant taking virginity. 

On the way to apparently his sisters house, who offered to take my kid off my hands no questions asked. It was uncomfortable, tense, and didn't make a gram of sense in my mind, yet here I am.
Mark drove like a skilled professional, and the ride was very smooth, as always. From my experience of driving with him, he was a great driver. He had given me a ride maybe two times, but that's still a perfect track record. I noticed we were getting closer to the city. Traffic was aggressive as always, but it didn't make me too anxious. I wondered where his sister lived, or what she would look like. From the picture I had seen of her at a young age, I figured she'd have red hair, and that's all I could think of. She must live in the city. If she can stand living in a city she must be a tough cookie. Anyone who can put up with Mark has to be a tough cookie. I think I'll like her. 

The car ride proceeded to be silent exceptions being when a car infront us would maybe drive too slow, or not signal their turn. In that case Mark would curse under his breath, hiss, or hum in dissatisfaction. I could just tell he was trying to hide his terrible road rage with me in the car. From the tension in his legs, and his death grip on the wheel it wasn't hard to see him trying to restrain his no doubt normal habits of yelling and speeding past all the traffic in rage. A small smile formmed on my face from the topic, as I imagined Mark no doubt having terrible road rage. 

Once we were off the freeway, Mark pulled down a side street, and I was taken aback by the scene of the town. 

Buildings touching the sky, apartments stacked upon each other, and little shops that often come and go on such busy streets were everywhere. On this street there was a small housing building, and lots of little shops, offices, and quaint coffee places. It was a little city within the city. Small worlds, upon small worlds in a big world that was housed in a universe of worlds. I liked that. It's fun to think of all the lives in one place like that. Or maybe I'm just creepy thinking about all the people like that.