Baby Fever

Sorry Mom

"You literally can't die,"  Layla said as she sobbed into my chest. After Jeremiah left she leaped into the bed. I'm the one in the hospital bed, yet I've been consoling her for the last hour. 

"I know. You've said it fifty-seven times." I groaned. She finally wiped her eyes and sat up. Dominic was sitting on the chair across the room, smiling sympathetically at me. I gestured for him to take her. 

I didn't like seeing her like this, and she was being annoying.

He tapped her shoulder. 

"Just wait." She said. "What did Jeremiah say?"  

I was not about to talk to her about this in front of her boyfriend.

"Space, Dom," she batted her lashes at him.

 He gave her a kiss before leaving the room. 

They were so cute. 

"We kissed." 

She grabbed my shoulder and shook me, pain radiated from her touch.

"Please stop," I said.

"Sorry." She retracted her hand. "But I need more details." 

 I told her everything. "I just feel like we're unrealistic," I finished.

"Because of the baby?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"Well at the end of the day, you're going to have the baby regardless of your relationship with him. So, you'll always be in each other's lives." She said.

"But he can walk out at any point. I won't even be able to go to college." 

"You have me and your mom. We'll get you through this." 

"I'm just scared of what this will mean for me, you know?"

"I can only imagine. You'll have to talk to your mom about it." 

I nodded.

 After she left, Alanna and Chloe came to talk to me. I didn't say too much since Chloe was there. 

My mom didn't visit the room. 

Two more days passed until I could feel my legs again. Jeremiah had agreed to give me some space, and Malik was nowhere to be seen. 

I finally saw my mom when the nurse was helping me into the wheel-chair. One of my legs was still in a cast brace and the scar from the surgery lingered on my abdomen. I didn't have many bruises or cuts. 

My mom didn't utter a single word to me on the drive back home. When we got home, she silently made me a plate of rice and beans. 

"Eat," she commanded.

She watched me eat in silence. She was sitting on the other end of the counter-top, with her arms crossed on the table. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun and she wore no makeup. I could tell she hadn't been getting any sleep. 

I couldn't take it anymore. "Mom, say something."

 She looked me up and down and shook her head. "Why do you hate me?" 

"What?"

"You were so careless. What would I have done if my only daughter died? Did you not care about the consequences of your actions?" 

"I didn't mean it, mama."

"You don't tell me things. You don't talk to me. How did you even re-fill your medicine without Dr. Onya's permission?" Dr. Onya was my therapist.