Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (84 page)

Lost in misery, I don’t blink back to reality until I’m being pushed into reception of the E.R. Another place I visit on a daily basis, just never as a patient. The feel of the hospital puts me at ease, even though I’m not here out of duty. I know the doctors and nurses are some of the best in their fields. I trust them… I just wish I didn’t have to.

“Joanne, I need to check Cynthia in,” Wil tells the head nurse who we always deal with during the day shift. I breathe slowly, trying to calm myself. I know my stress and worry is increasing my discomfort and pain. I try and fail at listening to them speak- I didn’t want to hear Wil, it makes this all too real.

“Harsh abdominal pain, centered in the reproductive area, vomiting… Syn, how heavy is the flow?” Wil asks, in his usual Paramedic-mode. If he was
n’t being professional, I would’ve baulked.

“A tinge,” I mutter.

“Spotting,” Wil says. “Patient is almost four weeks past her menstruation cycle, which is always regular. She is possibly six weeks pregnant. I worry about Ectopic Pregnancy or Miscarriage,” even to my ears, it sounds like those words should be in capital letters.

“I’ll prepare a room. Express service for our Cynthia. Gotta have you guys back to work. Who will bring us new patients if you don’t?” Joanne warmly says, but the crinkled lines at the corners of her eyes shows she’s extremely worried. She passes Wil my chart to fill out, waiting for the mundane information only the patient knows.

“Stanton still your emergency contact and next of kin?” Wil mutters.

“Yes,” I whimper, biting my bottom lip to stop it from quivering. I’m scared shitless
, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

Wil’s hand appears out of nowhere to wrap warmly around both of mine- his right hand, because he is left-handed and still furiously filling out my chart. I don’t want to feel the connection and soothing comfort he gives me- I never know if it’s real. Over the past month, I’ve come to terms with the fact that it is real to me, so who gives a fuck if it’s real to Wil
or not- doesn’t change it in my heart, any.

“Do you need my insurance information,” I needlessly ramble
, hands shaking so badly that I’m vibrating Wil’s arm.

“Pixy,” Wil sighs, bending down to give me a quick hug. “We have the same insurance, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” I numbly mumble.

“What’s Cynthia Brooks’ social?” Wil asks, and I quickly mutter the nine digit number
without thought. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Yeah, but will I be emotionally fine,” I cry, hating that tears sting my eyes and start to slip down my cheeks. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“What, be pregnant?” Wil honestly wants to know what I mean, I can tell.

“No, not being pregnant,” I breathe. Wil’s expression softens, and I see a glimpse of pain.

“I paged the doctor,” Joanne says, coming around to grab the handles of the wheelchair I’m sitting in. She pushes me while she talks. “She will be with you within a few minutes. You know the drill, strip, put the paper gown on, and sit on the table. Unlike before you became one of us, there won’t be a wait. We take care of our own,” Joanne whispers, kindly rubbing my shoulders. “We’ll do our best.”

Wil helps me undress and put on the gown because I’m so shaky my hands couldn’t even unbutton my slacks or untie my sneakers. I
lie down on the table and shiver. I am bone-deep cold. My teeth chatter. I clench my jaw to stop it, but even that is too much effort. My mind has a single focus, and nothing else matters.

Warm hands rub up and down my bare arms, trying to warm me with friction. A cra
mp has me curling up on my side. Giving up all pretense, I start to bawl.

“Shhh…” Wil croons, softly rubbing whatever and wherever his hands can reach. I unfurl my legs, feeling relief when he rubs my belly.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask, because his intense expression is frightening.

“You know, those five words sound so simple until strung together in a sentence
by a woman. They become every male’s Kryptonite,” he teases.

“Wil,” I impatiently growl, “talk to me, for once, just talk to me. I need something to get me away from the horrific thoughts streaming through my head.”

“Trust me, you do not want to know what I’m thinking right now,” he slowly enunciates each and every word.

“Try me,” I huff.

“I’m selfish and jealous and my thoughts are awful,” he groans. His hands come to cup over my belly, their warmth seeping into my skin. “I want you to be pregnant, but it hurts me at the same time. I regret so much, so very much. But if you are pregnant, regardless of what happens, I will always feel like a coward. It is my biggest mistake. This could have been mine- would have been mine if I hadn’t freaked. I would have been first. It would have been my seed racing to your egg. I have no doubt that if our bodies would have connected, that a child would have been created- our bodies know each other, seek each other.”

Wil sounds so sad that I breathe his name to get him to stop. He is crying almost as hard as I am.
The doctor’s arrival breaks into our strange moment- and for the life of me, I’m not sure if Wil was pretending or not- maybe he lies to himself as much as he lies to the rest of us.

“Cynthia, I’m Dr. Wexford,” a younger female doctor greets me. She isn’t overly phony and she looks concerned- she’ll do. “We need to do the usual drill first: pee in a cup, blood drawn for tests, blood pressure, heart and lung, and questions. I have the Transvaginal Ultrasound being wheeled down here, depending on how the previous tests turn out. Ready?”

“No,” I whimper, but slide from the table anyway- no since delaying the inevitable. 

Twenty minutes later, after I’ve been properly violated- there really is no other way to put it- violated, I am lying back on the table. I thought I’d calm as the tests were taken, but I was wrong. I’m shaking so badly that my speech is slurred.

Number of sexual partners, when and how often was the unprotected sex, what is the date of my last period- you name it. I couldn’t answer the questions because my teeth were rattling. But like a champ, Wil responded because he knew all the answers.

A nurse hands the doctor my updated chart. I want to snatch it
from her hands and greedily read it. Dr. Wexford quickly glances over it, and instead of telling me my test results, she goes about her questioning… and people call me the sadist.

“Are you stressed,” she directs the question at me, but looks at Wil.

“Are you kidding me?” I squeak out. I want to say,
I’m lying in an examination room waiting on test results- that are in your HAND. What do you think, bitch?
“I’ve got nothing,” I answer to that. It’s not like I can tell the truth.

Wil is a smoother liar than I
am, “we’ve had a lot of turmoil in our families as of late, and our professions are very stressful.”

“What do you do?” Dr. Wexford asks, chart in hand- read it! It says it right on there, dammit! I’ve filled enough of those suckers out to know every line of the dang thing! Just read it aloud, not the profession, my test results.

“Paramedics, we run out of the eighteenth,” Wil conversationally says, slowing edging his way towards the doctor- eagle-eyeing my chart with great interest. The slight widening of his eyes has me eating my heart and lungs.

“Wow…” she breathes out. “Stress with a capital S. That made the top ten most stressful jobs list. What is this about your families?”

“Recently, Cynthia lost both her parents and her grandfather. Her adoptive family is very supportive, but that is stressful, too. Her adoptive brother is in the military- Marines. He’s stationed in Afghanistan. There isn’t a moment’s peace- everything is stressful.”

“I see,” she draws out. “Not really the best time to try to start a family, though, was it?”

“No, ma’am, but um… it was unexpected,” Wil says with a blush. I rarely get to truly see Wil in action, and he is flawless. Just enough boyish innocence mixed with self-deprecation- it’s a fatal combination.

“Are you the father?” Dr. Wexford asks, and I gasp.

“Yes,” Wil says without hesitation, confusing me even more. Did she just ask… did she just ask if he is the father, meaning there is a baby? Why did he say yes? I haven’t been with him in over a year and a half.

“
The cramping and spotting are normal, especially this early on in a pregnancy. I believe stress is exacerbating it. But we will do an ultrasound just to be sure,” she says with a smile.

I want to growl,
thanks for reading my test results and playing mind games with me, bitch- was it too much to ask that you just tell me outright like a normal human being.
Karma is such a kick to the teeth. She is being kind by sparing my baby, but gives me an OBGYN with a sadistic streak as punishment.

I close my eyes and grip Wil’s hand, but not because that cold, sticky wand hurts me. It’s uncomfortable having a stranger down there- yeah, after my string of sexual partners, that is laughable. But a girl has never seen my bits, or prodded me with a phallus-shaped object.

A pounding, whooshy sound floods the room and the monitor blips to life. I stop breathing so I can hear it better- my baby is making that sound. Its heart is beating strongly. The kid better be strong with having me and Ez as its parents.

Wil is glued to the monitor, fascinated, and I don’t see anything on there at all. It’s just a blob of nothingness- I’m a bad mom already. The kid is six weeks from starting its miraculous journey, and I can’t even recognize it. That thought makes me cry harder than finding out I was pregnant by the doctor that talks to you like you have to solve a rubix cube before
they will answer.

“Perfect,” Dr. Wexford sings. “Developing normally, heart is pumping strong, and everything looks good. I’d say it’s stress. I do have some concerns, though,”
the doctor says, and I freeze.

Sometimes I
do that- freeze- like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop or the police will just manifest before me and arrest me for multiple homicides. And this woman thinks I can reduce my stress-level… walking down the street without worrying is a feat. I work in a profession with cops on a daily basis- that is stress- looking the friendly officer in the eye as he looks back with mutual respect, and knowing that if the truth got out, I’d be on a different table with a series of injections sucking the life from my body.

Stressed? Never!

“You’re not a very big girl: you don’t weight much, you’re less than five feet, and you are very narrow inside. If the fetus gets too large, I’m recommending a cesarean, or you will get torn up during the birthing process.”

“Dr. Wexford?” I call out before I can stop myself. “You must be a sadist.”

~Chapter Seventy-Three~

The July sun warms my face, radiating deep into my marrow. My skin is so pale, and I’m always so busy, that the only sun I dare to face is as it rises every morning. I sit on the roof and watch the sun crest the horizon in the east every morning before work. It greets me, as if saying,
you made it through another night- your baby made it through another night
.

This has been my ritual for the past four months. I kiss Stanton goodbye after we share a quick breakfast- the workaholic leaves before I do- and then I make my way to the roof to watch the sunrise before I head to work.

I’ve stressed over and over to Stanton that we can move to his building- the building he owns and works at and has his actual home within. It would eliminate the commute, the constant worry, and he could be back to us in the blink of an eye. Hell, that’s the school district Bianca is registered in- she surely isn’t going to the local elementary school around here. She is going to the rich kid elementary school, for the kids who live in the heart of the business district.

Stanton
is fearful that his enemies will storm in and harm us in our home. He has us tucked away in the ‘hood, with the baddies as our alarm system. He thinks that no one has figured out his system of madness. I finally convinced him this morning to move us before Bianca goes back to school next semester.

I simply said,
“The players of the game are more hazardous to our health than your mafia enemies. They will be the ones to harm us. Your building has a security system and guards. I’m not begging to live in the lap of luxury- I’ve been in both, a trailer in West Virginia and a micro-mansion in the Gates. I’ve lived here in this bad neighborhood for over a year and half. So know when I say this that I mean it with good intentions. I’m having a baby, and I don’t want it born in the ‘hood. The building is a block from Bianca’s school, and she can safely walk herself with her friends- with Julio trailing. Her dance studio is a few blocks away- she could practice longer if we didn’t have so far to walk or drive. You will be in the building at all times. A quick call and you’ll be with us in seconds. The only hindrance is my commute to the station, but it’s almost the same distance I travel now. So believe me when I say we need to move, especially since I’m the only one who will be inconvenienced. I just feel something coming, and I want us out of here. Please,”
I begged.

…and that is how Julio found himself packing up our kitchen
at 6 a.m. while I sit on the roof and rest before work.