Bad Boy Judah

t h i r t y f o u r

"Please."

The nightmare replays in my head over and over, until I open my eyes.

I listen more to muffled voices on the other side of the door. Where am I?

"But she's asleep."

"I need to see her," a deeper voice replies

I stir my body to sit upwards. With a frown on my face, trying to fully wake up.

"We are still running tests."

A sour taste lingers on my tongue.

I find myself in a spacious hospital room. Everything is white and the lines are clean. There are fresh plants by my bed. A window to my right spills new sunlight on the inside.

"Will she be alright?"

My eyes shift towards the closed wooden door on my left.

"She's stable."

How did I get here? What happened?

A short nurse, dressed in blue, appears and walks up to me with a smile. She asks me something slowly in English, despite her accent.

I look at her, dazed. My index finger feels heavier than usual. As the nurse sets a dish of food over my bed, I look down at my arm.

My elbow is hooked up and my finger is attached to a pulse oximeter. The machine beside me beeps along with what I guess is my heart rate.

The short nurse asks me something else. Though I didn't get what she said, I only nodded my head. My eyes go back to the door again, as my brain registers Judah's voice.

"And... the, um..." he stammers, "The baby?"

Judah...

"Again, we're still running tests."

The machine attached to me beeps faster.

"Relax, take a deep breath. You're going to be fine," the nurse tries to sooth me.

After, the doctor walks in. My neck strains to see the hallway, as the door opens, but it quickly closes.

The doctor and the nurse exchange some words that are foreign to me. I'm still in Italy, somehow. My mind tries to concentrate on the fact that I'm still alive.

Is my gummy bear?

"Um..." I voice.

The doctor looks at me, and then observes his equipment.

"How are you feeling," he asks, friendly. "Mrs. McAuthor?"

I stare at the doctor blankly, not knowing whether I heard him right.

"Fine," I answer.

My head no longer is hurting, so that must be good.

"Do you have any allergies, Mrs. McAuthor?" the doctor scribbles on his clipboard.

I wince at the name he keeps giving me. He lifts his pen and waits for an answer.

"N-no," I mumble.

"Have you experienced vaginal bleeding before, during pregnancy?" he asks.

My body stiffens on me. I nod, but my head barely moves. What does this mean? Has it happened again?

"Are you feeling any pain, anywhere?"

My hands clutch the scentless sheets. Fear creeps up on my shoulder.