Page 45 of King of Guilt

I screamed, “My training was an overpriced scam!” Sharply exhaling, I felt my hips about to explode. “Nothing they told us is true. This isn’t what I signed up for!”

“Emma, please, we’re almost there.”

“I can’t help it if I feel like a xenomorph is shredding me up with its claws!” I screamed, the pain dragging me down and pushing me forward in my seat until my knees hit the seats in front of me. “I can’t do this. I can’t,” I moaned, biting on my lip that was so sweaty I could taste it.

“We’re so close.” Dean leaned in closer, his hand still holding mine. His lips behind my ears said, “Just breathe, baby. Breathe and try not to push just yet.”

“I don’t know if I can help it,” I grunted, feeling another big contraction coming, struggling to speak. “She’ll come… when she comes. Ah! There’s… nothing we can do… about it. Oh, God!”

The driver said something or the other, but my ears could barely catch what Dean was saying an inch away. “Three minutes!” He announced, adding relief to his voice to inspire mine. “If you hold on for three minutes—

“Ah! Go—o—d!” I screamed, feeling the push against my insides intensify. Nearly gasping for breath, I continued to pant through every inhale and exhale, the air hardly making it to my lungs.

“Two minutes, Emma. Two minutes, babe. And you’ll get all the good stuff—”

“I fucking better!” I shouted, pressing my hands against my big belly as if that would satiate the excruciating stabbing I continued to feel. “Jesus fucking Christ, this is torture!”

“Just a few minutes, and you’ll have our baby—”

“Pearl?” I tried to play along, a desperate attempt at pulling my mind away from the edge of passing out.

“Well, you still want that name?”

Another contraction was coming when I hadn’t even taken a breath after the last. “Yes?” I squealed, squeezing his hand and leaning forward as the pain pulled at my very soul. “Have you… ah… changed your mind?”

“No, baby. Whatever name you want.”

“I want Pearl,” I cried—actually cried, feeling the tears run hot down my face. “How far are we, goddammit! She’s coming!”

“We’re pulling up, baby! Look, look, here’s the emergency entrance.”

Suddenly, I could hear it all, as if my brain wasn’t able to process it until Dean pointed it out to me. Sirens, distant and near. The car tires squeaking against the smooth pavement of the hospital entryway. A man’s voice hollering, “That’s Mr. and Mrs. Allen. Bring it, quick!” A woman’s voice coming near me as the doors flail open. “We got her. Let go, Mr. Allen.”

Dean’s hand let go of mine for a second, and I panicked, shouting, “Dean, what the fuck?”

“I’m right here,” I heard him right behind me before he quickly reached for my hand again, just as they were setting me down in a wheelchair.

“Don’t you dare leave me alone!” I threatened.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Another contraction raged on and it hurt more than all the past ones combined, prompting me to squeeze my eyes shut and scream. I didn’t really want to draw attention or sympathy, but the pain truly was unbearable. Unbearable to the point where I actually passed out.

Next thing I knew, I was lying on my back, being ordered to “Push! Push hard, c’mon, this is it!”

“Emma, look at me,” Dean commanded, and I had no energy to protest. With both my hands cradled in his, I channeled all of my mental focus on looking into my husband’s adoring eyes, while directing what was remaining of my physical strength into ‘pushing’ like the doctor asked.

Once… twice… he had said that this would be it, but it wasn’t… thrice…

“Here we go!” the doctor announced before the baby’s cries filled the room, pulling a tired laugh out of my exhausted lips.

I felt nothing down there. Everything was beyond numb. So, when they finally handed her to me, I was already feeling like half a person. Dean climbed up into the bed next to me, and we both gazed at our tiny little girl. He then placed a tender kiss to the forehead—it was everything I had wanted at that moment. It reminded me of the first time he had done that at the restaurant when we’d been out with my dad. The night when I’d had the first thought of him possibly loving me.

When we returned our eyes to the squirming little creature in my arms, Dean whispered, “Pearl.”

“Hi, baby girl,” I kept my voice low and smooth so as not to disturb her. “This is what we look like, see? I’m mommy, and this is daddy.” I still couldn’t believe—seven months after knowing—that I was carrying Dean’s baby. “Who do you want to look like?”

Dean softly chuckled. “You, of course.”

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