Page 117 of Babalon

She’s a nice girl, around my age. Warm eyes, super curly dark brown hair—you can tell she takes care of it and uses all the products to keep her curls bouncy and full of life.

The way I don’t feel right now.

Half turned in my bed, my IV-line beeping in frustration from the way I held my arms securely around my knees, pressing them protectively to my chest. Looking out of the enormous window to my left, my eyes feel heavy and so swollen from all the tears that continue to fall. The window itself is nearly as big as my patio door at the apartment, which I haven’t been home to since the riot. I probably won’t get to stay another night there, if the authorities have anything to say about it.

I miss my safe place, my belongings, the weird stain on the second-hand couch I got from the consignment store, and my little gimpy spoon I elected to be my designated coffee stirrer. I’m afraid though; even if I were lucky to go home, there won’t be enough noise there to drown out the shit in my head. Everything will clash together, it will keep me awake at night, over thinking the same things I have thought about a million times since the riot.

I’m so tired.

“Not hungry, Julie, thank you though.” I reply noiselessly.

After my discovery, from what I have been told by Detective Whitlock, is that I looked like death warmed over. Something about being covered in blood, and Lucien cackling off behind me when the team showed up. I don’t know what happened after I was knocked out, but from the sounds of it, it was pretty gruesome.

What shocked me is that Nate is dead, and though Whitlock didn’t give me the details surrounding his demise, I could only hope that he got what he deserved.

“You’re hungry, your body is screaming at you. I can hear it all the way from over here,” Julie remarks, standing by her littlenurses’ zone, complete with computer and random alcohol pads, gauze, and tape.

I sat mutely, not responding—I didn’t want to argue with her. Maybe I am hungry, but I can’t bring myself to eat. Not when the concept of anything going into me makes me panic, how sad is that? So fucked up in the head that eating makes me feel violated.

Out of everything, starvation is going to be the thing that takes me out. I have control over that.

I know I’m not this girl, I’m strong— at least… I was. It’s hard to move on when it only happened a few days ago. I am going to need years of therapy, and if I have my choice, I’d opt for a lobotomy, but those are no longer performed professionally.

I researched it, following one of my many panic attacks.

Thinking back to the days where I would sit with my therapist, Elaine, I can hear her sweet voice telling me that things are not my fault. Always trying her damnedest to convince young Nadia that the men who do violent things to people under their control are the ones to blame. A vic is never the one liable for such vile behavior. I would tune her out while staring at the stupid stack of books on her coffee table that partitioned us. The irony of the little sheep figurines nestled here and there in her office. Now that I think on it, it almost makes me huff in amusement. If Lucien could see how this little sheep was led so far away from its flock.

“Please Nadia, you have to eat something or the doctor is going to put a feeding tube in you. We don’t want the procedure to add to your trauma. I know you have told me that you just can’t do it, and though I can’t fathom what you must be feeling, your body is going to shut down. That’s not good for either of you.”

Yeah… about that.

I didn’t take him seriously when we were together but I guess Kace was as committed as he could be about getting mepregnant. I just didn’t realize it was going to be this soon. If I heard correctly, I’m already a few months along which means the first time we ever had sex was when… Fuck, I don’t want to think about it.

A fucking baby!

While I’m not mad at Kace about it at all, I… I don’t know, I’m ready, I guess. I am not mother material. Hell, I don’t even have my own around. It’s just a surprise that it happened so soon, I thought he pulled out. No, I know he pulled out but that just makes me fucking stupid, I guess. Thinking withdrawal was an adequate means of birth control. I was single without any partners, there was no reason for me to be on the pill. If I’m going to be honest, when he talked about breeding me, it was so fucking hot that I wasn’t going to argue. I thought he was just talking shit. I was the first girl he had in seven years, so he was lost in the moment too… right?

Maybe I should have argued.

Unfortunately, there’s no way out of this and while I haven’t admitted to any relations with Kace, I know it’s coming. When Whitlock stopped by a couple days ago, he mentioned evidence on a phone they confiscated from Lucien. When reviewing it, there are concerns for misconduct on top of the allegations against me surrounding selling drugs in Darkwater.

I’m screwed, I know I am.

Subconsciously, I may be using my refusal to eat as a means to keep me out of a fucking jumper. They won’t take me to jail if the doctor is worried about the baby. Mother of the year material, using my child as a crutch.

“How is your nausea at least?” Julie asks, trying to probe me, getting me to open up to her more.

I suppose they assigned her to me because I may freak out on the male staff. Apparently, it is protocol for rape victims. I appreciate the attempts at keeping me comfortable, but theycan’t stop the terror in my head. Real or not, I still see and feel bodies against mine that never should have touched me.

“It’s good,” I respond.

“Good.”

There it goes, the weight in the room again. Being around people and being alone, are both suffocating. Out of everything, all I long to hear and see is Kace.

“Did you look at the sonogram photos?”

“I did.”

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