Page 53 of Brood
“Good job, peaches. I’m proud of you.”
For some reason, the words make me sick.
* * *
Three months later, I wake up with my stomach lurching.
The nauseated panic hits me even before I open my eyes. I sit up, gasping loudly, slammed with waves of heat. On the first heave, I scramble out of bed in the dark and run for the bathroom, making it barely in time to vomit painfully into the toilet.
Everyone told me that the morning sickness should get better after the first trimester, but it hasn’t improved in the last two weeks. At all.
I’m still as sick as I was two months ago, and there’s no end in sight.
My body is wracked with each heave. My hair has slipped out of its braid overnight, and strands are sticking to my face, getting in the way. My throat burns, and my arms and legs shake. When I’ve emptied my stomach, I manage to reach over to flush before I slump to the floor.
Life was supposed to get better after I got pregnant, but it’s been infinitely worse.
Will is still asleep. It’s probably at least an hour before wake-up time.
For a couple of weeks after that terrible appointment with Dr. Cameron, Will tried to act the way he used to and get me to do the same. But I stayed strong, and he finally gave up.
He’s been brooding ever since. In that same tense, quiet way he did when we first got married. We’ve fallen into a workable pattern of interaction, but it’s not the same as it was. It makes me tired instead of happy. He’s been helpful with this pregnancy. He’s performed even gross duties without complaining. But he’s back to being guarded like a fortress.
And so am I.
I’m trying anyway.
We haven’t had sex since we found out I was pregnant the morning after that terrible day when everything changed.
Even though we don’t need to have sex for breeding right now, I would have been willing if he’d asked. But he hasn’t. Maybe he’s lost interest. Or maybe he doesn’t like my new detachment.
Either way, he hasn’t said a word about it, and neither have I.
So it’s been nothing but three months of fatigue and nausea and a loneliness I never experienced before.
I hate it.
I hate everything.
My stomach starts lurching again.
This time, it’s nothing but agonizing dry heaves. Halfway through, a presence approaches me from behind. Will. He doesn’t say anything. Just leans down to pull my hair out of the way as I manage to wretch up a little bit of bile.
When it’s finally over, I almost collapse sideways, but he holds me up. Flushes the toilet and then lifts me into his arms to carry me back to my bed. He’s illuminated the room in the dim magenta light I’ve discovered helps the most with nausea. He’s also increased the airflow. I can feel it blowing against my clammy skin.
When he’s laid me down, I burst into messy tears for no reason at all. His sober expression flickers slightly. Then he returns to the bathroom to get a damp washcloth.
He sits down on the side of my bed and cleans my face with the cloth.
Something about the gentleness of his touch makes me cry even more.
He keeps wiping my face as I sob and gurgle. Finally he murmurs, “Cadence, is this something other than the morning sickness?”
Of course it is. It’s everything. It’s what my life has become.
But it’s also my choice. My attempt to do what’s best for me rather than place my heart in his hands. So there’s nothing he can do to fix it.
“I’m…I’m fine.”
