Free Incredible Beauty by Missy Johnson Page A

time to call people, but right now I needed to be here with Em.
     

Chapter Thirteen
    Emma
    The blackness is terrifying. I wanted to open my eyes so badly but I can't. My eyelids are so heavy it feels like they are made of lead and every time I try to open them I can't. I strain to recognize the voices around me.
    I can hear them clearly. Someone is holding my hand. I try to concentrate. The smoothness of the skin, the slightly raised freckle on the side of the thumb and the unevenness of the nails.
    It's Simon. He bites his nails when he gets nervous, something I am forever telling him off about. A tiny fragment of my anxiety disappears knowing he is here with me.
    My heart starts pounding, as I remember bean. I hope she's okay. I can't feel her moving and at this stage I have no way of knowing whether she is still inside me, or even alive. I try to squeeze Simon's hand, but again, I can't. Instead, I concentrate on the sound of him inhaling and exhaling.
    Something beeps continuously next to me, almost like a ticking clock, but louder. Something hard and uncomfortable is wedged down my windpipe. It makes me feel like dry retching, but of course, I can't.
    By now I've figured out, I'm in hospital. The sounds of the machines, Simon's hand grasped in mine and the distant chatter of other people. There is no other explanation, at least not in my mind.
    How long have I been like this? Hours? Days? Weeks?
    I don't know and it's the not knowing that scares me, as does the fact that I am aware of what is going on, yet I can't communicate. Every few minutes I hear the vibration of his phone, the same vibration that wakes me up every morning, just as his alarm is going off.
    I wonder who he is texting. Is it Claire?
    "Mr. Anderson," a male voice announces. I can't place the voice and the more I try to figure out what the hell is going on, the more my head hurts. Next to me I hear the sound of the cushion on the seat filling with air as Simon stands up. I know he’s standing up because he has let go of my hand. The warmth that was being kept inside is slowly seeping out.
    "How is she?" Simon's voice is low and there is a rawness to his tone. Has he been crying?
    "Let's talk outside," the doctor says.
    No! I want to scream, talk in here. I so badly need to know what's going on. I listen as their footsteps fade into the hallway. I want to scream, or cry, or just let someone know I'm here, but I can’t.
    Am I dying?
    I'm not in much pain, apart from the dull throbbing ache in my head. It's not knowing what the hell is going on that is upsetting me the most. It's always been that way, the uncertainty driving me crazy and I know that stems back to my childhood. Strangely, I'm so damn thirsty and though the muscles in my throat don’t react to the tube that is shoved down it, it’s so uncomfortable.
    My heart jumps as a hand touches my arm.
    "Hi Emma, how are you today, honey? It's Lucy again," her voice is friendly and warm and no more familiar than the male voice. She obviously knows who I am though. Her hand runs over my stomach and my breath catches in my throat. "And how's the little one?"
    The relief that floods through me is indescribable, the steady beeping speeds up slightly, which makes me think it's a heart monitor. That and the fact that it’s actually beeping in sync with the pounding in my chest.
    Bean. She must be still alive. In actual fact I have no idea whether we’re having a boy or a girl, but I have a feeling. Either way, I will be happy. Lucy's fingers rest on my wrist and I know she is taking my pulse.
    "I'm just going to put the thermometer in your ear, okay?"
    Knowing what to expect makes it much less scary. I assume Lucy is my nurse and I love her for talking to me, even though I'm not responsive. I make a mental note to hunt her down and thank her when I recover…if I recover…
    "All good, Emma. Your vitals are steady and so are your baby's." Her voice is soothing as her hand strokes my forehead, a gesture