Childish Tendencies

Frustration

Chapter 8 - Frustration

Fae

One month. It's been one month since Alia agreed to have the baby. We went to the hospital a week after the night she agreed. Arthur met us in the second hospital wing - the maternity section. I gave him a warning look as he advanced to us; he could not tell Alia about the cancer.

"Are we ready?" He asked, brushing his hands through his hair. Alia handed him the test tube of sperm we had removed from the sperm bank an hour before. Thankfully, Alia agreed to the donor I had picked quite easily. Probably cause she's been so caught up with that internship of hers, she can't stop yapping about it, and about that girl - Mia? Honestly, she's been getting on my nerves, especially when she sighs.

"I guess.." Alia mumbled.

"Great! Then if you guys could just follow me.." Arthur began walking down the hallway, "So let me just brief you about the happenings of today. Fae, you will go into surgery to get the eggs removed. We're going to be removing nine eggs. Then Fae's going to be in remission, so then you can go home, Alia. We'll call you back in a week when we've found the healthy embryos and fertilized them. When you come back, Alia you will go in surgery so we can insert the eggs into you. One of the eggs will fertilize and wallah, you have a baby!"

"Sounds.."

"Easy. Now let's get this done with," I cut Alia off.

My surgery went fine, and so did Alia's a week later. I tried to stop her from going to that wretched job of hers, but she wouldn't listen. That baby inside her - that healthy baby inside her, with no cancer, is my only chance of leaving a part of me with her. I can not let the baby die on me, not as a fetus. If Alia would goddamn listen then we would be so much safer.

Alia

One month. It's been one month since Mia kissed - pecked me, and I still can't get it out of my mind, even though I'm having a baby. Fae's baby. My girlfriend, Fae's baby. And it's not like Mia had kissed me again or something. All we did now was paint. Part of me was thankful that she finally agreed to painting but the other part of me was craving for her lips to touch mine. It's probably the baby hormones, but sometimes when I'm watching her paint, I have a sudden urge to wrap my arms around her waist and bury my face into her neck.

"Heyo little thing in Alia's tummy wummy. Can you here me?" Mia's voice calls into my abdomen, breaking away my thoughts. "Can the baby here me?"

"I don't think so Mia. It's still tiny."

"How tiny?" She looks up at me with fascination, her green eyes wide. I chuckle at her lightly.

"About this big," I lift my index fingers and show her.

"Ohhhh, that's so cutey wutey patootey," I laugh at her again.

"You are cutey wutey patootey," I pinch her cheeks.

"No I'm not! I'm big. I'm five!"

"Yeah you are!" Suddenly, she laces her fingers through mine.

"I'm holding the babies hand," she explains. I pull my hand away and swat her hand.

"Let's paint now,"

"Okay but I'm painting the baby!" She giggles, getting up and sitting in front of the canvas. The aroma of paint fills the air as she cracks the paint bottles open. Her fingers tie her hair up in a quick bun, exposing her neck. I sigh as she begins to paint.

I lie down on her bed, my hands wrapped around my tummy.

My eyes fly open to see a pair of green eyes hovering over mine.

"Alia went to sleep. Alia went to sleep," Mia sings. Her arms are near my neck on the bed. Her legs are around mind. She's straddling me.

I give her a confused look, "What are you doing?"

"Waking you up, I finished." She commented, proudly.

"Oh, get off me then so I can see,"

She shook her head, defiantly and yawned in my face. "I'm tired, let's sleep." I looked at her in surprise as she fell onto the bed, her body carved in like mine. Spooning. She's a kid, Alia. She's doing kid things.

Is she?

"What time is it?" I ask through her hair.

"Summer time," she giggles. ((readingisreality ))

"No, seriously."

"6.."

"What?!" I hustled out of the bed. "I'm late," I groaned. I flicked my hair into a ponytail, picked up my bag, and made for the door.

When I looked back at Mia, she was scratching into her black book again.