Chills

nineteen

"Something's not right, Robby!" I shriek loudly so that my voice travels all the way down the stairs. I hope he can detect the terror in my voice as well so he can hurry up and get here.

Immediately, I hear Robby drop whatever he's doing and race up the stairs. I know exactly which step he's on thanks to his elephant stomp but it doesn't seem fast enough.

"Hurry!!" I gasp.

"What's wrong?" he spits out before he takes a deep breath.

There's not that many steps, c'mon Robby.

I double over in pain and suppress a groan when he's finally standing in front of me. His eyes widen like two huge marbles. It's like a déjà-vu from when I told him I was pregnant. He has that same worried facial expression plastered on his face. His arms are around me in the next instant, wrapping around me for warmth and support.

"What's wrong, Ivree!?" he repeats. The panic in his voice is so painfully obvious that it makes my pulse quicken.

He wouldn't have made a very good emergency technician or a doctor, he would've made everyone freak out more than they had to.

"Robby," I hiss. The next words out of my mouth are extremely calm and slow that I even surprise myself. "Please, calm down. You're making me nervous."

Another shock of pain shoots through my abdomen, and I don't have time to close my mouth to stop the scream. Robby flinches when the yell leaves my mouth. My knees buckle from under me.

"Ivree, oh my God! What do I do? What should I be doing?" Robby's arms support my weight, and the baby's. Even though I've told him to stop panicking, he's being hysterical. "Ivree!"

Black spots start appearing in the corner of my eyes and I begin to feel slightly light-headed.

However, I don't care about myself. All that's on my mind is the decision I would have to make if it came down to who would live between the baby and me.

I'd choose the baby, obviously. Ask any mother and they'd give you the same answer. I've lived up to my full potential and I'm happy if my life were to end right now. This baby deserves a chance to be able to do that and to do everything they want. They should have the right to find their happiness too.

"Robby!" I grit my teeth. "Call 9-1-1 or drive me to the hospital!"

Just because I've already chosen who's going to live between the two of us doesn't mean I've given up. I want to be able to hold my beautiful baby in my arms and sing them lullabies as they're falling asleep. I want their tiny fingers wrapping around my index and them cooing with laughter when I make a funny face.

Robby looks unsure whether he should leave me here by myself or carry me all the way downstairs to the phone. He goes with the latter. He scoops me up in one quick motion; I wrap my arms around his neck as he places a large hand on my back and in the crook of my knees. I'm barely holding on when he starts running down the stairs, two by two, and I'm terrified that he's going to drop us (the baby and me).

"Robby, please slow down."

Something that feels like claws rip through my stomach. I can feel my muscles tense as the pain doesn't go away right away. Is this what labour feels like? I just want to howl in pain but that wouldn't do Robby nor the baby any good.

"Never mind, run Robby! Get me to the hospital pronto!"

He's just about to reach for the phone when I yell this into his ear, so he does a 360 degrees and heads for the garage. He kicks open the door and walks down the three steps to the car.

I dig my nails into his back as a realization hits me.

"Robby, you forgot your keys," I growl.

My patience is running thin and Robby isn't helping. Sweat beads on my temples at the struggle of hiding my growing pain. I rub my hands on my belly of six months.

Hang in there little baby.

Robby's eyes seem to bulge out of their sockets as what I've said finally registers.

"Keys, right! Stupid!" he mumbles softly.

Robby places me back on the ground carefully. His eyes never leave my stomach.

"Are you giving birth? Isn't it too--"

"--Robby, now's not the time to be asking this! GET THE KEYS!"

When he spins on his heels and rushes back into the house, I let myself dawdle in my scorching pain. I double over and groan loudly. My eyes fix a certain spot on the ground and I try forgetting about what my baby's going through right now.

Will they be alright? If I am going into labour right this second, then Robby's right: it's too soon. It's only been six months. That's how I know something's wrong, but of course I'll never admit this to Robby--the drama queen.

He rushes back inside the garage and presses the button on his car keys to unlock the vehicle. He's about to get into the driver's seat when I give him a glare. He freezes in his tracks and then heads towards me.

"No, I did not forget," he mutters.

Robby takes my hand and then lifts me up so he can carry me to the other side of the car. While balancing my weight on one arm, his free hand opens the passenger's door. When I'm safety and securely in my seat, he sprints back to the driver's seat.

"Can I ask--" he starts just as he's exiting the garage.

"--You may not. Give me your hand."

Robby reluctantly places his hand on my thighs. He keeps looking in the corner of his eyes every few seconds to see what I'll do. I don't move his hand right away because I'm waiting for a wave of pain to roll away first.

"Eyes on the road," I snap.

I gingerly take his hand in mine and gently place it on my stomach. I grit my teeth and scrunch up my nose when a sharp pain stabs me in the stomach. I place my hand right beside Robby's while fighting the instinct to screech like a wild animal. Maybe if the baby feels our love for them, the pain will go away. Or maybe they'll fight harder to stay alive.

Stupid theory, I know, but it's worth a shot. I don't want to lose them. This baby has become everything to me in these past six months. I couldn't even do anything like sports, drinking or going to parties because I wanted to protect my little one. That's why I stuck with painting all these months. It's a quiet hobby that barely asks you to move. I liked painting before but now that I did it like everyday, I learned to love it.

I was going to teach the baby when they were old enough how to paint because I wanted them to appreciate art.

I wish I could stop saying 'them' whenever I refer to the baby but Robby and I had denied the chance they gave us to find out the sex because we wanted it to be a surprise. I wish I would've taken that opportunity.

"I can feel them squirming," Robby comments, waking me from my thoughts.

I hadn't noticed my belly move, probably because I'm so focused on my pain and not losing my baby. I press my palm into my stomach, desperately searching for the life in my stomach. Something inside me seems to pop because in the next moment a hot liquid is dripping from where my baby is supposed to be ejected in three months.

"Robby," I gasp.

I fight to breathe when the air gets knocked out of my lungs. I think I'm going into shock. The sticky substance keeps pouring out and pooling on the car seat.

"Ivree!?" Robby's hands move to my burning cheek. "Hey, c'mon! We're almost there! Just a few more minutes, hold on!"

Robby's voice sounds distant. My brain doesn't even register what he says. It just goes in one ear and goes out the other.

I feel weak. I have an idea of what the liquid is but I won't admit it. I've seen plenty of documentaries and read many baby books to know everything that could go wrong. Blood coming out of your uterus is definitely a red flag when you're pregnant.

Tears cascade from my eyes but I still refuse to accept what's happening. My baby is fine. Nothing will be able to take them away.