Breakfast In Bed (Fully English Sequel)

Chapter 2

Pain - that's the feeling that wakes me up, sweating at 2am in the morning. In the darkness, I hear Reece's lips smacking together over his teeth as he tastes slumber. My eyes strain to see that his are closed but he is awake in his dream – his facial expressions do all the talking. He is smiling, communicating with someone seductively.

"Reece."

A stir, followed by a neglectful turn to the side and a sound effect that tells me to stop disturbing him. He is sleeping. In a couple of hours, he will be up for work. When he comes back home, we'll talk.

"Reece," I repeat with more urgency.

The smile on his face is no longer apparent as I remove him from his dream.

"What?" He complains.

"Something's wrong."

My legs won't move no matter how much I try because of this fucking ache that is sprinting across my mid-section. Still Reece doesn't do anything but turn on the lamp and inspect me as if he is a doctor who can deduce what is going on by looks alone. The hope that I am overreacting is quickly swiped when he sees my expression and the bedsheets. It is wet.

"Oh shit."

"Call 999."

He jumps out of bed and grabs his phone to call the emergency services. In a three-way, half yelling, half crying shouting match, we relay details to the dispatch about my condition and we decide that we will drive to the hospital. There is no point waiting for an ambulance.

The decision is made and by then, I don't know where we are. The room keeps fading in and out of colour because I am being blinded by pain and deafened by my own whimpers. A moment comes where my vision clears and I see my reflection in Reece's car. Face peachy and sweaty, I see why Reece reacted the way we did. Wreck is an understatement. It looks like I have trudged through the depths of hellish heat to get where I am. I'm about to be sick but can't quite decide whether to vomit. In my gut, it feels like a punch but I know the feeling of being hit would be something I'd rather. That's how bad the pain is.

I pass out.

*

An alien is placed on my chest, a squealing, gargling human being with robust fists and wet hair is latching onto me. A camera snaps, there is an ooh and then Reece holds the baby to his own chest.

It feels like heaven but I know I am awake. My mouth is moving but I don't quite hear myself.

Even with unfocused eyes, I can see that she is premature. The way the doctors are poring over her, weighing her, tagging her and jabbing her tells me that they are worried. She wasn't supposed to arrive for another two and a half months so this was too soon. When Dr Grant said she was big, she'd lied. This baby was tiny, doll-like, and fake-looking. Maybe this was a dream? Or perhaps I was dead and I was looking at this from the afterlife or above? This moment couldn't be real. Reece assumes all of the attention: his father is taking pictures, a ginger-headed nurse mills and takes her from Reece before bearing down me. I hear a herald of congratulations from far away before skin touches skin and she is on my chest. The feeling is electrifying and immediately physical, I feel sick.

"Get her off," I whisper.

Nobody hears me.

The ginger woman is indicating to me but I can't soak in what she's saying, all I can feel is this foreign body leaning on me – pale and sticky to the touch with huge, scarily brown pupils.

"She wants to latch."

I hear screaming, and then my hospital gown is dragged down to reveal a swollen breast and I feel cold gums on my nipple. More aahs, but I'm so zoned I don't feel anything else much longer after that. Sleep comes and goes in waves and I know hours have passed by when I wake up again. The room is lit, Reece is sitting on a chair, his head tilted to rest on his hand in silence. It's clear the sleep he is having is disturbed and not restful. Like he is in a nightmare.