Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“No I haven’t. I’m losing my mind.” I grip his arm and groan. “Help me.”
“I don’t know how,” he admits sadly.
This isn’t the first time we’ve spoken about escaping. But every other kid who has tried has been brought back by the police and then beaten. The methods they use to get into your head is insane. They use electric shock therapy, intense exercise, isolation, basically low-grade torture techniques that fuck with your head. I’ve never been made to do the harder stuff because of my pregnancy.
I think back to my first nights here, the desperation I felt. The screaming I did. The kicking and fighting. They had to sedate me so often. I wouldn’t rest without a fight and at first my brother was the same, but then withdrawal kicked in and they managed to take over.
The door bursts open and Marshall is forced to let me go.
I try to run, I try to get away but I can’t. I feel the prick at my neck and my body becomes weightless. Just as they always do. They drug you and make you lucid and calm. But you’re not really calm it’s just your body that won’t work.
I’ve tried staying calm for months because I’m terrified of what the drugs are doing to the innocent life inside of me. It’s all about my baby now and not me. I can handle whatever they throw my way but she can’t. She is only as strong as my blood and flesh that feed and protect her.
“Her water just broke,” Savior Sally, who likely fucking dosed me says and I vaguely feel the wetness between my thighs.
“GET OFF HER!” Marshall roars as I’m lifted.
This is it.
Nothing has prepared me for this moment. Nothing.
“Meconium in the waters,” is uttered by somebody. I don’t know what that means. “Baby is in distress.”
I definitely know what that means. Is she okay? Did I hurt her by holding on for so long? Is this God’s way of punishing me for not telling them I was in labor?
Even though I knew it was coming I expected it to be different. I didn’t expect them to keep me sedated. I didn’t expect to only get to hear the sound of her cry. I didn’t expect to miss out on the entire fucking birth of my daughter.
They literally ripped her from my womb and sewed me back up. They didn’t even let me hold her or see her or say goodbye. What kind of monster doesn’t even let a mother say goodbye?
They said it’s less painful this way. They’re wrong. I’d rather have the pain of her face and her tiny fingers in my memory forever than not know a thing about her at all.
I always knew I’d return to my room hollow and empty, both my body and heart, but I thought I’d have at least gotten to see her face. They didn’t even tell me if she was a boy or a girl.
I don’t know anything about her.
The only memory I have is the sound of her cry.
I can’t move. I’m in so much pain.
Pain they say is a gift from God, like the gift of my daughter to a family who will love and cherish her and raise her as their own.
They didn’t even let me say goodbye.
They have won. They have broken me.
My stomach aches with the loss of her kicks and rolls. I’d lie in bed every night and talk to her for hours on end. Sometimes out loud. Sometimes in my head. Apart from my brief run ins with Marshall, those moments at night with her were my only saving grace. How will I survive this now?
Mee-maw comes to visit a few days later. I haven’t moved. I haven’t eaten. They will force feed me soon, they’ve done it before when I staged a silent protest at being here. I probably shouldn’t have starved my body but it was the only power I had left. I thought they’d send me home but the more I acted out, the tighter a lock and key they put on me.
At most I get up to pee but I’m in a lot of pain, yet they still force me to get up and join them in the gardens where families come to visit their victims. The pain is unbearable, but it’s still not enough pain to stop me from punching the old cow in the face. I’ve never been violent with her. I’ve never raised a hand back. But I fly at her so fast and with such fury the look of fear in her eyes before I connect is the most satisfying moment of my entire life.
It’s her fault my baby is gone. It’s her fault I’m trapped here.
My rage overcomes my pain and senses and I don’t stop. I’ve never felt so strong despite being so weak.