A/N:Updated. As promised, here is the next update for the story. Well boys and girls, we're coming to the end of 'All That Glitters' and I'm a little despondent. As you guys know, this particular Randy and Trish relationship was my first on FF. I've been reluctant to let them go, hence the little trilogy that I've began.
Based on what you guys have told me in reviews, messages and e-mails etc, I've decided to definitely go forward with the sequel. I have a few exciting ideas planned for it, ones which I hope you guys will enjoy.
However, first comes the end of this story. Based on my outline, I've got two chapters and an epilogue left to write. This particular chapter is probably the biggest I've ever come up with. I apologise if you guys' find it too long, but there was to logical place to split it. It's sort of a bridge between the last chapter and the next.
I hope you guys enjoy this. Please read and review! Hopefully the next update will be next weekend. I disclaim!
"Orton, I swear to god if you don't stay still I'm going to give you another concussion!"
Hands resting firmly on her lips, Trish glared down at her fidgeting husband. Perched on the edge of a chair in front of her, he had his arms folded tightly across his chest. Both his soft pink lips pouted, mirroring the expression glinting in the deep crystal blue pools of his eyes. The couple were in their bedroom, moments away from what was going to be one of the best afternoons in Trish's life.
A few days had passed since Randy had been discharged from the hospital. He had been diagnosed with a mild concussion after the brutal sixty-four minute match with John Cena. Randy had also managed to bruise two separate ribs, and aggravate his shoulder injury considerably in addition to the concussion, just to tarnish his win a little.
It was because of these injuries, or at least allegedly so, that Orton had been given a leave of absence by Mr. McMahon. Secretly, Randy suspected Vince was giving him the chance to be at home with his heavily pregnant wife. Despite the fact he was the new World Heavyweight Champion, Randy had been sent home. Not that the Champion had complained of course. The last time he had been given fourteen days off the WWE schedule, the circumstances had been somewhat more severe. Indeed, it had bee a pivotal moment of the young Legend Killer's career where he had almost lost his job.
Accepting the time off granted by Mr. McMahon in earnest, Randy had been allowed to travel back home to his house in St. Louis. More importantly, he was able to spend time with his wife.
Apart from his own injuries, Randy was glad that Vince had given him a brief respite. The management had promised to cover the promotion and duties associated with being the champion for as long as they could, so he was free of worries over neglecting his job. And Randy was thankful for that. With Trish as far along as she was in her pregnancy, he wanted to spend every waking moment with his wife. It would be nice to focus on her entirely, for a change. In fact, he was at her side every single hour of the day. Whether she wanted it or not.
For Trish's part, she felt a little crowded. Indeed, Randy wouldn't even let her go to the bathroom without sitting outside, making sure she was okay and didn't need assistance. Given that level of intrusion, Trish never let on that she was having personal space issues. In a way, she was touched by the concern Randy was showing, even if it was a shown in a strange manifestation. In truth, Trish simply liked having him at home with her. If that meant she had to put with him constantly hovering around her at all times day and night? Well it was a small price to pay. Randy's presence made her feel safe and secure, something she seemed to crave a lot more recently.
Of course, the added bonus of being back home was the fact that Trish could have her own baby-shower in her back yard. Originally, the event had been booked for a restaurant in the heart of New York City. Despite the glamour and glitz, Trish really didn't feel up to waddling into one of the trendiest restaurants in town to have her girlfriends squealing around her. Instead, she could celebrate the shower with a group of her dearest friends at home.
It seemed to be planned to perfection. They picked a perfect day in November, by all accounts. The sun was warm and bright, with a gentle autumn breeze in the air. The weather perhaps was a little un-seasonal for the time of year, but Trish was thankful for small mercies. The sky remained a deep blue, and devoid of any and all clouds. As it appeared to be determined to remain that way, that was one of many small concerns out of the way of the party.
Concerns were the order of the day however. Trish had woken up early, watching in earnest as a fleet of unmarked cars, jeeps and trucks started filling into her street. With no explanation from her friends or family, Trish was resigned to watch as hoards of people with boxes of all shapes and sizes had emerged from the vehicles. Converging on their backyard, Trish began to think that it looked more like a base for military operations as opposed to a baby shower.
And her husband was no help. Randy, who was clearly in on the plans for the day, had done his best to keep Trish away from the backyard. Even when several burly workmen had marched over their front lawn to the side of the house, wielding polished metal scaffolding as well as construction tools. Realising he would have his job cut out for him, Randy had even gone so far as to hang sheets over the windows and doors just so that all views were blocked from Mrs. Orton's prying eyes. Although she wasn't thrilled she was being kept in the dark, Trish couldn't deny that she was touched by all the effort.
Now, having been told that shed could head out to the backyard in thirty minutes time, excitement had gripped Trish like a fever. Changing her outfit no less than eight times, she had finally settled on a pair of loose fitting, boot cut jeans and a floaty white top. Its sleeves were large and hung easily around her arms, as it rested off the shoulder. The loose material hung delicate around her swollen tummy, hinting at the mound beneath. Not despondent to the fact that she could no longer where tight-fitting garments, Trish had selected a pair of extremely expensive Gucci high-heels to with the occasion. They hurt her feet so much that she knew they would have to come off very soon. But she would be the Trish Stratus if she didn't make a fabulous entrance. Pregnancy be damned.
Now finally dressed, all that was left for Trish to consider was the matter of husband. Dressed immaculately in a pair of denim jeans and a crisp white shirt, he looked indescribably handsome. The way the bottom few buttons remained undone on his shirt gave Trish a whole host of erotic thoughts that threatened to ignite her already burning temperature. Randy Orton was perfect.
Well, almost.
It seemed that even though his body was on the mend, the battle with John Cena at Survivor Series was determined to leave more obvious memories. Case in point, Randy had earned himself a particularly nasty looking bruise around his left eye.
Although much of the swelling had gone down since Sunday, the deep tones of purple and black still coloured his normally flawless tanned skin. Usually, Trish had no problem with bruises on the face of herself or her husband. Not even when they were forever committed to existence in pictures. Indeed, Trish would wear all her bumps and bruises as a mark of pride. They were badges of honour, earned from their shared profession as professional wrestlers.
Blame the pregnancy, or the importance placed on the day, but Trish couldn't seem to cope with the big bruise on Randy's face. Knowing people were going to be taking endless pictures, she was somehow not prepared to let Randy be shown sporting an ugly bruise in the reminders of this day for the rest of their lives. To this end, Trish had led him to their bedroom and sat him down. Reaching for her foundation, she had tried to cover the mark up with make-up. Catching on immediately as to what his wife was planning, it seemed that Randy Orton was having none of it.
"Trish," he whined, "I am not wearing make-up to your baby shower. Do you know what the guys would say about me if they saw with me make-up on?"
"They are not going notice Randy. It's not like I'm asking you to wear glitter and lip gloss is it?" Trish replied. "And even if they did notice a little bit of foundation, what does it matter? This day is supposed to be for me right?" Randy nodded mutely, not enjoying the layer of guilt Trish spread over him as easily as spreading butter. "Then for me, will you please just let me cover up that bruise. I don't want to look back at this day in years to come to see my husband with a big bruise on his handsome face. It wouldn't do you justice baby."
Obviously immune to flattery, Randy shook his head again. "I'm sorry baby. I love you, but it really is not going happen. Take me as I am, or not all." Tilting his head, Randy stayed steadfast in his defiance.
"You really won't let me cover it up?" Trish hoped Randy would somehow give in as she pouted her own lips, giving the best bedroom eyes she was capable. Randy looked distinctly unimpressed, holding his own stance. "There's nothing I can say to convince you to do this one thing for me?" Randy shook his head again.
Trish signed heavily. "Fine." Throwing the compact on their bed, she stalked across the room, silent in her fury. Feeling a twinge of guilt, Randy straightened in his seat. As much as she would do anything for his wife, sometimes the answer would just have to be no. This was a matter of masculinity. He could not wear his wife's make-up in front of his friends and family. The shame would never go away. Trish would to compromise on this, and have to accept it. Bruise and all.
Sat on the bed, with her back to Randy, Trish continued to fume. Arms folded across her swollen tummy, her fingers drummed against her upper arms as she plotted. Slowly, a devious smile crept over her lips. If there was anything Trish knew how to do, it was to get something out of her husband. No matter how much he protested he wouldn't do something, Trish knew very well he would. She just had to push the right buttons. Already with a plan of attack, she put on the best serious face she could muster.
Standing up from their bed, she flicked her hair over her shoulder. Taking a few steps to a set of drawers next to the bed, Trish knelt down to pick up the waste paper basket that was hidden beneath. Exhaling with effort as she stood back up, Trish silently reminisced of the days when she could actually bend over to pick things up. Placing the waste-paper basket on the bed, she smiled sweetly at Randy. Knowing his wife almost too well, Randy cocked an eyebrow. "Baby, what are you doing?"
"Just a little spring cleaning baby. Throwing out a few old things I'm not going to need anymore." Flashing him a winning smile, Trish pulled out the drawer at the top of the set.
Its importance was not lost on Randy, who knew very well what was kept in the drawer. Despite his effort to remain stubborn, he couldn't help but crane his neck to see what Trish was doing. "You're aware it's not spring, right baby girl? It's November."
Trish simply smiled. Reaching into the drawer, her hand reappeared. Twisted between her fingers was a lacy black bra, one Randy had bought for her on a trip to Europe. Smiling brightly at Randy, Trish simply dropped it into the waste basket. Randy started a little, his eyebrows knitted into confusion.
Licking her lips, Trish reached into the drawer again. This time, she brought out a pair of crimson French knickers. Hooking them over her thumb, Trish admired them for herself for a moment. Turning to face Randy, she simply shrugged before tossing them to join the bra in the waste paper basket. Randy couldn't help but let his jaw slacken at the massacre taking place before his eyes. Resting his hand on the bed, he leaned across to watch Trish.
Both his crystal blue eyes widened to almost bursting point as Trish disposed of his favourite leopard-print corset. Groaning softly, Randy's mind raced with a myriad of erotic thoughts. A mixture of memories of tearing the corset of Trish's body, sometimes with his teeth, along with fantasises he had yet to try out, raced through his head.
The final straw was about to come however. Trish smirked to herself as she spotted the one thing she knew Randy would never be able to part with. Reaching her hand into the drawer, she tightened her grasp before pulling it back out again. Gasping in abject horror, Randy could only watch as Trish held a particularly skimpy thong between her thumb and fore finger. Trish couldn't honestly remember why she had bought it. It was entirely too small, and was practically see-through. It didn't cover anything, and was uncomfortable as hell.
And yet, it drove Randy Orton to distraction. He could try and resist Trish, but never when she was wearing the thong. The longest he had ever gone was a full seven minutes before dragging Trish off somewhere to ride her like a man possessed. She giggled softly, as she remembered those seven minutes. It had been at a Hall of Fame ceremony a few years ago. Randy had been sat to her left, and she had been forced to scoot past him in order to reach the bathroom.
Somehow, her skirt had shifted up slightly, and Orton had been on the receiving end of a face full of Trish rear end, exploding out of the thong. Randy had lasted the seven minutes it had taken to watch the next award before leaping out of his seat and tearing after Trish. Suffice to say, the pair had missed the final two awards.
Randy clearly recognised the thong as Trish paraded it. Moving her hand, she held it over the waste-paper basket, enjoying the expressions crossing over Randy's face as she did so. It was like watching him have an inner struggle, the battle painted all over his face, as he tried to decide which was more important. His manly pride? Or his lover's body in that thong. Trish had no need to wait as he pounced forward, snatching the thong out of her grasp. Holding it tight to his chest, he pouted up at Trish. Sighing with indignation, Randy's head dropped compliantly.
"Just get it over with woman." Giggling, Trish reached for her compact.
Finally making their way downstairs, Trish gripped Randy's hand in her own as they stepped before their backdoor. Stepping behind Trish, Randy wrapped one arm around her as he reached for the nearest sheet. Leaning his head closer to her ear, his voice purred. "You ready for this?"
"Just…hold my hand." Trish chuckled nervously, squeezing Randy's hand in her own. Planting a kiss on her temple, he pulled the billowing white sheet free of the door.
Trish immediately felt her jaw slacken, and had to be guided into the yard by Randy.
Standing at the back of her house, Trish was lost for words. Directly opposite her, an arch of metal had been constructed. Spread across it was a large white banner, with 'Congratulations Randy and Trish' printed in bold gold and red colours. Hanging down the inside of the arch was a ruffled black curtain. The curtain reached all the way down to the wooden staging that had been constructed.
From the centre of the stage, a second stage jutted forward in a straight line, resembling a fashion catwalk. At the end and on either side of the catwalk, long tables were set out. Covered in crisp ivory coverings, the seats were filled by friends and family of the expectant couple. Trish's limp hand waved weakly in response to the enthusiastic waves coming from both sets of their parents. Friends and colleagues from the wrestling world were sat around the tables, all grinning at the touched expression Trish's face.
The table which stood at the front of the catwalk had two empty seats, each obviously reserved for Mr and Mrs Orton. Allowing Randy to lead her forward, Trish took the seat that he held out for her. On her immediate left sat Jeff Hardy, who pulled her into a warm embrace. No sooner had she sat down, than had her friend Lisa's head appeared from behind the black curtain. Known better in the wrestling world as the vixen 'Victoria', her face was creased into a knowing smile. "Sit your ass down pregnant lady, and enjoy. Hit the music monkey boy."
From Trish far right, David Bautista made a less than pleasant gesture in Lisa's direction, as he clicked the 'play' button on the nearby CD player. A dance remix of Mariah Carey's 'Honey' blared from the connected speakers dotted around the staging. Continuing to grin, Lisa raised her voice to be heard over the din of the music. "Ladies and gentleman…and those of you who ain't quite sure. Vito baby, if you missed that last part, I meant you honey." The assembled crowd chuckled as Vito waved at Lisa.
"Friends and family of the moose sat over there," Lisa winked at Trish, "and those of you responsible for bringing that man into this world," the raven haired woman stuck her tongue out at Randy, "it is my pleasure to welcome you all to the greatest show on earth. Yes, today you will witness the greatest spectacle in the entire world. Today, you will see…Trish Stratus' Seven Deadly Sins!"
Trish's brow furrowed in confusion as Lisa disappeared behind the curtains. The crowd cheered in good nature, just as Lisa reappeared. Stepping out from behind the curtain, she was dressed in a stunning black evening dress which clung to all her feminine curves. Walking leisurely to the left side of the main staging, she smirked as she received wolf whistles. Smiling at Trish, she began to speak. "Ladies and gentleman, I give you Trish's first sin…the sin of gluttony! In other words, my friend Trish, the moose-sized fat lady."
Parts of the crowd gasped in shock at Lisa's tongue, others cheered her for her particular brand on humour.
In any event, from behind the curtain, Amy Dumas appeared. Dressed in a black baby-tee, she grinned at Trish. Across her chest, the words "Trish's Seven Deadly Sins" was splashed, along with the word 'Gluttony'. In her hands, she clutched a photo frame, the picture of which was hidden from view, pressed against her stomach. Making her way down the catwalk, she stopped at the end, posing in front of Trish. Turning to her husband, Trish saw Randy's amused smile. He gave nothing away, so Trish turned back to face Amy. The red head turned the frame around to show a picture of Trish.
It had obviously been taken recently, considering the size of her swollen stomach. In one hand, Trish held a donut which looked as though it were being mashed into her face. Judging by the vigour in which the image showed she had been eating, Mrs. Orton had obviously been unaware that the picture was being taken. The crowd around her chuckled, as Trish felt colour rise to her cheeks. Obviously sensing his wife's embarrassment, Randy slung a loving arm around her shoulders, hugging him close to her.
Lisa it appeared, was in her element. "Now Trish, sweetie. I'm all for women empowerment and girls eating whatever the hell they want to cram down their throats. Fight the man, and don't count the calories!" Several females in the audience as cheered, as Trish could only fear what was coming next. "But my god girl, what the hell were doing? Pregnancy or not, did you even plan on chewing that bad boy, or were you just going to swallow it whole, fist and all?"
Shaking her head, in mortification more than anything else, Trish avoided eye contact with just about everyone. Knowing where to draw the line, Lisa chuckled. "Trish, you know how to enjoy yourself and spend some quality time. So, in honour of your varied gluttonies behaviour, now you can really treat yourself with your first gift."
Amy smiled as she stepped down towards Trish. Reaching into the back of her jeans, she pulled free a crisp white envelope which she placed on the table in front of Mrs. Orton. Snatching it up, Trish tore it open, using the paper inside to cover her burning red face. From the stage, Lisa called out to Trish. "That's right. Trish, you've won yourself an all expenses paid trip to the beautiful island of Maui. There, you're going to spend a weekend in a health spar where you will be pampered. You can be lazy till your big ass is content." Trish thanked Amy, before looking back to the staging, silently terrified of what was to come next.
The afternoon continued in the similar vein, with several members of Trish's friends and family appearing on the stage, each representing one of Trish's 'sins'. They had ranged from Candice Michelle representing pride to Lisa portraying wrath. During her performance, Candice had impressed upon the audience Trish's legendary status as a seven-time Women's Champion and her place in the future Hall of Fame.
Lisa however, had highlighted how badly Trish had beaten several men and women in the company beyond belief in her capacity as wrath.
Eventually relaxing into the event, Trish was having a wonderful time. Although her friend revelled in duty as host, and embarrassing Trish at every opportunity, it was all done in good spirit. Besides which, Trish had earned herself presents, which was never a bad thing.
It seemed Lisa had been saving the best for last however. With all six sins standing side by side on the staging, it was time for the final sin to be presented. Taking centre stage, Lisa grinned down at Trish. "And now Trish, it's time to meet quite possibly your biggest sin. It's definitely one you bring out in other people, but you've displayed it yourself on more than on occasion girlfriend. Ladies and gentleman, I give you Trish Stratus' final deadly sin. The sin of lust!"
The crowd went into a cheering frenzy, as Trish giggled softly. Her face fell however, as another figure appeared from behind the curtain.
Trish hadn't even realised Randy had slipped from her side, at least until he had appeared on the stage. Dressed in a police officer's uniform, he stepped forward, much to the appreciation of the females members in the crowd. Posing and strutting, Orton made a show of sliding his sun glassed down over the bridge of his nose. His crystal blue eyes sparkled at the crowd assembled before him, an arrogant smirk curving his pink lips. The blue police officer's shirt was stretched impossibly tightly over Randy's body, so much so that it couldn't be fastened properly. His chest and abdomen was displayed in all their separate glory, as Randy waved a pair of handcuffs suggestively in his hand.
Parading down the main catwalk, he motioned for Trish to join him on stage. Shaking her head, Trish could scarcely believe her eyes. Obviously, not taking no for an answer, Randy jumped down from the stage and marched over to Trish. Taking her by the hand, he led her on the stage, where someone had already placed a chair.
Sitting her down, Randy smirked as he took a step back. Nodding at Batista, the yard was filled with the pounding beat of the Pussycat Doll's hit single, 'Buttons'. The gathered friends and family began cheering as Randy slowly began to grind his hips, his backside presented to Trish as wound it expertly.
Turning to face Trish, he removed the sunglasses from his eyes, tossing them aside. Immediately, his hands reached for the remaining buttons on his shirt, and slowly began to loosen them. The shirt gave away easily, exposing Randy's torso to the blushing Trish. Reaching forward, Randy took her hands in his own, and slowly guided her palms down over his chest and abdomen. The tanned skin was hard with defined muscle, but covered in oil to show the deep etches of definition.
Taking his shirt off entirely, Randy stretched it out between his legs, grinding back and forth across the stretched material. Girls screamed, and men cheered in humour as Randy smirked, lapping up the attention. Tossing it out to the seat crowd, one of Trish's cousins squealed in delight as she caught it. Leaning closer to Trish, Randy moved his face into Trish's chest. His tongue found the crevice between her breasts, exploring the way up her neck to the lobe of her ear. Pulling back, he winked at Trish.
Dancing around his wife, Randy gripped the waist band of his trousers. In one swift move, he ripped them free of his legs. Clearly fastened by velcro, the legend killer was left in a simple black thong, covering what little existed of his modesty.
Randy threw the pants to the ground as he continued to dance, now moving around to be in front Trish. Wearing only a black thong, bent over in front of Trish, to touch his hands to the ground. Trish shrieked in mock horror as the rounds of Randy's buttocks thrust their way back and forth in front of her face. Standing back up, Randy moved as though he were going to remove the thong, much to the loud cheers from the females present. He made a show of sliding the garment down over his thigh, and Trish clasped a hand to her mouth to stop her from screaming. Rand was clearing more than willing to go the entire way, but was stopped as Lisa ran forward. Wrapping a length of material around his waist, she jabbed Randy in the chest to move him aside as the female members of the crowd booed in earnest.
Kneeling down next to Trish, Lisa grinned softly. "What possessed you to marry that guy? Massive penis or not, the guy's a tool."
Her skin flushed an intense pink, Mrs. Orton could not believe what she had just been a part of. Despite the fact her husband had been stripped and dancing like a hooker in a thong, he had done it front of his friends and family, including her own mother. Not able to offer any explanation, Trish could only giggle as she pulled her friend into a hug.
"Stripper my ass." Trish chuckled softly.
Night had fallen on the Orton household. The baby shower had ended, and the majority of the guests had departed. The final few members of the clean up crew had now dispersed, removing the final traces of the event that had taken place that afternoon.
Candice Michelle, Lisa and Melina had stayed longer to help Trish move her presents inside. She'd received a considerable amount, and was thankful for all the effort put in by the people closest in her life.
Indeed, her good mood had been such that Trish had agreed to let Randy go out into town with the boys. The usual suspects of the locker room had invited her husband out for a 'guys' night, to celebrate his impending fatherhood. Trish agreed to lift his 'no alcohol' ban for the evening, much to the excitement of Randy. Promising he wouldn't be out late, he had left Trish with her friends. Knowing full well he would return completely wasted, Trish could only smile as she relaxed for the rest of the evening with her friends. Candice had even been good enough to massage Trish's lower back, which had been plaguing her all afternoon. It stood to reason, that with the added weight of an Orton baby in her stomach, a lot more stress was going to be placed on Trish's spine.
The evening had been relaxed and easy, with the girls sharing fruit smoothies and talking about their own future as wives and mothers. Candice had even announced that John Cena had proposed to her recently. Trish couldn't have been happier for her two friends, and wished Candice every happiness. Even Lisa admitted that she was craving some kind of stability from her boyfriend of eight months Chris Masters, who had asked her to move in with him. It seemed that Diva's locker room was finally starting to settle down. It was a notion Trish found strangely comforting.
Now, with all her gifts inside, it was time for the girls depart. The RAW brand was flying to another the morning, and so the girls had to head back to their hotels. Their flight was early, and each had to pack. Not to mention the fact that Melina had babbled on about her need for a decent beauty sleep.
"I thought he gave a pretty decent show," Melina smiled, as she finished the last of the chocolate cake that had been made for the day. "Randy can definitely move his hips in a great way. Maybe I should see if he's willing can give me a private dance? I bet he'd love to have a few dollars in the waistband."
"You realise I am never going to hear the end of this." Trish sighed in mock exasperation. "He's going to think he's a freaking Chippendale with the reaction he got from the crowd. And I'm not sure how I feel about the sight of my husband in a black thong. Especially when he looks better in it that I do."
Lisa snorted with laughter as she pulled open the front door to Trish's home. Candice and Melina each hugged Trish, before filing out of the door onto the porch. "That's just life with a gay-husband Trish. You'll get used to it. When he starts wearing your lipstick, then you should be concerned." Hugging Trish tightly who was smiling secretly, Lisa smoothed down the back of her friends blonde hair. "Seriously. Congratulations Trisha. I'm thrilled that you're going to be a Mom. And actually kinda jealous as hell. I'd better be godmother."
Trish giggled, waving as her friends headed down her path to the waiting taxi parked at the curb. "Thanks again for everything guys. You're the best friends a pregnant woman could have. Call me when you get to California." Resting against the door frame, Trish waited until the car had pulled away before thinking about going back inside. Sighing into the cool night air, she stepped back into her house, pushing the front door to a close.
Heading into the kitchen, her lower hand slowly rubbed at her lower back which had started to ache once more. Trish kicked off her shoes, wishing she had been able to reach down to rub her swollen feet.
Filling the kettle with hot water, Trish set it off to boil. Placing a cup down on the surface, her hand gracefully stretched upward towards the cabinet on the wall. A sharp pain in her pelvis stopped her, causing Trish to wince. Gently rubbing her swollen stomach, Trish reached with her other hand to the cupboard. Taking out a herbal tea, she placed it in the cup.
"I think we've had more than enough excitement for one day. We'll drink this and head to bed. We'll be woken up soon enough anyway, when your Daddy comes stumbling back in." Trish smiled softly down at her stomach, as though the baby growing inside could hear her. Pouring the hot water into the cup, she headed out of the kitchen.
As she crossed to enter the hallway, another pain, this time in the core of her hips, forced her to stop. Leaning against the wall for support, Trish gritted her teeth until the pain had subsided. It was brief, but seemed like a lifetime for its duration. Sighing, Trish carefully made her way to the stairs. Leaning against the wall, she took each step once at a time, not rushing herself in fear of another pain. Reaching the next level of her home, she made her way towards her bedroom, the flat of her palm trailing along the wall as she moved.
Still using the wall as a support, she reached around to flick on the light switch. The bedroom became flooded in light. Walking forward, Trish slowly sat down on the bed. Placing her tea on the bedside table, she carefully leant backwards. Her head fell easily down onto the mound of feather pillows.
Exhaling deeply, Trish rested her hands on the swell of her stomach, making gentle circular motions. Almost dropping into sleep, Trish was brought back to full alertness as another wave of pain rode through her. It started as a tight feeling in her pelvis, but didn't remain centred there. It progressed further, as though she were having a menstrual cramp. Clutching her stomach, Trish breathed through clenched teeth. Her breath came out as an angry hiss, as her eyes screwed shut. The pain finally gave away after a few seconds, letting Trish's breathing return to normal.
Forcing herself to sit up, Trish looked down at her legs, only to gasp in horror. The bed below her was soaked through, as though someone had deposited a load of water there. Eyes widening in shock, she realised exactly why the bed was the way it was.
Her waters had broken.
"Labour…I'm going into labour." Trish own voice sounded distant in her own ears. The expectant mother could not deny the tone of dread echoing in her voice.
Reaching over the bedside table, Trish forced herself to remain calm as she grabbed the phone. Holding the receiver up, she methodically punched in Randy's cell phone number. No sooner had she moved her thumb to hit the dial button, when another contraction hit her. This one seemed more painful than the last, actually causing Trish to cry out. The phone fell from her hand, clattering to the floor at the side of the bed. Tears stung her eyes, and Trish sobbed gently.
Something wasn't right. The contractions were coming hard and fast. Too fast, as a matter of fact. Was she in labour? When had it started? Forcing herself to try and think clearly, Trish focused on the breathing techniques Megan had detailed to her.
The first pain started downstairs, in the kitchen.
No, wait. There's been pain in my back since this afternoon. That was three hours ago. Could that have been the start of the labour? Trish sniffed gently, realising what she had taken to be the baby's weight causing her spine to ache, had actually been the early stages of labour.
Panting, Trish tried to reach for the phone at the side of the bed. The dull ache which exploded into a searing pain in her pelvis stopped her. Choking back a cry of pain, Trish's head fell back against the pillow. Tears burned into her eyes, as her voice came out as a strained whimper. "Randy…"
The pain reached levels Trish scarcely knew existed. This was all wrong. As the room began to spin around her, Trish became vaguely aware of someone calling her name.
But it wasn't enough to save her however, as Trish slipped into the waiting arms of unconsciousness.