Two Weeks Later…
I awoke with a start in the middle of the night. I moaned and rolled out of bed, struggling to remember where I was. I felt an unwelcome lurch in my stomach, and Blade wasn't around.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up what ever it was I had had for dinner. The sound of thundering footsteps soon reached my ears. I moaned loudly and hoisted myself up, trying to get out.
"Leaving so soon?" a voice asked me. I looked up into the cold blue eyes of Blade. He smirked at me, looking as if he knew something I didn't.
"In fact I was," I told him, hugging my somewhat small shirt close to my body. He took a step closer to me and backed me into the wall. His eyes were locked on mine; I couldn't look away. I felt like throwing up again, but I didn't.
"What's wrong? Maybe it's something inside you?"
I narrowed my eyes. Something inside of me? What the hell did he mean, something inside o -- I gasped and reeled back into the wall.
Blade smirked. "Been missing something lately?" he asked, digging his hands into my shoulders. My eyes grew wider. I had skipped this month.
"Seems you have," he said in his gravely voice. "When were you planning on telling me?"
"I-I didn't even think about it," I stuttered. I was backed into a corner with nowhere to run.
"I'm sure."
I fell to my knees and started to cry.
"No, no, no," I moaned. "Not this, anything, please. . ." He smirked at me and tilted my head up.
"Go get some sleep. I want my child to be strong." He left me then, and I slowly dragged myself back to my small bed, tears seeping from my eyes. All I could think about was Mush; how would he would react? Would he want to keep it? Would he want to leave me? I was crazy. Mush didn't even know where I was! I had been here for two weeks and he'd never found me.
I moaned, thinking of Flight's dead baby. Would the same thing happen to mine? Would I want it to happen? If it was Mush's baby, I could never wish it upon my child, but Blade . . .
I shuddered and wrapped my thin, moldy blanket around me. How could this have happened? I soon drifted into a horrible sleep, having nightmares about my life with his child.
Mush collapsed on his bed. It felt empty without Catwalk. He looked over at Spot, who seemed to be living in a dream state. His ocean blue eyes were glazed over. His hair had been unwashed for two weeks and his breath reeked of alcohol. He had been taking Flight's disappearance hard, and searched the streets of New York for her by day and night. Between the times when he gave up and took the quest back up, he attempted to drown his sorrows. Mush on the other hand, had been looking on the bright side for the first week, but now, he was bitter and didn't do much except look for his wife.
They'd searched apart, together, gotten every single newsie in New York looking for Flight and Catwalk, but there had been no sight of them. How was that possible? Had they been murdered and dumped in the river? Or skipped away merrily down the yellow brick road? Mush snorted despite himself. He sighed and ran his fingers though his unwashed hair.
"Spot. . . " he started wearily, "one more time . . ." Spot lifted his dark rimmed eyes to Mush. His eyes looked dead.
"What are we even looking for anymore, Mush? Our children? Wives? Corpses?"
"Spot, how could you say that about your wife? Your unborn child? They're still alive. I can feel it."
Spot dropped his head wearily into his hands. Dirt encrusted fingernails dug into his hair, and he slowly began to shake with grief.
"Mush . . . I can't."
"Spot. You've got too. For Flight. For Catwalk." Mush was already forgetting to listen to his own words.
I woke. How many times had I wearily opened my eyes to this bare, gray, cracked room? The room that was caked in dry blood. My baby. I groaned, remembering yet trying so hard to forget.
It had been awful. That, Chase, was he called? had hit me continually as he dragged me up the stairs to this room. He had forced me to drink that vile liquid. And I had spilled my insides. The room still stank of it.
Earlier I heard Catwalk in the bathroom. She had been crying. Catwalk was pregnant with his child, I knew.
Blade soon stolled into my room. He had knelt next to me and caressed my cheek softly. I was too weak to pull away, and shuddered. Blade grinned and leaned in toward my ear. I felt his putrid breath against my neck as he said, ever so sweetly, "You're next." I wanted to punch him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to die. But I couldn't. Not die. Not without seeing Spot one last time. I . . . I had to tell him I was sorry . . .
The floor seemed to move underneath me as I tried to stand up, but I fell to my knees instead.
I heaved, and the measly breakfast I had consumed spilled to the already caked floor. I groaned. My hair was matted and felt disgusting, but I knew he would never let me wash it. Wash my dead child out of it and off of me.
silence
Butterfly: Ahem. Race, you're cue, dear.
Race: Oh! Right! Sorry. Review or Butterfly and Spicy will kick you in the shins. Have a nice day!
