Insignificant creature. Why do you still fight?
Andre, though her small and seemingly insignificant thoughts held little consequence to the balance of the world, wondered where she came from. In perfect honesty, she wondered if she came from anywhere at all. She had always been told by her guardians (a middle-aged French couple living in the US) who made it perfectly clear that her parents abandoned her as an infant on their doorstep. They had always angrily emphasized that she did not need to concern herself with them whenever she guiltily asked. But the less she thought about them, per her guardians' threats, the more she had to face the fact that her guardians did not fill the roles she imagined her real parents would. They weren't exactly child-oriented, often having her labor away as they minded their own drunken business. At her young eight-year-old age, she was preforming tasks daily that should have been left to an adult of a better condition.
Andre also had health condition, a repercussion of having been born earlier than she should've. Despite that her mind was still young and fragile, she knew that her bodily functions were not normal. She couldn't describe the way her body reacted, nor could she properly explain how she felt. But she knew that something was wrong with herself.
When her guardians did take the time to acknowledge her pained complaints, they would take her to the nearest doctor for an examination. However, the "nearest doctor" was an elderly gentleman who was the closest in a 100-mile radius. He ran a small, tattered pharmacy and inadvertently claimed to know about as much as a horse when it came to doctoral matters. Nevertheless, he was all she had in any type of medical field, and he claimed that she likely had a "weak heart." Her guardians would mumble something about "not enough cash" whenever the doctor would suggest visiting a specialist.
The way they guzzled down alcoholic beverages did not help their financial situations, nor did it imply that their medical conditions were any better than her own. She tried her best to mind her own business and not bother her guardians, especially after their "happy hours," since they had a terrible tendancy to lash out at her if she made even the weakest peep.
Adding everything up, Andre could be considered a recluse, of sorts. She was quiet, considerate, and shy. She taught herself much of what she knew. She had to learn how to survive in her current state, to avoid conflict, danger, and things that brought fear. Pain was intolerable, and she did her best to avoid it at all costs.
It often seemed that her only friends were both the spiders that spun their webs in her cold, dank attic room and the plush bear her guardians had bought her as a toddler. Many times, she would be in much pain and would cry herself to sleep. Other times sleep would simply evade her. During these moments of turmoil and instability, Andre would imagine her real parents.
The idea that she had been abandoned never actually sat well in her mind, and even after the constant lectures she received from her caretakers, she never truly understood what it meant. She liked to imagine them as guardian angels, somehow, secretly admiring and watching her, having left her because they had to, not because they wanted to. She would always crack a smile at her vivid imagination, considering her parents swooping down and hugging her tightly, carrying her away from her situation and taking her away with them, wherever they lived, where they would love her and take all her immeasurable pain away. Perhaps then they would return for her.
Maybe they misplaced her like she misplaced her teddy bear sometimes. Maybe they were just waiting for the perfect moment; the right time to come and be her savior. Perhaps they forgot where she was and didn't know where to find her. Andre weighed heavily on the latter thought. If her parents couldn't find her, how could she find them first?
Andre's eyes fluttered open as the chilling cold swept through her covers, resulting in a shiver and quick attempt to shelter herself from the freezing temperatures of the cold attic. Mornings like this always made her feel extra tired; exhausted, even. Her eyes slowly shut but were unceremoniously opened when an annoyed woman's yell crawled its way up the stairs.
"Breakfast is cold." She could hear a door slam shut a few moments after, signifying that the woman and her husband had both left for work, per the usual, leaving the housework undone. Per the usual.
Andre's brows furrowed as she slowly rose to a sitting position, acknowledging her familiar pain. She examined her reflection in the mirror on the dresser across from her bed. Her black hair fell below her back, curling at the where it rested at the small of her back. Despite its unkempt nature, In and of itself, her hair was uncharacteristically lovely, being a deep charcoal black, neatly blending in with her tan skin. Her guardians suggested that she had some sort of Spanish or Latino descent, to which she cocked her head in curiosity. Andre didn't know what that meant, but she still considered it as something special.
Rising towards her dresser, she pulled out a casual T- shirt and a pair of dusty, torn jeans, donning them quickly, knowing that her breakfast would grow ever colder if she did not hurry herself along. Barefooted, a quick descent down the stairs revealed that a cracker and a cup of milk had been set haphazardly on a napkin on top of the dining room table. She sighed, grateful that her guardian had at least considered her well enough to leave her something to eat this morning.
Throughout the day, Andre completed various tasks and chores. Attending to the kitchen, feeding the couple's chickens, cleaning and dusting the house from top to bottom, washing and hanging the cloths to dry, and picking various items from the garden that she tended to regularly.
It was late evening before Andre finally retired to the living room. Even with a throbbing, newly acquired bruise on her leg, complements of an angry rooster, she managed to subdue the pain with an ice pack, settling down on the living room sofa for a read of her favorite book with a few crackers to munch on. She never expected her guardians to return home any earlier than midnight, as they typically would clamber to the counter of the bar that they both worked at after their respective shifts ended. Either that, or bring the party home early, which had happened more times than Andre cared to count-or recall. Thus, she allowed herself to stay up a little later at the mercy of her read.
Tonight, however, happened to be one of those nights where the party came home. Andre anxiously acknowledged the truck headlights move past the window. Her heart rate accelerated as she scrambled to her feat, eyes wide in terror as her guardians burst through the doors, bottles of alcohol in hand, words slurred and movements clunky. Their passionate singing stopped abruptly as both sets of eyes glared at her. At first, they both seemed confused, leaning against each other, an arm on each's shoulder. Andre gulled past the ever-evolving lump in her throat. The confusion gave way to realization, and realization to anger.
Andre clutched the book tightly to her chest, the heavy tension fueling her every desire to run for her life. But she knew by the state of her unresponsive muscles, even under intense stimuli, that she was frozen in place.
The women, moving quickly, grabbing her by her long locks, earning a startled yelp from the child. "Why are you still awake?" She demanded as if expecting the child to have been in bed, voice slurring as she stumbled a bit. Andre's sobs filled the room as she struggled to free herself from the drunken women's vehement grasp. "I-I…" She sobbed, earnestly trying to redeem herself from her oppressor.
The women glared at her husband, a brawny, grisly man who played mechanic on his days off, fully expecting him to take some sort of reproving action towards the child's behavior. He nodded his head. Now he seemed to be somewhat more coherent as he scowled deeply, fiercely grabbing the struggling, bawling girl by her arm, dragging her mercilessly into the garage.
"I will not allow such behavior of disobedience in this house." He spat venom with a heavy accent, eyes filled with rage, Andre's filled with tears and an expression of pure, unhinged terror.
This was going to hurt.
Overwatch headquarters. Eight years ago.
"This isn't exactly what I had in mind."
"Oui. Redemption was never meant to be simple, mon cheri. That is why it is not so easily obtained."
A slender woman, in her mid-30's, long black hair spilling down her back and past her hips, dressed in a casual shirt and skinny jeans, leaned her elbows against the glass pane that separated her from her comrade, a cloaked man who appeared to be the face of Death himself. She tapped the glass thoughtfully, keeping her eyes focused on the motion of her finger tip. She caught sight of the man's face, or, what she assumed was behind the mask. Somber, ready to accept whatever punishment the council deemed worthy, but also worried for her wellbeing. Perhaps a touch of major guilt as well. His silence spoke volumes to those who knew him, his tendencies, and idiosyncrasies.
She understood how he felt. Her own liberation process had been painful, to say the least. Having to have the likes of that dead husk of a woman removed had been less than preferable, but it had been necessary. Though she still struggled with the side effects and the recovery process, she felt renewed, as if a second chance at life had graced her soul. Still, she knew she had been let off with the "brainwashed" argument. Her dearest was not so fortunate. She hoped that, perhaps with time and whatever patience he could manage to supply himself, someday, he would feel the same.
Her eyes traveled up the glass pane and met his downcast mask, glazed with an invisible layer of defiance. She clicked her tongue, smirking.
"You have to take it 'like a man,' mon cheri. We made this choice together, and now we must face the consequences."
His eyes met hers, a slight scoff escaping his throat as he shook his head, resulting in a snort from her.
"Why the long face, Gabriel?" She prompted, jesting, fully expecting for him to lose his pride-ridden bravado any moment. He scoffed, crossing his arms as he paced the length of the room and back, rubbing a hand across his masked face.
"I'm sure you wouldn't be surprised if I told you that I'm not especially concerned about what kind of punishment the council cooks up." Gabriel's voice was naturally hoarse, a sense of humor added to the mix. "Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if they came through those doors right now and told me that I'm sentenced to serve forty years in a containment cell and the rest in exile, rehabilitation, probation, or some crap like that." He snorted, never losing the edge in his gravely tone as he chuckled. Even in the face of an undesired outcome, he still managed to grasp whatever wits he clutched onto to keep his ever-lingering sanity in check. "They never could come up with anything original, which is why they never agreed with my methods."
Amelie snorted, leaning closer into the window. She knew he was keeping this façade up for his own conscious' sake. "You've had punishments like this before, no?" She raised a knowing brow.
"being commander of a covert operation meant that sometimes you offered your head on a silver platter." He stated, cracking his neck with a snicker. "But I managed to keep mine all right."
Amelie's expression was sympathetic as she considered their current situation. Overwatch was rehabilitating, regaining and picking up what remained of its former glory. Talon, in contrast, was nothing but a shell of its former self, being run by wannabe mercenaries who constantly struggled to alleviate the power struggle that constantly loomed over its nigh-to-nonexistent intelligence.
After everything had been said and done, after the power disputes between Overwatch, Omnic, and Talon brought the world to its knees; after all hope was lost, Overwatch ultimately turned the tables on the enemies, once again taking the wheel in hand and ushering in the age of world peace. And as peace must come with a price, it was not without much bloodshed and horrific events that would forever alter the course of history. Earth would never forget, and soon commonly shared ideologies brought enemies together in unison as comrades to preserve the planet they fought so hard to control.
Although good ultimately prevailed in the war for dominance, evil would ultimately remain.
However, some sought out redemption as the means to an end, tired of their futile efforts at last, the bloodshed no longer satisfactory. Willing to pay the price for their actions, even if it meant they would never see the light of day in their current lifetime, they accepted their punishment.
And some sought redemption as the only method towards a justified conscious.
Amelie understood why Gabriel was seeking justification for his actions. He had made it clear that Overwatch would not accept him back into their ranks, and in all honesty, he had no intention to rejoin them. Instead, he sought to cleanse the mar in his reputation, to bleach out the ideologies that corrupted the minds of those that judged him for what he had become. He knew could never be the Gabriel Reyes he had once been, but he no longer had to live up to the supposed reputation that he was accused of living beforehand.
But she knew why he truly decided to seek justification. It was because of her.
Gabrielle would never admit it, but he was deeply concerned for her wellbeing. He was restless, she knew. He did not want to face the consequences. Not because he was unwilling to accept them, but knowing that whatever the outcome, it would take time that he felt he did not have. But they both understood and agreed that this would encourage a better outcome for the future. When everything was said and done, they would finally be free from the consequences of their choices. Free to be alone. Free to forget. Free to be themselves. Free to simply be free.
Amelie licked her lips, lips parting and closing, unsure of whether she should discuss other, more personal matters. However, considering that the setting wouldn't get any more private from there on out, she figured she might as well bring the lingering topic forth.
"We'll figure it out."
"Que?"
"The baby." He leaned against the glass, a hand on his hip and the other arm against the glass in a casual, meditative posture. It was on his mind too, apparently.
She sighed deeply, resting her chin into her hand as she bit her bottom lip.
"I would never have imagined that I'd have to bring my first baby into the world under these conditions." Her thoughts were distant as she softly laughed. She offered an ironic smirk. "I would birth a perfect baby that would be my little angel. I always imagined that it would not cause me any pain at all." She made delicate motions with her hands as her eyes met his mask's. He shrugged, tilting his head to the side as his attention was focused on her alone.
"You are right, mon cheri. We will figure it out. Together." She let out a sigh, nodding slowly as she smiled, placing an open palm on the glass, knowing that he understood-and shared-her pain.
He turned to completely face her, leaning forward menacingly as he growled "I get to name it, though."
"Quand les cochons volent." She pulled her hand away and raised an eyebrow, nonverbally daring him to come out and try. "C'est une fille." She quickly added, folding her arms.
"Que tu lengua." He knew she would name the baby without his permission, regardless.
Their small debate was abruptly cut short when the door on the other end of the room slid open, several Overwatch agents walking in. The leader stepped in front of the group and cleared his throat, staring directly at the man in black.
"Gabriel Reyes. The council requests your presence."
Gabriel glanced at Amelie, who nodded slowly.
They both agreed.
The means to an end.
Andre's eyes cracked open at the sensation of the sharp pain that coursed through her back, alerting her that she needed to wake up and attend to it quickly. She sobbed silently as a bitter tear fell from her cheek when she attempted to rise. The pain was excruciating, but she forced herself to rise.
The silence in the house convinced her that she was alone. She clutched her teddy closely as she stumbled slowly to the bathroom. She plopped her teddy on the bathroom sink and stared into the mirror, noting how pale her young skin appeared. She wiped her nose and sobbed quietly as she turned to face the mirror, slowly peeling her nightshirt up to inspect the damage.
It had been a week. Why was she still in so much pain?
Without much doubt, she knew; the answer lay scarred across the entirety of her back. She inspected the slashes that marred her skin from top to bottom. They were gruesome, to say the least. Some had started to heal, while others were still seemingly fresh, attempting and failing to heal properly. Had she known anything more about wounds, she likely would've suspected a few were infected. She dared not mention her pain to her guardians, however, and knowing she could do no more than cover the wounds up, she wrapped the bad ones with as many band-aids as she could find, quickly scurrying off afterwards to do her chores. She did not return to bed until she was sure everything had been done, forgetting supper in the process.
Since the night of her torturous beating, Andre had been nigh to invisible. Her guardians did not speak to her. They barely even fed her, at this point. After they were gone, she would sneak a cracker and milk simply to keep herself from starvation. She snuck around like a mouse and hurried to bed hours before they even arrived.
Avoid pain. Deter the consequences of innocent actions.
Andre's life was becoming a nightmare she was forced to live, despite not understanding or comprehending why she had been put there to live it. Every turn she made was laced in fear. Every thought she had was drowned out by the sounds of the belt that had mercilessly disfigured her back.
She was terrified to live.
Andre's eyes traveled the length of the ceiling, finally resting on the book atop of her nightstand. She gingerly reached out to grasp it, pulling it next to her as she knowingly turned to her favorite page containing her favorite picture. A family of three was printed on the page, hugging their young child. Their faces seemed so content, so loving. The child was smiling ecstatically as the parents clutched him closely. Under the picture, the title simply read "Family."
Andre bawled herself to sleep that night, her heart feeling strangled, silently begging her parents-her real parents-to come and take her away.
Survival. In this world, its kill or be killed.
Andre could not find the strength to get out of bed that morning. Her back throbbed sharply. Her breathing was shallow. She felt hot, then cold, then a mixture of the two; then the cycle continued, reversed and alternated. She did not rise for lunch later that afternoon.
However, the fear soon crept in, and despite her body firing threats of malfunction and pains of disapproval, she forced herself up, fervently disregarding a change of clothes. She felt lightheaded and swayed on her feet, ultimately stumbling towards the bathroom in order to hurl whatever she withheld into the toilet.
She sobbed. She bawled. She wailed. To nonexistent ears, she begged for help.
It was early in the evening when one of her guardians returned home. Her foster mother, no less.
She cursed loudly as she slammed the door behind her and slammed her stiletto heels on the floor, resulting in a sharp cracking noise, signifying that her heel had broken. She pulled her long jet-black hair and released the most angered scream Andre had ever heard from her. Andre backed towards the stairs as slowly and as quietly as she could. When the floor creaked, she did all but physically die in that moment. The lady's rage-ridden eyes pierced into Andre's amber ones, narrowing menacingly.
"What are you doing up? Why are you looking at me like that?" Her accent dripped with malice. Andre trembled violently. "I-I…" She sputtered, tearing up. The lady placed her manicured hands on her hips, expression solidifying her impatience with the terrified child. "Well?" She all but screamed, causing Andre to jump back defensively with a choked sob. The lady huffed loudly, storming to the child's side as she grabbed her arm, forcefully dragging her to face her. Andre could smell the alcohol in her breath at this distance, and it made her nose burn.
"I'm getting sick and tired of your sassy behavior, petit diable." She spat, jerking Andre as she struggled for freedom. "If you ever think that you can defy me, then you are in for a miserable revelation." She threw Andre to the ground, satisfied that she had proven her point. Andre stayed where she was. She dared not move. The lady smirked, her rage partially quelled as she headed to the kitchen for a drink in order to quell the rest. She stopped in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder at the weeping, trembling child. She laughed sardonically.
""Pathétique. Your hopes and dreams, they are nothing, mon cheri."
She walked into the kitchen, mumbling curses towards the child.
Andre could not give up hope. She knew she couldn't stop imagining. But she was close to giving up. So close to throwing in the towel and looking for a less convenient alternative.
Though her health condition worsened over the next few days, her newfound, very vulnerable hope kept her functioning. She sought out to find, in any way she knew possible in a way that wouldn't get her in trouble, any information regarding where she came from, and who her real parents were.
Her secret searches brought her to the nightstand in her guardian's room, carefully shuffling through the many documents and "due bills" envelopes in the drawer. Not understanding what exactly they meant, she shrugged them off as she continued to flip through them one by one. Her searches proved futile, at least from what she viewed in the envelopes in the nightstand. Thus, she moved her attention elsewhere, searching the other drawers in the dresser, eventually moving to the closet and finally the bookshelf. After a few hours and fruitless efforts, Andre plopped herself onto the bed and hid her face in her hands, her pent-up tears finally flowing free. She was so close. She could feel it!
She rose from the bed, wiping her eyes, followed by her nose. She took one last glance around the room before her eyes caught sight of a formerly unseen oddity. She cocked her head, walking towards a bent, stained envelop that marked the page of a dusty book. She pulled the envelope from its nesting spot, slowly tilting the paper in her hands before reading the title, which simply read "Andre." This was enough to peak her curiosity as she unfolded the letter and viewed its contents. She wasn't completely sure, but she was pretty sure the line that ready "biological parents" had something to do with her real parents. Her eyes grew wide as she soaked in their names.
Gabrielle and Amelie Reyes.
Andre's heart stopped. Her parents-they were out there somewhere. They just had to be! She had to find them! She just had to!
Andre's features twisted in painful determination as she sniffed, drying her last tear. She hugged the letter closely.
The only way she knew that she'd ever be able to reach them without her guardians finding out was the same way she had found them just now.
She would write them a letter.
"Deer Mom and Dad, my name is Andre. I am ate yeers old. I have blak hair and yelow eyes. I'm not sur wut you look like. I don't know what my midle name is, or my last name. The leter I reea sed that my parents are Gabrielle and Amelie Reyes, I think.
If you reely are out there, pleez take me away from here. My not-real-parents say that you abandind me when I was a baby. I don't know what "abandinid" meens, but I hope that you'l come anyway.
I hurt a lot somtimes, and my not-real-parents get mad at me and hurt me when I mess up. I don't mean to mess up, but I ges I just do.
If you get this leter, pleez don't hurt me."
"What do ya make of it?" A scrawny man, accent hinting a Southern descent, wearing a mail carrier hat that sat crooked on his head and a blue uniform that sagged at the pants, questioned. As the local mailman, he was confounded when he noticed the letter in his stack, written in bright red crayon that read "To Andre's reel parents."
The middle-aged boss man rubbed his bearded chin, eyes narrowed, and brows furrowed as he glanced over the many spelling errors and blots that etched the crumbled piece of paper in his hands. His eyes met his employee's.
"The kid's in trouble, Davis. I'd say she's being abused by her foster parents."
"Shouldn't that have been reported as soon as it began?" The Davis clenched his fists, suddenly feeling helpless, concerned towards the girl and her entire situation. "What can we do?"
"There's nothing we can do but call Social Services. I'm sure they will be able to clean up the whole affair rather quickly." The man laid the letter down, crossing his arms as he leaned back into his leather chair.
"I can't believe that some people can sink so low." He muttered, eyes distant, pointed at the landscape outside his window.
Davis raised his eyes from off the floor, eyebrows strung together in an expression of deep sympathy. "What about her parents?" The boss man returned his gaze to his subordinate, a questioning brow raised.
"Ya know, her real parents." The mail carrier shrugged. The boss man shook his head with sincere remorse for the child.
"If they wanted her, they should have kept her when they had they chance. At this point, they are no better than the crooks who have her now."
Davis could only lower his head in guilt, secretly praying that, for the child's sake, he was doing the right thing by letting someone else step into the equation.
It became apparent the day after Andre's revelation that her foster mother was not going to work this morning. She didn't understand why; her guardians always went to work in the morning. But as the morning dragged on, she assumed something bad had happened to the lady, so she quietly did her chores that day, avoiding any possible confrontation. It wasn't too terribly hard. The lady stayed in her bedroom for most of the day watching soap operas on her television.
In the quieter moments, Andre would glance outside towards the mailbox. She wasn't sure how long it might take her real parents to send her a letter back, but she was hoping it would be soon. Her back was beginning to hurt to the point of crippling pain. In her mind's eye, she figured just the sight of her real parents would make her feel better.
It was late evening when an unfamiliar car suddenly showed up in the driveway. It was a black sedan; a car Andre had never seen before. She backed away from the curtained window she had been peering through, turning her head towards her foster mother's room as she hid herself behind the back of the sofa, a cold feeling of dread pouring over her like chilling water.
A knock on the door signaled her foster mother's arrival at the door, cracking it slightly and peering at the persons in question. Andre slipped into the kitchen while the conversation escalated, seating herself at the table as she nibbled on a cracker, listening to the conversation halfheartedly. Her mind was focused elsewhere. However, when her foster mother's voice rose a few decibels, Andre felt a reason to be concerned.
"Get out of here before I call my husband." She spat at the individuals outside the door. The door was then slammed shut and her name was angrily called. Instantly, the knocks on the door grew louder, the individuals outside threatening to take "drastic measures." Andre did not understand what was happening when she slowly made her way towards her guardian. She cringed when her foster mother grabbed her by her shirt collar and stared her dead in the eye.
"I knew you would be more trouble than you were worth." She wrapped her elbow around Andre's neck, immediately placing her free palm over the young girl's mouth. Tears began to gush from Andre's eyes, her screams silenced behind the women's hand. Her mind went blank, her terror causing her entire body to render itself completely and utterly limp. The women rose her head towards the door and made her defiant statement.
"If either of you make a single move, then the 'little angel' you are after will not live to see the next day."
There was silence. Dead silence.
The lady breathed heavily as she backed her way into her room, dragging a bawling Andre along with her. She leaned forward, pulling a small hand gun and a wallet from her dresser, then made her way to the garage door. At this point, the knocks had increased in their urgency, the voices outside growing louder as they threatened, begged even, for the child to be turned in. The lady was all but deaf to them at this point as she threw herself into her car, Andre in her lap. She cranked the car, shoved it into gear, and slammed her foot on the gas, immediately tearing the garage door down as her car sped out of the two people's proximity. Once she was out of range, she threw the child to the side, both hands now free to clutch the steering wheel. Andre dared to stir, but quickly received a threatening glare.
"Do anything and I will blow your brains out of your pretty little head."
The ride seemed to last a millennium. Andre's aching back felt a new pain as she silently cried to herself.
It was nightfall when the duo had reached the outskirts of the town, the car was abruptly pulled over. Andre dared to glance at her foster mother, too terrified by her previous actions to even dare to question her. There was a lingering silence in the cab for several moments. It was a heavy, almost thoughtful silence that was broken when her foster mother laughed softly.
"When I was your age, I had to face the world by myself." She scowled at the child, causing her to back away defensively. "I found out then that there was no one in this world who would care for me."
She arose from her seat and exited the car, grabbing the handgun and moving around the front and to the other side, pulling the door open and grabbing Andre by her hair, throwing her to the dirty ground. Andre sequentially let out a shocked gasp as her face hit the ground, immediately causing tears to fall even more vehemently. She stared into her guardian's eyes, begging to know what she had done wrong. The women pointed the handgun in Andre's direction, laced her eyebrows in anger as she cocked it, and pulled the trigger.
Andre slumped to the ground with a sickening thud, motionless, seemingly dead in her absolute shock.
"Rest in peace, mon cheri." The lady turned on her heel and walked back towards the car, never uttering another word as she settled herself in and drove away as quickly as she could, leaving the child alone in the dark of night, blood pooling from the open gunshot wound in her small abdomen, the bullet having drove straight through her gut.
Andre's mind jumbled through the wreck that it now was, trying to form a comprehensible explanation. She choked, the pain unbearable.
In that very moment, that last breath, that last thought, Andre realized the truth in her situation.
"Abandoned." She whispered the words between her body-wracking sobs.
She was being abandoned.
Her parents had abandoned her.
This was not what they had planned. At all.
Amelie grit her teeth as the pain in her abdomen continued to agonize her. The sounds of doctors around her calling orders to one another, running to and fro, trying desperately to save her first child who, unfortunately, much to Amelie's dismay, decided to come out three months too early.
Sweat covered the entirety of her body as she clutched the covers of her hospital bed in a hopeless attempt to somehow alleviate the pain, or at least divert it.
"Breath, Amelie! We need to lower her heart rate!"
That was the statement of the year, she managed to sarcastically think.
She wished more than anything that Gabe was here to help her through the excruciating ordeal, but the situation had come so suddenly, she never would have had time to warn him had she known what was about to happen.
She could feel her mind swimming in and out of consciousness. She never imagined it'd be like this. Why hadn't she thought this through?
"You're almost there, Amelie! Push!"
She'd never been in so much pain before.
"Push!"
Oh, the searing pain! She couldn't handle it! She needed relief!
"One more time!"
She screamed, then the world went blank, and everything was tranquil once more.
"We need to get this baby to the NICU, now!"
A feint sound swam through the silence that previously engulfed the quiet waters in the tranquil atmosphere. It was constant, reverberating through the invisible walls that surrounded the air, gradually becoming dominant, overbearing, and painful. As if it sought to awaken a long dormant feeling that had been swallowed by the depths of the cold sea.
Andre's eyelids sought to open, but they would not budge. She sought to breath, but she felt her breaths being taken. She needed to wake up, but she was on the verge of sleep. Deep, needed sleep.
Something didn't feel right.
"Hey, kid!"
Where as she? What caused this? Why couldn't she wake up? Would she always be in this comatose state?
"Calm down, I-I'm here!" The voice grew more urgent.
Andre felt someone's cold grasp on her arms, the feeling immediately spurring some dormant stimulus to react. The child exhaled sharply, opening and blinking her eyes as her vision adjusted to the light. She couldn't move, or at least did not have any motive to move now.
Her vision came into focus. The walls surrounding her were wallpapered with a dull light grey. A tv in the corner played a random station. The window to her left revealed a gloomy sky, and the man on her right held her arms tightly, and expression of deep sympathy and concern lacing his middle-aged features.
"Kid?" Andre didn't respond.
"Kid, are-are ya alright?" His country accent all but whispered. Andre blinked a few times, countenance shocked, confused, concerned. The man gently let go of her arms and placed his hands in his lap, resting his back against his chair once more. "You-you had me scared there for a second. You started t' breath real quick, and then that ol' heart monitor went up'n the hundreds."
Andre turned her head to the side, silently acknowledging the machine on the edge of her bed. Its beeping was constant, but it withheld a comforting rhythm, in a sense. She returned her gaze to the man, gently clutching her sheet as she shyly moved her gaze to her hands. The man twiddled his thumbs nervously, unsure of how to even begin to explain what he knew of the whole ordeal, or even understand how the child felt, or what had happened. He figured he'd might as well start with what he knew.
"Is this yours?" He held out a crumpled envelope, bearing her very handwriting. Andre nodded slowly, eyeing the man, unsure of whether she could trust this strange man or not. He licked his lips, fidgeting with the envelope. "I found it in your-in your mailbox. I'm the mailman, you see."
Andre's face lit up for a spilt second, then the reality of her situation brought her to her senses, and a few tears were the result. The man's expression mirrored nervousness.
"D-don't cry, little missy!" He sputtered, reaching forward to offer a consoling hand, to which she responded by quickly pulling hers away in defense, bawling ever louder when the action brought her pain. The man quickly jerked hid hand away, inhaling sharply through his teeth, guilt instantly washing over his features. He did not say anything else, allowing Andre a few moments to regain her composure. When he was sure she had had her fill of grief, he spoke slowly, unsurely.
"I'm sorry, little missy. I-I guess I'm just not used to comforting young'uns too often." He sighed, rubbing his neck. "Tell you what though." Andre's eyes were locked on his as she dried a stray tear from her eye. "I promise not t' scare you if ya promise not to cry. Deal?"
Andre gradually nodded in agreement, smiling ever so slightly as the man grinned widely.
"My name is Davis. You can call me Davi, if ya'd like." He presented a large, bony hand. Andre shyly offered hers, which he gently shook. "What's your name?"
Andre pursed her lips for a moment, considering her options. It couldn't hurt to tell Mr. Davi here her name, could it?
"Andre." She whispered, suddenly finding her fingers more interesting than his eyes. The man grinned even wider, a fond tone escaping his lips. "Pleasure to meet ya, Andre."
A moment of silence fell between the two, neither brave enough to say anything less they scare the other. However, as was natural for a child her age, Andre could not prevent questions from entering her mind, and thus from leaving her mouth.
"How long was I asleep?" Andre played with her fingers.
"Hm? Oh, uh…" Davis searched for the most innocent, straightforward answer. He knew she had been out for a while. "It's been 'bout a week, I suppose."
"Am I gonna die?"
Davis' expression could not have been any more shocked at the little girl's question, having been knocked completely off guard by its nature. Her face was completely sincere however, and Davis was not a man to lie to anyone, especially not a lady, regardless of her age.
He sighed.
"When I first heard about'cha, I came down here to see you right off the bat. I figure'd you were in a pretty bad shape, but I would'a never guessed you'd been as bad off as you were." He grimly stated as he shook his head, clasping at his pant leg, recalling the events in vivid detail. "I didn't think you were gonna make it, little missy. None of us did."
Andre's eyes fell to the floor, but when Davis' hand covered hers, she made eye contact again. There was a twinkle in his eye, filled with a fondness. A proud fondness.
"You surprised us all, though." He grinned, chuckling a little. "You ended up making it out alive. So yeah, I think you'll live."