K, my next chapter is up. Sorry for not updating for so long. I was busy, what with exams and everything. I was going totally ballistic, since, well, it's my last year, and Universities are going to be looking at my grades and all. I looked very attractive (ha ha) throughout the entire month, I must say. What with my hair looking as though I've been electrified during a giant thunderstorm and with seventeen-year bags under my eyes, and, yeah, you get the point. Well, now that that's over, I'm able to update. So, have fun reading.
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Bright lights. Door. Bright lights. Jesse's face. Dorky pictures of a house on wall.
Wait a minute?
I blink.
What is Jesse's face doing here?
"Susannah, are you all right?" Jesse's face says, wearing a concerned expression.
It's one of those dreams, isn't it? Where things don't make sense and your worst enemy is asking you if you're all right.
No, that's not it.
Maybe it's the one where you're in a hospital and suddenly your worst enemy realizes, after he came so close to losing you, that maybe he's not your worst enemy.
I blink again. No, I don't think that's it either.
Jesse's face, which zooms in and out in front of me, starts to ask me all sorts of questions. I feel really woozy, as though the earth is moving sideways and I'm trying to walk on it.
Maybe it's the dream where I'm really drunk. Yeah, that's probably it.
I blink.
Then why can't I wake up?
Wait. Maybe I'm not dreaming.
Is that possible?
Then what am I doing here?
Where is 'here' anyway?
There's a constant shooting pain in my head. Ok, definitely not a dream.
What the hell happened to me? Did somebody try to run my head along a train track?
I hear a beeping sound. Things around me start to clear up and I see that there's wiring connected to parts of my body.
I have a horrible headache coming on.
Adding to theache is sincerely concerned Jesse, who's constantly saying things like, "Susannah…I was so terribly worried…you weren't responding…and…there's the baby …"
What in the world is he talking about? What baby?
Then it hits me. MY BABY! OH. MY. GOD.
Suddenly, it all comes back to me. I remember us arguing, me stamping off, then falling unconscious.
That's why I'm allwired up: I am in a hospital.
SHIT. Please don't tell me that they did an ultra-sound on me, or anything. Oh please please please please please.
If they did, they would totally figure out that I'm not pregnant, or ever was, and I will be totally screwed. Like, all the way in the wall screwed.
Maybe this is a dream, a horrible, stupid dream. Maybe, if I close my eyes and open them again, all this will be gone. I'll be back in my dorm, where I'll be safe and incredibly far from the high frequency sound waves that are able to penetrate through the skin of my belly and tell people that there's nothing inside but the chicken and bread that I had at the weird French restaurant by the lake.
But when I do, close my eyes and open them again, I'm still in the hospital. I lift up my head to try and better assert my surroundings, which, I realize a second later, is a really bad idea: a fresh wave of pain hits me and I'm forced to lie back down again.
And poor Jesse, my falling unconscious has made him so delusional that he started ringing off all the possible scenarios that might have triggered my loss of consciousness.
I, getting annoyed, put my hand over his mouth.
"Jesse, we will find out what's wrong when the doctors come, k? Anyway, you're giving me a headache," I say, taking my hand off off his mouth.
"Sorry," Jesse says, carefully sitting down on the hospital bed, "I…I'm just really glad that you're ok." Then, smiling at me---this makes my heart jump as though it's hyped up on happy gas---he takes my hand (all nonchalant) and puts it through his. I notice that it's really warm. This warmth seems to spread in tingles to all parts of my body until it finally collects at my face, which suddenly becomes really hot. Like, kettle-boiling hot.
"Well, I'm glad that you're glad that I'm ok," I say, smiling giddily up at him. What am I saying? What's wrong with me? I wonder how much medication (non-harmful to the fake baby) they gave me for me to enter this kind of stage.
"Querida," Jesse says softly, and, even though I have no comprehension of what that word means---it doesn't sound like anything bad. I mean, it's just one word, what possibly bad thing could he say that fits into just one word? Like, it can't mean: all that I've just said is a big fat lie, in truth, I really despise you. Even though I'm sure that that's how he actually feels---itmakes my heart turn over and renew its hyperactive state.
"Of course I care that you're ok, I…you're my friend," Jesse continues.
Did you hear that? He saidI'm hisfriend when just a second ago he called mesomething in Spanish, a word that might possibly declare more than just his friendly feelings for me---or he could just be calling me a whore. I mean I did get pregnant. What's more, I'm not even really sure of who the father is --- and all I got stuck with is the title of friend.
But who am I kidding? It obviously does not mean anything romantic. It probably means friend, or pal, or small pathetic kid. And why do I care, really? It's not like I like him or anything. In fact, up until before I wound up at the hospital, I was about ready to throw a television screen on top of him. And, just because he goes off calling me names in a language that I can't understand doesn't mean I'm going to like him any better, especially when he starts touching my hand, which makes me go all giddy inside, and I don't ever remember allowing him to do that.
Just then, the hospital people come and he lets go of my hand.
This burly doctor guy comes over to me, says his name is, gulp, Dr. Krendle, and that he has results.
Shit.
Ok, to illustrate how fully deep in shit I am, I want you to double a shit, multiply it by one hundred, add two thousand, multiply that by three hundred, and, only then, will you get the shit that I'm in.
I mean, this is Dr. Krendle, the guy with whom I supposedly had an appointment with to discuss the paternity of my baby's father, and, here is him now, about to read out the results pertaining to my loss of consciousness. And Jesse obviously knows that it was Dr. Krendle to whom I gave the hairs for the paternity test. However,if no baby-related questions come up, then I'm safe, but, if they do come up, then I'm dead meat. I opt for the first stipulation because I don't want to die yet, but I know that that won't happen. With my luck it's going to be option two.
I've had a good life so far, I think. Too bad it's going to end so soon.
"Ok, the results," Dr. Krendle announces, "it's quite peculiar, really, we've no idea why you would lose consciousness. There is no trace of medication in your blood," he says, "no sign of illness. We think it might just be exhaustion, or maybe lack of oxygen intake. Nothing really suggest otherwise. And, um, the fall didn't cause any damage, you're really lucky, no concussion or anything, so…you should feel just fine."
"Thank you, doctor," Jesse says, "if you find anything else you're always welcome to contact us." US? So now we're "us"?
"Of course," the doctor says.
"Sir, um, I was wondering," Jesse starts to say, "since Susannah is pregnant, if there was any harm done to her baby, you know, because of the fall."
WHAT? DID YOU HEAR THAT? Jesse doesn't know that it was Dr. Krendle with whom I'd discussed my pregnancy. I mean, he had to tell Dr. Krendle that I'm pregnant,and really,you'd think that the doctor with whom I had an appointment with to discuss my being pregnant would already know that I'm pregnant. I totally thought that, along with knowing about my pregnancy, Jesse would be in on the fact of which doctor sent me to the lab in the first place. But, don't get me wrong, I think that that's good, because if Jesse believed that it was Dr. Krendle with whom I'd discussed my pregnancy with, he'd be really surprised when the doctor knew nothing about it.This would set off a whole bunch of questions that I really would rather not answer.
"Well, we'd have to perform an ultra-sound---" Dr. Krendle begins to say.
"Oh, no, it's fine," I interrupt hurriedly. Jesse gives me a very dirty look. "I'm sure that nothing at all is wrong. I mean, I'm the mother, right?" I ask, laughing hysterically, " I can feel if there is anything wrong with my baby, and, I…I don't feel like there's anything wrong."
Of course there's nothing wrong. There is no freakin' baby.
"Well, we could still do it, to make sure," the doctor says patiently.
"Oh, no, really, there's no need, and anyway, I hear ultra-sound is really bad for the baby, I wouldn't want anything to harm it," I reply. PLEASE, just let it go.
"Well, all right, if you feel that way," Dr. K says smilingly, "It really is your choice, isn't it?"
There is a God and he does love me. But, at the moment, Jesse feels anything but love for me, not that he felt anything like love beforehand but he was sure as hell never going to feel it. For me, anyway.
Not that I cared, really.
When the team of doctors leaves, Jesse and I are left on our own, and, I swear to god that, at this moment, I'd rather be in the company of Dr. Krendle than Jesse.
Jesse starts off with, "Susannah, what were you thinking? Do you know how much damage a fall can do to a baby? How could you possibly refuse an ultra-sound?"
"I…dono," is all I manage to squeak out. He can be real scary sometimes. He starts to pace back and forth. After he's satisfied with all his pacing, he comes over to me and sits down on the chair beside me.
Sighing heavily he says, "I'm sorry, I have no right making your decisions," and gives me an ultra-Jessified-sad look.
"Jesse," I start to say. I totally cannot ignore the look he is giving me, "I didn't request an ultra-sound because I don't need one. I mean, I didn't even hurt myself during the fall, and, since the baby is not at all developed yet, there is no way any damage could have been done to it," I retort, saying everything at top speed, "so stop worrying about it."
Jesse just stares at me, then, after a few seconds he, completely changing the subject, says, "Right then, so, how long are you planning to stay?"
"Stay where?" I ask. Am I the stupidest kid in the world, or what?
"At the hospital," he says pointedly. I am the stupidest kid in the world. How can Jesse possibly stand me? Him, being an intellectual genius---I've seen the marks that he's getting, and, let me tell you, they're higher than the empire state building---and me, not comprehending even the simplest of questions.
"Well, I kind of plan on leaving today," I say nonchalantly, trying to shrug off my initial stupidity.
Letting out a humorless little laugh he says, all serious, "No, you can't do that, what if something else happens?"
Something else happens? Like what? Does he think that on an exhaustion diagnosis I'm going to just drop dead as soon as I walk out of here?
"Jesse, nothing is going to happen," I say, stating each word separately.
I don't know, though. Was I exhausted?
I mean, how exhausted could I have been in order to fall unconscious?
Jesse raises his eyebrows quizzically, "Querida," he says, "I…are you sure you wouldn't want to stay one more day, maybe let them do some more tests, just to make sure."
"Yes, I am sure, and stop calling me that," I say. I mean for all I know it could mean whore, and, do I really want to be called that?
"All right then, I'll go sign you out," he says, exiting the room reluctantly.
When he's gone, I lie staring at the wall. I notice that the house pictures I saw earlier are gone. Maybe I imagined them, what in my delusional state and all those blurry hospital lights.
A few seconds later Dr. Krendle comes back and helps me un-stick all the "sensors used to measure my heartbeat and temperature," as he put it.
Once I am unhooked, and Dr. D leaves, I manage to haul myself off off the bed or Jesse manages to haul me off off the bed, whatever, same difference.And, though I am still a little dizzy, with Jesse's help, I manage to safely escort myself out of the hospital.
A/N: hoped you liked it.