Chapter 4

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The Simulatte

...

The umpteenth medical check.

I know it's normal since my pregnancy is not running exactly as smoothly as it should. Every woman on Earth is generally excited about every check, about every little chance to 'see' their baby... it looks like I'm not 'every woman'. Maybe it's because, from day one, I've been told I need to rest, rest and just rest. Bed and couch... couch and bed... no wonder I'm sick of resting.

I look at my husband as we exit the clinic together, his arm around my shoulders.

"It's just another few weeks"

His voice is calm and caring, I sigh heavily instead.

"I'm going to be suicidal in much less, Chad"

Our eyes meet in the exact moment in which I roll my eyes at him and he smirks, kissing my temple.

"So overdramatic!"

My words sound like a joke... and yet a part of me doesn't think to death like something scaring… sometimes I find myself thinking to it, to end my life... and it sounds comforting... peaceful... somehow better than a life in which I feel trapped in. Then I remember I'm carrying a baby... and his or her life is a gift... and I can't do it. I can't...

I'm just sick of this... a part of me wants my life back, my old life back.

I've been allowed a mild training and a few calm walking in the park (like a ninety-yrs-old)... it's an improvement. I should be more upset for having been forbidden of having sex instead... the truth is I actually don't care. I suppose this frigidity is because of pregnancy... I don't know... but I know I don't feel anything... like I'm anesthetized, both physically and mentally.

Another kiss grazes my forehead. Soft, caring, like the hand which protectively finds my baby bump in a protective caress.

"Am I allowed to have a coffee at least? Like the last wish of a 'dead man walking'?"

"A decaf"

I give another rolling of eyes.

"Deal"

His smile triggers a tiny smirk on my face this time.

...

...

You can't feel I'm here, but I'm here, Trin.

And yet now it's not enough to prevent your crisis. Your mind is struggling to go on and there are moments in which I think you're so close to let go…

"It's not been your choice. It's been hers"

I look at Kamala at her words.

"She didn't ask to be back in a pod"

"She asked me to give her child a chance. I keep promises"

She's a machine, she can't understand what I feel.

"We're risking killing her"

"I'm not killing anyone"

I stare in Kamala's eyes. Cold dark eyes. She's loyal, but her 'mind' is pure rationality, she can't really understand a human's mind.

"She'll be the one killing herself"

I shiver as those words reach my own ears. They kept twirling in my mind, but saying them out loud feels different. It feels real. Part of my mind refuses the bare idea of it. No. You're stronger than I am, Trin. You won't do it. And yet, I can't help thinking that probably, in your place, I would have surely jumped from a roof.

I need to be there, with you. Even just from far... but there.

"Load me in"

"What?"

Kamala's voice is just flat, but it always sounds a little annoyed.

"Neo, it's not good for her"

Rama's voice is always calmer and somehow more empathic than his wife's tone.

"Depression, panic attacks... that's what is not good for her, Rama. I won't stay here waiting for her to cut her veins. Load me in."

...

…

The Simulatte.

The smell of coffee would be supposed to sicken me... something I read in every pregnancy book, on every book supposed to teach me what to eat while I expect a baby... what to expect while I expect a baby. I'm so tired of all those bullshits. Everything I know is that I would be supposed to feel tied to my unborn child... instead... how can I feel tied to someone when I feel disconnected from myself either? I'm not a mother yet and I already suck as a mother.

And I feel guilty. Both with my baby and my husband. My eyes move on the diamond on my finger ring as I can barely remember the day Chad put it on there. It's not true... I well remember it, but somehow it's like my memories are not mine. I can see them in my mind, but I don't feel anything about them, no joy, nor sentimentality... but no sadness either, nor regret or remorse. Nothing. I feel nothing. Nothing except guilty... because I'm fully aware I shouldn't feel like this. They don't deserve this, nor my husband, nor my baby. I doesn't deserve none of them.

What's on hell is wrong with me?

"Tiffany?"

"Mmh?"

I register that Chad's tone is alarmed again. And I realize my hand was trembling in the exact moment he puts his warm hand over mine. I meet my own mirrored image on the glass wall by my side and I realize how my eyes look too blue now in contrast with my very pale, ghost-white, skin. I turn my head to meet his eyes.

He's handsome. He's tall, dark hair and eyes, muscular like someone who use to train everyday (he does actually), but not too muscular (I'm not for body-builders)... he's exactly my kind of man... caring but not overprotective (sometimes), smart... and yet I feel something is missing.

I'm not beautiful... I'm not ugly yet, but I'm not 'beautiful' according to the common beauty standards... my face is too thin, my features too sharp... I have no big eyes (yes, they're blue, but not big or with long and thick eyelashes), no full lips or full breasts... and in my months of pregnancy I lost my toned muscles partially, since whatever I'm allowed to is a mild yoga session in the morning, nothing more.

So, yes, my husband is definitely more attractive than I am... Lots of women surely envy me ... but I'm a fucking bitch instead. What on hell did he see in me?

"Er..." I don't succeed in giving him more than a flat and stretched line of lips which would be supposed to be a smile, if just I could curl up the corners of my mouth "er... may you bring me whatever has some sugar inside, please?"

His "Sure, honey!" is so quick that I can guess I really look like someone who is about to pass out at any moment, once more. And yet, I'm not sure it's sugar what I really need.

My hand finds my baby bump. I can't really tell what I feel inside me from time to time are fetal movements. I don't feel my baby kicking, not really at least. I watched him moving in the ultrasound, tiny feet and hands moving inside my womb... and yet, I can't feel it.

I sigh and I look around in the packed coffee shop.

I don't like packed places actually, they give me a sort of anxious feeling like a part of me is getting ready to fight at the littlest sign of danger. What kind of danger can I have in a coffee shop? And about fighting... why would I've been supposed to fight? The most I attended is a self-defense course, so many years ago that I'm not sure I would be able to protect myself or to hurt someone if I need it. And surely not with the extra weight of a baby bump limiting my movements.

I feel out of place...

Chad says it's because of my crazy hormones, but I'm not sure pregnancy can be count as a good reason for a personality disorder. I'm far from being suicidal, or at least I think I am... for now... but I'd need drugs which I refuse to take because of pregnancy, and my panic attacks are getting worse day by day. Sleeping pills are not enough. And meditation is not helping me like it should... as I relax completely I see images in my mind... pieces of imagines that my rational mind knows can't be real... but they make me feel even more disconnected... I feel something I can't explain... like a good dream I don't want to awake from... but I get awake instead and my throat clenches, and I can't breathe, my heart races, my body trembles, and my limbs get numb and everything gets dark... like a black-out in my neurons. When I come back from unconsciousness reality welcomes me, calm and peaceful. Images of a dark world made of metal and gray and reddish stone are replaced by pastel tinges and light everywhere...

So why don't I feel calm and relaxed then?

I nervously fiddle with the diamond ring on my finger and I know I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with me. For the umpteenth time, uselessly.

I'm not a psychiatrist after all, just a yoga teacher with a hidden passion for motorcycles.

Fine, ok, maybe Chad is right and I'm only very stressed by a difficult pregnancy. I'm not going to risk to have a preterm labor.

My eyes suddenly stop, locking with the deep dark eyes of the man sitting alone on a table in the very corner of the room, a few tables from mine. I wonder if he was looking at me or if we just casually looked at each other in the same moment. He just realized he somehow caught my eye and he hurries to look down.

I can't look away instead.

Tall (from the long legs stretched out under the table), dark hair, dark eyes. There's something in him, something I can't tell. My heart is hammering now, but a different kind of hammering from the too many fainting experiences I had lately. Different from my panic attacks. There's not an empty space in my chest now, there's not that chocking feeling in my throat. Warmth. I feel warmth rising somehow from the center of my chest.

Shit, am I blushing?

The guy looks up at me again in the exact moment in which I feel Chad's hand on my shoulder again, distracting me from those beautiful dark eyes.

My husband puts a glass of orange juice on the table and a couple of toasts on a white ceramic plate. He kisses my temple, his hands touch the spots at both sides of my neck and his thumbs press on my stiffed muscles. It would be supposed to be a soft caring massage... I gasp instead. But I try my best to find one of his hand giving him a caress.

My eyes move on the table in the corner again, but the unknown man is not there anymore.