My thoughts start to wander to how Leo might propose if he ever did, but I rope my daydreams in. If I think about it too much, I might start towantit too much, and then get disappointed if he doesn’t. Besides, it’s not as if weneedto get married. What we have doesn’t need a piece of paper to glue us together.
But it still might be nice to have it anyway, someday. Maybe.
And that’s where I need to leave things in my mind, I think, and shake my head to clear it.
While Em’s gone, I look up pregnancy meditation YouTube videos because the specific ones the nurses talked about in class sound great. I might be working towards being more chill than I used to be, but I still get so anxious sometimes when I think about what’s ahead of me. The relentless sleep deprivation, having a tiny human rely totally on me for everything, endless crying and shitting and puking, school runs, the next eighteen years of worry about this little person walking around with my heart in their backpack…
My nugget, who’s apparently the size of a pineapple by now, nudges me from the inside, as if telling me to calm my tits. I smile, rubbing my bump and feeling them flutter against my palm. I’m going to miss this, feeling their little rolls and kicks from within. And at the same time, I also can’t wait to be able to give them a cuddle, kiss their tiny feet, breathe them in. I know it’ll be worth all of the things that unnerve me.
The bell above the door dings as someone walks in. I look up, and my heart sinks when I look at the man that enters. He looks to be in his early twenties and high off his arse on something too strong for him. The intoxicated make for lousy clients, and often get really shitty when we turn them away for not being in a position to make decisions they’ll have to live with forever. Not to mention that alcohol is a blood thinner. Common sense for us,and them, but they see it as an insult. I try not to scowl at the prospect of having to talk him round.
He’s tall and lanky, and his clothes are baggy and a little dirty. Looks like he’s been wearing them for weeks without laundering them, and I wonder if he’s a student who’s bitten off more than he can chew while experimenting with drugs. His skin is pale and waxy, and his eyes are fever-bright and blood shot. He fidgets, his gaze darting around the room like he’s looking for something. Or someone.
“Sorry, mate, we’re not taking walk-ins today,” I say, my tone pleasant but firm.
He jumps, trying to focus on me now that I’ve spoken to him. “Oh, that’s OK,” he croaks, and there’s a long pause while he just stares at me like I’m some weird life form he’s never seen before. “Can I…maybe make an appointment, then?”
I sigh. “I’m not sure that’s going to be doable - ”
“Next week, maybe?” He walks towards the counter, and I can smell his breath. There’s a definite tang of cheap alcohol there, along with the smell of bad digestion and something pungent I can’t identify. I wrinkle my nose. My gag reflex is still hair trigger these days, so I breathe slowly through my mouth just to be on the safe side.
I look towards the computer, clicking a few buttons so it at least looks like I’m checking for him instead of just rejecting him out of hand. “I’m sorry, we’re completely booked up for the next te-”
It happens so quickly that I’ve hardly blinked before he rushes behind the counter and puts me in a choke hold from behind, his arm across my throat. I make a strangled noise of surprise, starting to struggle, but then I feel something sharp poking into…
…into my bump.
I look down, straining as best I can, and I want to throw up out of sheer horror and rage.
He’s got a knife pressed against my belly, threatening my baby.
Oh, no, you fucking didn’t, you strung-out piece of shit…
“Where’s the safe?” he hisses in my ear.
He’s making like he’ll stab my unborn baby because he’s trying to fucking rob us?! Are youkidding me?!
He jerks his arm back, choking me some more. My throat feels like it’s trapped under a log, and I cough tightly. “Imean it,” he growls, before his eyes shoot towards the corridor, where a smiling Em appears. Her face falls and the colour drains out of her face as she takes in the scene in front of her. Her hands both go outwards, as if to pacify him. As if she’s drawing on all her superpowers of de-escalation and peacemaking in this one moment.
“OK,” she whispers, “let’s just…take it down a notch, OK? I want to help you. What is it that you need?” Her eyes are huge, but her voice is admirably steady, barely shaking at all.
His response is to jerk his arm again. If he does it much harder, he could literally snap my neck. My heart is racing, and the baby shifts and rolls fitfully, clearly wondering what the hell is going on and why Mummy is so stressed out. It just makes me angrier with this bastard grappling me.My kid isn’t even born yet and you’re already proving to them how awful the world can be. You lousy, heartlessshithead.
My mind whirrs as I try to recall everything Omar taught us in krav maga. Because there’s no way I’m going to just stand here and allow anything to happen to my kid. Or to me.
“Iwant youtoopenthesafe,” he spits out, almost vibrating with intensity, “and I want you to hand overevery fucking thingin it. And if you don’t…I’ll cut her. I swear to god.”
“Take me,” Em says instantly. I feel him freeze, and my own blood turns to ice water.
“Don’t you dare,” I order her through gritted teeth, but she ignores me.
“Let Sadie go, and take me instead. I won’t fight you. Just hold a knife to me instead.She’s pregnant. Let her go, point a knife at me, and she can go to the safe. OK?” He doesn’t respond, and I bare my teeth at her, trying to communicate to her that she needs to shut the fuck up right now. “Come on. She’s going to have ababy. Don’t hurt her.”
He exhales, and it’s an unpleasant, rattling sound. His breath makes my ear disgustingly damp. “I think you’re more likely to do as you’re fucking told if I keep hold ofher,” he says, almost smugly, and I yelp as he jabs the knife threateningly at my bump. This time it’s even sharper. And then wet.
He’s nicked me and drawn blood.
No. NO.
