And now we’re here.
I’ve peed in a cup and written down my name on it. I’ve changed into the yellow-ish gown and the technician has just entered the room.
Her name is Christina and she’s all energetic and happy as she tells me that today she’ll be doing my first ultrasound. She’ll also do an internal pelvic exam, which is basically to quickly check my uterus, cervix and vagina and make sure that everything is okay. Not to mention, she’ll do a pap smear, check my weight and blood pressure and things.
So basically an overall exam to make sure that me and the baby are healthy.
“All of these procedures are very basic and standard,” she says, snapping on her gloves. “There might be some slight discomfort during the pelvic exam but it’s nothing to worry about. If it becomes too uncomfortable, let me know, okay?”
Swallowing, I jerk out a nod. “Okay.”
Once she’s taken my weight and other vitals, she tells me to lie down on my back, with my butt slightly hanging off the edgeof the table. She also tells me to put my legs into these archaic-looking metal contraptions called stirrups and relax.
Because this will be quick.
Nothing about it feels quick though.
Especially when she pulls up a stool where my legs are spread and I’m completely exposed under my gown.
I hadn’t realized that I’d grabbed onto the edge of the exam table and all my breaths were tangled up somewhere down my throat and my lungs.
Until him.
Until he appears at my side.
So far he was standing on the opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall by the door. He kept his eyes on me during the weight check and everything.
As if keeping guard over me. As if Christina meant me some harm.
I don’t know when he moved though.
But he’s here now, at my side, and his long, graceful fingers wrap around my wrist, making me let go of the table. Making me grab onto him instead. And my fingers, they like that so much, sovery,verymuch, that they latch on.
My fingers latch onto his and my breaths come easier.
The surging nausea in my stomach calms down too because he did what he said he’d do. He stocked up on his fabric softener and she likes that, the tiny bundle of cells in my stomach.
And the discomfort.
That vanishes as well because I’m looking at him. Into his eyes.
His molten gray, intense eyes.
I don’t mind the stretch then, of the speculum that Christina has inserted inside me. I think I only wince once and squeeze his hand for like three seconds until I adjust to the pressure. In my head, I take that as a victory.
Not him though.
His fading bruises ripple and he snaps at Christina to be careful.
And even though I say sorry and tell her to keep going — which she does after looking slightly intimidated by Reed — and stare up at him and shake my head, I can’t stop my ballerina heart from spinning.
I can’t stop myself from going breathless again when his jaw clenches, making me aware that he doesn’t like that. Me asking him to hold back.
A second later though, Christina’s voice breaks our stare when she says, “And there’s the tiny little thing. The baby.”
At this, we both snap our eyes to the monitor so we can see her.
Or at least see something.
