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❦ ❦ ❦

ILY

❦ ❦ ❦

BIRTH was hard.

A month trapped in darkness and gook took a toll on me, causing me to kick what little legs I had then. As much as possible, I tried to say, "Let me out" to the vessel that entrapped me. For the most part, I failed—instead, the sounds outside ignored me. 

For the first time, I felt something pushing against me—something cold. Very, very cold. Following the pressure that grew towards me, shoving into my lips, I also heard a voice: "Wow! You're around forty weeks by the look of it." It didn't sound like the familiar voice of the woman who would give birth to me. It seemed a bit Meditteranean.  

"Forty weeks." The vessel tightened as the voice belonging to familiarity and remorse let out what sounded like a gasp. "That explains why I can feel them kicking, and their thought train has been 'let me out' for the past few days." Right then, I wanted to stretch my legs out and kick. She spoke of it as a joke. 

The pressure then went to my thighs.

At least my lungs had a tint of space to breathe. 

"Now, let's see the gender of this child," the Meditteranean voice said. A few moments of silence went by, and I could feel the vessel tensing.

Somewhere away from the vessel, I could sense someone's joy mixed with something else. Something about them called to me. It was calm and welcoming, making the entrapment feel a little brighter when I closed my eyes. 

Yesyesyesyes. Yes!

Such words belonged to the one filled with joy. 

"Congratulations," the Mediterranean voice went on, closer than the thoughts of the one with the joyful aura. "You're having a boy." 

The pressure faded away from me for a moment. The dignified voice belonging to a Latino background bursted with joy. This same soul started the debate over what they would call me: Ily, an acronym for the phrase, "I love you." 

After a while, three of the four voices discussed my heartbeat. As the familiar voice said, "I can't get attached," I understood that Zoelle, as I'd heard people call the familiar voice, couldn't love me for some reason. "He's not my son." The confines of the vessel tightened. 

With no interest in listening to Zoelle anymore, I closed my eyes and searched for the person with a joyful aura. Slowly, I felt myself sinking, and the only constant inside the vessel was this cord that connected with my stomach, providing me food. 

Outside, the constant was the joyful soul. The respected Latino voice called her "Triz." It sounded like the words "tree" and "fleece" merged. Her thoughts seemed focused on me: I'm here, too. Silence coursed through the area again. 

I wanted to call out to Triz and say, "Where are you?" Meanwhile, I could hear her heartbeat, and it called my name: Ily. Ily. Ily. 

And you're perfect, Ily. 

At this moment, I knew for sure that Triz was the soul who loved me. Next thing that I knew, a surge of panic swelled outside the vessel. 

"Are you okay?" the respected Latino voice asked. It sounded like he loved me, but something were beyond my control as my brain went haywire. Time seemed to speed up. 

Get out—

Push—

Flashes of red swirled against my eyes. 

Get out—

Push—

I felt swaying, so I kicked the vessel. Screams. Compression. Falling. Liquid caved in towards me, and I curled into a ball, hanging upside down from the cord. 

Push. 

Get out. 

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❊ ❊ ❊

ZOELLE

❊ ❊ ❊

AN ache swelled against my back. It started that way, at least.

For a few days, I had gotten weird Braxton-Hicks. And since the Friday before, I had gotten pain whenever Ily hiccuped. And to be honest, giving birth wasn't even the worst pain I experienced. This didn't compare to the agony of almost burning to death.

I remember wanting to breathe only to find my skin tearing away. My eyes were watery, and smoke made it impossible to see anything. A white light began to appear, and I wanted to touch it, but the vapor faded away, and my sobs settled. 

I remember staring at the ceiling as my wounds vanished with the blink of a pair of ocean eyes. I kept asking myself why I survived. Even as a self-absorbed bitch, I understood that it was me who caused Bay to resort to desperate measures.

At church, I remember tales of Daniel, who God gifted with the power of prophecy and interpretation. He survived a night in the same confines as a lion. Meanwhile, his friends were inside a fire and yet received none so much as a scorch mark. 

For some reason, Satan sent one of his dark angels to save me from death; however, God rescued me from the devil's henchman. As Bay and Rylan lifted me onto the table, I asked myself whether God took mercy on me or punished me. 

"Can you open your legs?" Minerva asked.

With a nod, I took off my underwear, opened my legs, and grabbed the edge of the table to pull myself into an upright position. Right then, I noticed the reddish discharge on the table paper that covered the top of the table. "How dilated is my cervix?" 

"Fifty-five millimeters," Minerva replied. "So five-point-five centimeters." 

Another contraction surged through me. Another scream tore through my throat — what an eventful day! "Fuck you, Harlowe!" I hollered. Seeming that Harlowe was a witch, he probably heard me. "You did this to me, you fucking, sick-brained creep." 

"You're not going to use that language around Ily, are you?" Bay spoke with firm words. She had her arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. 

"No." I winced as the pain started to fade away, looking away from Bay for a moment, then shooting back to her eyes. "Wait. What?" 

"You're still Ily's mother," Bay explained while Rylan, next to her, nodded in agreement. "I will love Ily with all of my heart, but I don't want to take away your chance to grow to love Ily eventually." 

"How is that possible?" I asked. "Did you not hear me say I couldn't love him since he was conceived out of rape?"  

"You may think that now," Bay replied, "but you could see him less as a mark of your vulnerability, and more of a second chance. After all, the birth father is to blame, not Ily. The baby is innocent." 

"Fifty-five-point-five millimeters," Minerva said, and I dragged my eyes to focus on the matriarch. "Four more until you start pushing." She glanced at Rylan and Bay. "Beatriz, will you act as her support?" 

"Sure," Bay said and made her way over to the side of the table, smiling. "Zoelle, will you give Ily a chance?" 

"Yes," I replied, averting from her eyes. "I will play a role in our child's life." 

When Bay turned away to talk to Rylan, I took a glimpse of her. An inky-black ponytail swayed from side to side against each shoulder blade. From a scrunchie, those thick locks spilled. They seemed to mesmerize me, so as quickly as possible, I pried my eyes away. 

My heart began to race, and another pang shot through me. "Gah!" Pain swelled across my pelvic area. "What are we at?"

"It's been three minutes since the last one, right?" Minerva asked, glancing in Bay's direction. 

"More around four minutes," Bay replied. She started to 

THIS IS WHERE I STOPPED. SORRY