Protected by the fire dragon

*Faye* I scream as pain rips through me, my body wants to curl in on itself but since I am strapped to the gurney, it is impossible as my skin is chafing at the straps holding me down just above the swell of my stomach, which only makes the pain worse. Over my head, fluorescent lamps pass by, leaving luminescent streaks of lights in my vision, making my eyes press tightly together and giving off a throbbing in my temple from the effort of trying to breathe and focus at the same time. “Seriously Faye, stop with the wailing, we are at the hospital now for heaven’s sake,” My Stepmother Georgina almost groans. Not that she would actually groan; That is not lady-like enough for her. She raised her perfectly formed eyebrows at me, suggesting that in her opinion, my behavior is offensive. Not that I could help it at the moment. I could see she is presenting herself as she usually does, flicking her blonde hair behind her ear with a recently manicured hand. She is smoothing down her perfectly pressed Chanel suit with her other hand while faking concern on her face. I feel like cursing her, but honestly, I am a bit too busy giving birth right now. Another wave of pain rips through me, making me let out another scream. I am afraid that something is really wrong here. I mean yes, having a baby is supposed to hurt, but like this? The pain from my back to my abdomen again and my legs bend up as I try to give them relief from the sharp needle-like pains running down the back of my legs. My toes curl as I try to do the breathing, in once, out twice, in through the nose, and out through the mouth. Georgina turns her attention to the paramedics. “That girl really is way too attention-seeking sometimes.” Her tone is condescending and I just barely recognize what is going on. Finally, I am rolled into a room. Doctors and nurses stream in, as one of the paramedics touches my arm gently, “You are in good hands sweetie, hold on,” His face is kind and I am grateful in the midst of my pain to receive something other than my stepmother heartless responses. I manage a small nod, feeling thankful. Then I am prodded and examined by several sets of hands and someone seems to yell, “Faye, how far along are you?” “Her due date is in three weeks,” My Stepmother says, and then when I unwillingly scream again, Georgina hisses from the side of her mouth, “Faye, please be quiet so the doctors can work.” I know she has never liked me. I never knew why she was like that, but it happened from the very first moment she saw me, especially when my father showed concern or love for me. Then I would get the most venomous interactions with her. It is like she doesn’t know how to be kind and all I see her display towards my father is a fake persona and extreme manipulation to alienate me from him. She is always berating me, telling me I make her or our family look bad, but I had hoped she would at least support me through this. It seems my naivety caught up with me eventually And now I wish that I had the sense to plan for a birthing partner. I almost feel like I am floating outside my own body, as the doctors and nurses work to get the baby out of my tortured body. “Faye!” Georgina has moved up beside my head and she grabs my arm, “Do not tell them how you got pregnant,” She is hissing in my ear, “No one needs to know your sob story, and … it reflects badly on all of us.” “Ma’am,” A doctor says, probably thinking she is whispering calming words or encouraging me to fight, “We have to take her into the operating room … she needs an emergency cesarean now or we will lose them both.” Fear grips me. I am dying. My baby is in danger. It seems that life is repeating itself. My mother died giving birth to me. Am I to suffer the same fate? What will become of both of us? All I want is for my baby to live at this point. My life is secondary. My stepmother takes my hand, playing the part. Always wanting to give the appearance of a perfect family, “Take us there then, anything to save them.” “Sorry ma’am you can’t go,” A nurse says softly, and her words make a weird happiness spread in my chest since I don’t want Georgina there. I don’t want to have to worry if I make her look bad. Her constant degradation and suffering from my very being just brings me utter anxiety. “Let me take you to the waiting room, it is just outside the operating room.” As I am rolled off, I feel my consciousness start to slip and I am grateful. The pain is too much, and my body is wracked with tiredness. My last coherent thought is that I hope my baby will make it. *Lawrence* I run into the hospital. Our maid called me at work, telling me that my daughter Faye had been rushed to the hospital. Apparently, her labor had started, and she was not looking too good. After practically yelling at the woman in the reception, I am told where to go. I wait impatiently for an elevator, then run down a couple of hallways, before finally seeing my wife sitting in a chair, looking like she is at a tea party in some place she finds below her dignity. “Where is she, Georgina?” My voice is slightly raised and breathlessly gasping from hurrying here. She looks up. “It’s about time you got here. She is in the operating room having an emergency c-section.” “How could you let it get this bad? Maria told me that Faye has been in pain all day,” I yell. “I trusted you to care for her.” She gets up, “Don’t you think I tried? As soon as I saw she wasn’t feeling too well, I wanted to take her here. She refused, saying it was nothing.” “You should have insisted. You know the doctors said that we needed to keep an eye on her.” My voice is still raised. “You should have done something.” “I even threatened to call you, but she said you would be on her side,” She sniffles. “She told me I am not her mother… that hurts you know. I love her as my own.” I breathe in slowly. Faye is all I have left of my first wife, and I tend to be very protective. “I am just very worried… have you heard anything?” “No, honestly they are treating me like the evil stepmother here,” She grabs my forearm. “The paramedics ignored me and the doctors didn’t tell me anything. And then I was told I couldn’t come with her. The poor dear was so scared and in so much pain. I really think I deserve more respect.” I hug her, “Sorry I yelled, it’s not your fault.” After waiting for what seems like forever, a harried-looking nurse comes out and I quickly step in front of her, “How is my daughter doing?” “Sorry sir, I have to go…,” She tries to get past me. I grab her arm. “Not before you tell me what is happening in there.” “The baby is out sir and she is gonna be just fine,” She looks at my hand. “I don’t give a damn about that bastard. I want to know how my daughter is doing,” I let my voice grow hard. That thing is not coming home with my daughter today. I had decided that as soon as I heard she was in labor. We can all get back to what it was like before and put this sordid business behind us. The nurse shakes her head, “Not good, she needs blood,” She pulls at her arm, “Please get out of my way sir … I am on my way to check if we have more blood, if she doesn’t get some.…” “If you have more? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” My grip tightens with no awareness that the nurse winces. “The hospital is suffering from a blood shortage, sir. The train wreck last month depleted all the reserves in the city…,” She is stuttering. I shake my head, “I’ll donate then. She is my daughter so it shouldn’t be a problem... take me there right now.” After being rushed off and having a bag of blood tapped, I have to wait again. I had told them to just give her the blood immediately, but they insisted on checking it. So now I am pacing the floor, feeling agitated. “Mr. Milbona?” A doctor in a lab coat shows up and I nod. “I fear I have some bad news....” “Faye, is she..?” Fear grabs me. He quickly shakes his head. “No, as I wanted to say, I have good news too… We managed to get blood from another hospital. She is going to be okay.” “Then what is the bad news?” And when he is too slow, I grab the front of his coat, “Tell me, man”. “We checked your blood Mr. Milbona. You are not a blood match to the patient as you are AB negative and your daughter cannot possibly be a match with you as there is no way you are related to her. I am sorry,” He says, stepping back as I let him go. I shake my head. “Not a blood match… how?” “How?” My wife says, “It’s clear isn’t it? Your darling Clementine was a cheating w***e. Faye isn’t yours, she never was… you are not her father.”