Unwed 💍

Chapter Nine: Witch Doctor

Sleep hit Izzy over the head like a sack of bricks. Despite the feel of the springy metal bed, and the chill that crept through the windows, her body loosened the minute she laid down, her eyelids closing to the world around her.

Donny met her in her dreams, his eyes wistful and sad. He walked slowly over to her, his hands outstretched, and she dove into the warmth of his arms. Clutching him to her, she pulled herself as close to his chest as possible, tears steaming up the crevice between them. "Why?" she pleaded. "Why?"

"Izzy, I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair, his lips warm to the touch. "I never wanted to hurt you."

She squeezed him tighter, the smell of him filling her emptiness. His hands caressed her back, causing tingles of happiness to move through her body. "I love you," she whispered, her face to his chest.

He didn't answer.

Her face was no longer in the warmth of his chest, a cold space was forming between them. Something below her was pushing them apart. Looking down, she gasped to see her stomach expanding before her eyes, pushing Donny away from her reach. Her jerked up to his.

His hands snapped back as he looked down at her stomach, a look of disgust twisting onto his face.

"Donny!" Izzy pleaded, reaching out her hands towards him."Don't leave me! Please don't leave me!"

Her eyes snapped open, the springs in the bed creaking beneath her. Her pillow was wet with tears. The room was dark and still. Through the windows, a faint light promised dawn was just around the corner. Her stomach lurched and bile crept up her throat. She gagged, her hands flying to her mouth. Throwing the covers off, she sprung from the bed and raced towards the door and into the hallway, all the while struggling to keep the vomit from spewing everywhere.

Her bare feet smacked the stone floor as she raced down the dimly lit hall, throwing open the bathroom door and flinging herself towards the toilet. She was retching so loudly, she didn't notice the creak of the bathroom door behind her.

A pair of small hands reached out and pulled her hair back away from her face, holding it securely for her. When her stomach stopped twisting, and all that was left was yellow bile, Izzy rose unsteadily from the toilet. Her hair fell back into place around her.

She turned to see Dottie, eyes wide, taking a small step away from her.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper hoarsely, her throat on fire. She cast the girl a soft smile, running her sleeve across her face. The taste of acid filled her mouth and she grimaced.

Dottie looked at her feet, her hands clasped together. "I used to throw up a lot in the beginning."

It was the most Izzy had heard her speak since she arrived. "How many months are you?" She tried to keep her voice gentle, fearing the girl would bolt at any minute.

"Seven," Dottie answered, biting down on her lip. "Seven months."

Izzy fought to keep her eyes from Dottie's stomach, but they travelled there against her will. How could she be seven months? There wasn't even a bulge there.

"I know," Dottie said, catching her stare. Her face filled with shame. " I need to eat more."

"It's okay," Izzy consoled, placing a hand on her frail shoulder. The little girl's blue eyes slowly settled on hers. "How old are you, Dottie? You remind me of my sister Maria back at home."

"Thirteen." Dottie cringed, as if expecting some form of judgement to come next.

Thirteen. Izzy suddenly lost her words. At thirteen she should be playing hopscotch in the street and dressing up dolls for tea parties-not seven months pregnant. She recovered and straightened, realizing her mouth was hanging open. "My sister Maria is twelve," she said.