Father Of My Child... Mr Hollywood

Chapter 2

I can clearly remember a few times when I scoffed out loud at mothers going completely ballistic at the sight of a scratch or tiny bump on their children. I couldn't understand it and I found the wails of despair completely unnecessary. It wasn't like kids were made of glass and couldn't handle a simple fall – I had watched my little brother grow up and the number of falls he had encountered proved that kids could handle it.

Those thoughts however drifted when I had Emma. I suddenly understood all mothers and found that even a single sneeze throughout the day worried me to death. Angela, my best friend found me obsessive and believed my excessive worry to be a problem. She was me before I had Emma – often scoffing at the vision of my reasoning. She found it ridiculous that I refused to get a real job until Emma starts school and with utmost seriousness stated one day that I needed psychiatric help.

Today is different – my obsessiveness is justified. It isn't a sniffle or a scratch on her arm. I wake to the sound of Emma's screams. I have never heard cries so horrific. It is almost as if she is in agony from a blade cutting through her delicate skin. My mind is completely gone by the time I reach her to find that she clings onto her mint blanket, her tiny face crunched in so much discomfort.

"Emma." I call but my voice doesn't reach my ears. All I hear is her and when I touch her, I involuntarily retract at the scorching heat coming from her body.

Without hesitation, I take her from the cot and hug her to my chest and ran for the phone. "Mum... call mum." A voice whispers in my head. I obey and in a matter of seconds, she picks up.

"Mum." I cry into the phone. "S-she she's so hot... Emma." I blow out a puff of anger, worry probably hotter than Emma's breath that burns my skin. How could I have been so stupid. Emma hadn't been herself ... I should have known that this would happen.

"Okay don't panic." Is the first thing she says but her voice breaks. It must be the panic in my voice reflecting onto her. "Measure her temperature."

I submit putting the phone on loud speaker and carrying Emma into the bathroom. As soon as mum had calmed from the shock of finding out about my secret child, she had instructed me on what to always have in the house. 'Thermometers are key when you have a child." She had said. "Always keep one." And having always been the obedient daughter, I followed her orders and I have never been sorry. When I believed Emma's skin to be a bit too hot, the thermometer was always there to calm my nerves.

I do not take too long to find the thermometer because my apprehension has always instructed me to keep it where it's easily seen. When I fish it from the cup by the right side of the sink, I sit over the toilet lid that is always down for Emma's safety and settle her over my lap before inserting the thermometer under her armpit. She jolts awake and lets out such a horrifying cry it stills my blood.

I'm instantly out of my mind but on my feet within seconds and I don't know how but less than five minutes later, I'm in the car and heading towards the hospital.

My hearing and vision are blurred by the time I reach the hospital inwardly thanking God for getting us there safely.

"Help-" I cry out. I try to breathe but my dread won't let me. My ears begin to welcome sound as I wait for a response from the person behind the desk. Emma's cry has turned into soft sniffs now but I still worry because her heartbeat is thumping at my chest.

"Name please." A bored tone requests.

"P-please help... my – my -baby is burning up."

But the woman does not seem to jump at trying to help me and once I blink the tears out my eyes I find an uninterested woman looking at her computer screen.