THE BABY MILL [[{SHINee}]]

THE BABY MILL [[16]] PREGNANT

Days must have passed since TaeMin’s beating. He couldn’t be sure as he had slipped in and out of consciousness for a while. Even if he had remained conscious he wouldn’t’ have been able to figure out what day it was; carriers nor donors were permitted to have such a luxury.

            Despite not having access to a time-telling device he was more than certain that weeks had slipped by him. He judged his conclusion by analyzing his bruised. They’d faded from dark purple-black marks to yellow discoloured splotches that blended with green on his body. A significant span of time would have had to pass in order for them to lighten so. The marks on his feet were reducing to a pinkish red colour, too, which could only mean one thing.

            How funny… They’d made him his own watch…

            TaeMin would have laughed at his silly joke were it not for the rush of sickness that suddenly flushed out his thinning stomach. He felt like he did when he’d taken one too many spins on the computer chair at his school. That last spin had sent his stomach into frenzy and he’d spent the next part of his time hurling into a toilet. Much like he was now.

            The meek portions of food he’d been fed during his meal (a “tasty” piece of stale bread with a questionable spread on it with a cup of dirty looking something to wash it down) came up to splash into the toilet water. TaeMin wished they hadn’t taken him off the protein shake diet; that way he wouldn’t’ have to have that stingy feeling of partially digested bread crust in his throat. He would have preferred liquid. Swallowing another acidic lump he really wished he had liquid. At least if he was hurling liquid he wouldn’t have to feel the sharp corners of food go up his throat and back down when he gagged too much to control where the food went. Blood would start gushing out of his throat if his tender flesh kept being cut like this.

            The bout of sickness stretch on at an agonizingly slow pace. Every constriction in his abdomen chipped off another piece of TaeMin’s hope. His organs were squishing up together, mashing and pushing to try and fit into the cramped quarters. There was a boxing ring in his belly but there was no room for the audience so they all had to squish. With each gag his head throbbed and the boxer in him took another swing and miss and hit the cages of the ring instead of its opponent. To be nearing the end without knowing it, though, that was what peeved TaeMin the most.

            One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

            Goodness gracious, whoever was the big honcho up there; TaeMin wanted him to ease the crippling cramps in his tummy.

            When his stomach finally balanced out he pushed his faint body away from the ceramic bowl and onto the brisk tiles. The fresh feeling came as a relief to his worn down body. Unfortunately, not even a moment passed when the door swung open and the floor manager strode into the room, his badge of pink and blue appearing brighter to his squinted eyes than usual.

            The man was quite intimidating in his blue scrubs, lab coat that resembled the She-Devil’s and stethoscope dangling around his neck. Above the medical appliance he held a straight face that was further accentuated by the lie of beard contouring his sharp cheek bones. The lights from above reflected off the smooth dome of his bald head which struck TaeMin as odd as he didn’t understand how the hair on his face could disconnect so abruptly from the hair on his head. Bald or not, the centerpiece to the man was in the dead center of his unwavering expression where his two steely eyes stared down the narrow bridge of his nose and past his pursed lips that were squished so tight they were but a mere line. The direction of his eyes followed the boy curled up in the fetal position at his feet, trembling at the sight of the superior being.