Chapter 87 Amarien, Wake Up!
Amarien's POV
"Amarien."
Grandma Chichi's voice cuts through the darkness like a hand snapping shut around my soul.
It is not gentle this time.
It is sharp, commanding and urgent.
"Wake up!"
Something slams into me from the inside like an unseen force, violent and sudden. I gasp as if I've been kicked back into my body.
Air tears into my lungs.
Pain detonates everywhere at once.
I scream.
My eyes fly open, wild and unfocused, and the room crashes back into existence! The scarlet curtains, the low-burning candles, the heavy smell of blood and herbs. My body feels wrong, and I feel weak in a way that terrifies me.
The midwives are still there.
They are crying.
One stands near the wall, her face streaked with tears, lips trembling as if she's been praying too long without an answer. Another is seated, head bowed, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles are white. One turns away the moment my eyes land on her.
When they saw I was back to live, they quickly wiped their tears and hovered around me.
"Amarien, you're back!" One cried out with relief.
"Oh, the gods be praised!"
"We are saved from Theron's onslaught!"
Theron's what?
Then the memories stirred back: Theron, lashing at them to save me, or else they die. Theron, walking out of this room with my child.
My heart begins to pound.
Too fast. Too loud.
"No," I whisper hoarsely. “No… where…”
I turn my head sharply toward the cot.
It is empty.
The world stops.
My breath catches painfully in my throat, like I've swallowed glass.
"No," I say again, louder now. "Where is my baby?"
No one answers.
Panic floods my veins, hot and blinding.
"I said…where is my baby?" My voice cracks into shivers. "He was here. I saw him. I held him."
I try to sit up.
Agony rips through my body, but fear is stronger.
"Where is he?" I scream.
The midwives flinch.
One of them sobs openly now, shaking her head as if she cannot bear the weight of my words. Another presses a hand to her mouth, eyes shining with guilt and horror.
"Tell me!" I shriek. "Tell me where my child is!"
I claw at the sheets, dragging myself upward, heart hammering so hard I think it might tear out of my chest.
"He took him," I gasp, half to myself. "Theron took him! I need to find him!!"
I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The room spins violently.
I didn't care for my vision or lack thereof.
"I need my baby," I sob. "He needs me! He needs me!!"
I try to stand.
But the midwives quickly grabbed me, surrounding me.
"No!" one of the midwives cries. "You mustn't!"
I fought her grip. I fought all of their grips, thrashing wildly, grief lending me strength I shouldn't have. "Let go of me! I have to find him! I have to…"
She forces me back down onto the bed, her voice breaking. "Please…stop… you've lost too much blood."
"I don't care!" I scream, tears pouring down my face. "I don't care if I die! Give him back to me!"
Another midwife joins her, holding my shoulders down as my body shakes violently with sobs. They were crying too.
"You must remain still," she pleads. "If you move like this, you will bleed out."
"I want to bleed out!" I sob. "If my baby is gone, what is the point?!"
The room echoes with my cries.
"Where is he?" I beg now, my voice collapsing into broken fragments. "Please… just tell me… is he alive?"
Silence.
I don't understand what is happening.
The room feels wrong, too quiet now, too heavy, like the air itself is pressing down on my chest.
That silence answers me more cruelly than words ever could. I needed them to speak with me.
My tears blur everything, but I force myself to stop thrashing, to stop screaming. My body shakes uncontrollably, but I stilled myself.
Slowly, carefully, I lift my head and look at them.
The midwives freeze when they see my face was no longer wild, no longer frantic, just broken. Pleading.
My voice comes out hoarse, scraped raw from screaming, but it is calm in a way that frightens even me.
"I'll be still," I say quietly. "I promise."
Their hands hesitate on my shoulders.
"Just… tell me where my baby is."
Silence stretches.
It feels endless.
One of the midwives looks away first. Her lips tremble. Another closes her eyes, tears spilling freely now. None of them meets my gaze.
"Please," I whisper. "I won't move. I won't scream. I just need to know."
The oldest midwife finally steps forward. Her eyes are swollen, red-rimmed with sorrow.
Her voice breaks as she speaks.
"It was a stillbirth."
The words fall gently.
Softly.
Like they are afraid of me.
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
I didn't understand them at first.
"Still… birth?" I repeat faintly.
She swallows hard. "The child did not survive."
The room tilts.
My ears ring violently, drowning out everything else. My heartbeat roars in my head loud and fast.
"No," I say, very softly.
The midwives lowered their heads, sobbing.
"No," I say again, shaking my head. "That's not right. He cried. I heard him. I held him."
The midwife's face crumples.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers.
Something inside me shatters.
A sound tears out of me, raw, feral, inhuman. I rip myself free from their hands and slide off the bed, my legs giving out beneath me. I hit the floor hard, pain exploding through my body, but it doesn't matter.
Nothing matters.
"He's gone?" I scream. "No! No! No! Bring him back! Bring my baby back!"
I claw at the floor, fingers scraping uselessly against stone as if I can dig him out of it, as if he might be hidden beneath the earth.
The women quickly grabbed me and lowered me to the bed less I hurt myself any further.
"My baby!" I screech, the word ripping my throat open. "Give him back to me!"
My chest convulses violently. I sob so hard I can barely breathe, my body folding in on itself as if trying to protect a wound too deep to touch.
"I carried him," I wail. "I protected him! I bled for him! I begged for him…"
My voice breaks completely.
"I felt him kick," I choke. "He was alive. He was alive."
I pound my fists weakly against the soft sheets, grief pouring out of me in violent waves. The pain in my body flares, sharp and dizzying, but it is nothing compared to the agony ripping through my heart.
"I didn't even get to name him," I sob. "I didn't get to say goodbye."
My screams echo off the scarlet walls, tearing through the room like a dying thing.
The midwives kneel around me, crying openly now, but they don't touch me. There is nothing they can do.
I curl forward, clutching my empty stomach as if he might still be there.
"Please," I whisper, my voice barely a breath. "Please come back. Mama's here."
But the room does not answer.
The world does not answer.
All that remains is the sound of my grief, raw, endless, and unforgiving, as I weep for the child I didn't get to name.