Ever experience those moments where your brain is awake before you are? You feel like you can't move and even opening your eyes is taking too much strength but you're aware of everything going on around you. You can hear what's being said, feel every touch, but you can't move or respond. Your body feels like it's locked up and suddenly, you're mind is nothing more than a prisoner.

It's a pretty scary experience.

That's probably why I whimper when I find myself unable to move or speak even though I know I'm awake, and the talking around me comes to a hush.

"Honey?"

I know that voice.

Mama, I want to say. But I can't.

A warm hand threads through mine, slightly trembling, and I know it's not Mom's. It feels too big and too calloused.

"You're okay, Angel." What feels like a set of lips softly brushes against my knuckles and I tingle with awareness but I still can't move. I try to, though. Especially when that wonderfully deep and gentle voice tells me, "We're right here, baby. Hold on for us, okay? We're not going anywhere."

I want to hold on. I desperately fight myself to stay alert but I can feel my control slipping. I feel helpless and for a second, just a second, I'm able to tighten my hand around the one holding mine and I hear a sharp inhale in response. I think somebody says something but I can't be sure.

Because darkness finds me again.

***

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Shut up, I want to scream.

The incessant noise feels like a sledgehammer to my brain, which is now pulsing painfully in that spot right between my eyes. My head feels like it weighs a ton and my temples throb. God, this is awful. I just want the pain to go away and that damn beeping isn't helping.

My eyes shift behind my closed eyelids when I sense movement in the room. I hear the shuffling of shoes right before I feel my arm being lifted. Something wraps around my bicep, tightens, and tightens some more before it's released and taken off.

Then there's more talking. Words like blood pressure and brain activity and continuous monitoring. I know all of these words mean something but I can't make sense of what. Every time I try to, my head just hurts even more. So I stop thinking and I stop paying attention to what's happening around me and I do the only thing that brings me relief; I let my brain shut off again.

***

"Her scans look better."

I don't know that voice.

"Brain activity has significantly improved in the last twenty-four hours but we'll have to keep an eye on her and make sure she's stable."

It's a woman. But I'm not sure what she's talking about.

"When will she wake up?"

I know that voice! It's my mom.

"That's hard to say because the brain is extremely unpredictable. There's only so much we can determine based on science alone but it should be sooner than later. Her charts are very promising."

"Thank you, doctor. Will you let us know if something changes?"

That's definitely not a woman's voice. It's deep and sort of raspy, as if it's coming out of a scratched throat. From screaming? Crying? I don't know what but something is wrong. That voice shouldn't sound like that. I know that voice, somehow.

"Of course. In the meantime, I'm just a call away if you need me."

Shoes scrape against the floor noisily and the sound grows quieter and quieter.

Don't leave! I want to say. Come fix me.

"W-wait..."

I shouldn't have tried to talk. It feels like a thousand knives scraping at my throat and my head starts pounding again. The pain is so overwhelming that I feel myself slipping away again and frustration tightens my chest. What's happening to me?

The beeping noise from earlier comes back with a vengeance. It's faster this time and the beeps are barely a second apart. My chest heaves and my stomach bottoms out. I'm panicking. I'm scared. Something is happening.

"Let's start her on Hydralazine. Move it, people!"

There's clattering and more shuffling. It sounds like there are a lot of people in the room all of a sudden. Voices overlap as instructions are thrown back and forth and then suddenly, my bed is being lowered until I'm lying down. I think I hear a sob tear through the commotion but then something pinches the inside of my elbow and I feel weird. Like my body is being lulled, as if I'm on water.

And then there's only silence.

***

Brightness pinches my vision even from behind closed eyelids. I squeeze my eyes reflexively and try to turn my head away from it but it seems to be following me. Reluctantly, I tell my body to pry my eyes open to see what it is. I only manage a crack before the lights becomes too intense that I have to close my eyes again. I try once more and blink against the white fluorescent and it's easier the second time. I squint, letting my eyes adjust, and blink rapidly against the spots dotting my vision. When most of them have cleared, I let my gaze roam over everything around me. A white ceiling, some monitors and...I look down, confusion causing my brows to furrow. Why are there tubes all over me? Whose bed is this? I shift my eyes to my right and frown when I see Greg slouched in a chair that's right by the bed. Even with his eyes closed it looks like there's huge bags under them. His face is scruffy and unshaven and his hair is a disheveled mess. What's he doing here?

"Wh..." I croak. I clear my throat. Holy crap. It feels like I haven't used my voice in years. "What..."

I can't manage more. My vocal cords feel scratched up and dry. Luckily, Greg somehow hears me in his sleep and it makes me wonder how awful his sleep must've been for him to become alert so fast. He sits upright so suddenly I almost don't see him move. Then he's reaching for something only to bring his hand back to my face. He holds a cup to my lips.

"Drink this, sweetheart." He urges. He doesn't sound very good, either.

I part my lips, feeling just a pinch of pain from how dry and cracked they are, and let Greg tip the cup into my mouth. Cold liquid trickles down my throat and relief immediately finds me. God, that's so much better. I start drinking rapidly and almost whine when Greg pulls the cup back.

"Slow down." He tells me softly.

I do what he says and take my sips at a slower pace. It takes a minute or so before I've drank all of the water and he sets the cup down.

"How're you feeling?" He asks anxiously, eyes roaming all over my face.

"What happened?" I ask in return. I need to know that before I start answering questions.

"You don't remember?" His tone is hesitant. Concerned. That can't be good. He must see the worry on my face because he smooths back my hair in reassurance. "That's alright, sweetheart. We'll take it step by step. Let me call your mom and the doctor."

That's right. I heard my mom several times through my slumber. There was somebody else here too but it wasn't Greg. I'm almost completely sure.

It seems like only a handful of seconds before my mom rushes inside the room with a doctor following closely behind. Mom immediately heads for me, her tear-stricken face making my gut twist. Man. If I thought Greg looked bad...

"Mama?" I sound timid. What could have happened that's gotten everyone so undone?

"Oh, my sunshine." Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she cups mine tenderly, eyes taking me in like she can't believe what she's seeing. "Thank goodness you're awake."

Wondering what she means by that, I ask, "Was I asleep or something?"

"No, honey." She leans down to kiss my forehead. "You were unconscious."

"Unconscious?" I can't help but repeat. That's never happened to me before. "Why?"

"You don't remember?"

Damn it. That's what Greg said, too. I knew this was bad.

"Sometimes it takes a while for the brain to catch up to trauma. Her body could be subconsciously blocking the memories. It's not certain that she doesn't remember, at least not yet." The doctor explains calmly, throwing a smile my way. She seems kind.

Trauma? What the hell is going on?

"Will somebody just explain everything to me? You guys are freaking me out." I can feel my chest heaving with distraught.

"Relax, honey. It's okay. You're okay." She quietly instructs me until I feel somewhat under control again. She glances nervously at Greg who nods at her reassuringly, placing his hand on the small of her back. What is she so reluctant to tell me? I get my answer when she finally says, "There was an accident, Sunshine. You've been unconscious for three days."

"Three days?" Fear grips my throat and I almost can't speak. "What kind of accident?"

"A car accident. It was pretty bad but it also could have been worse."

A car accident? My mind races trying to recollect any sort of memory but the last thing I remember is...walking around my apartment. I don't even remember getting into a car. I'd been cooking dinner when all of a sudden...

"Zack!" I gasp with realization and my hands seek out my belly. I cup it with shaking hands as if I can somehow hold him. "There was something wrong. He wasn't moving. I...I think...I was trying to take myself to the hospital. Something's wrong." I look toward the doctor and desperation causes me to tear up. "You have to check my baby. He has to be okay."

"I don't want you to worry." The doctor walks right up to my bed so she can place her hand on my arm. "That's the first thing we did—check your baby. He's okay."

"But...I remember...he wasn't moving. He wasn't."

"I believe you. When you were brought in and I examined you he definitely wasn't but he's fine now. Have a feel."

She guides my hands that feel ice cold and sweaty at the same time and gently places them at the bottom of my belly where Zack should be. I wait patiently and the seconds feel like hours but then I feel it—a kick.

A sob tears out of me and my relief is so overwhelming, I start trembling all over. "Oh, thank goodness. My baby."

Mom grips my hands tightly as I duck my chin into my chest and let the tears break free. I don't remember the accident but I remember the unshakable fear I felt when Zack completely stopped his movements. I'd been so terrified and distraught that I didn't think to call my mom or anyone else for help. I just knew I had to get to the hospital.

"Do you know why he stopped moving for a while there?" I can't stop stroking the underside of my belly. I can feel my son there and keeping my hands where he is is the closest thing I have to holding him. And God, the urge to hold him right now is suffocatingly painful.

"He was in fetal distress due to lack of oxygen and you began showing symptoms of preterm labour."

"What?" My hands tighten on my stomach. "But I'm only at six months. It's too soon."

"The good thing is they're only symptoms and we can manage it to the best of our abilities."

"But?" I urge, sensing that there's more.

She hesitates. "But it is likely that this baby will not be carried to full term. In the meantime we'll do everything we can to keep that from happening later than sooner. I'm confident we can get your baby to at least eight months."

"Eight months." I repeat in a daze. "That's not too bad, right?"

"That's not too bad, no. Lots of babies are born perfectly healthy with no long-term effects at eight months. The goal is to be optimistic and consistent."

"And do we know what caused it? My symptoms?

"I've been doing your daily checkups for the past three days and the only pattern I'm seeing is stress. Your blood pressure is alarmingly high and your own distress might have been passed on to the fetus. For that reason, our short-term plan will be to manage your blood pressure with calmatives such as meditation, a healthy diet, and a strict sleep schedule."

She continues to go on about monitoring me and the baby over the next few days as well as calling in a psychiatrist in case my memory about the accident comes back and ignites my stress levels even more. I hear what she's saying but I'm not processing any of it. All I can focus on is your own distress might have been passed on to the fetus.

All I can think is I did this to my baby.

And I zone everybody out, whispering words of apology to my son over and over again until I'm crying so hard, everyone except my mom leaves the room. She doesn't say a word as gut-wrenching sobs continue to rip out of me, only holding my hand as tightly as she can. I don't understand why this is happening. I don't understand why I was abandoned, or why I haven't been able to overcome my misery, or why my baby has to suffer just because I am.

It doesn't matter what anyone says or does now. In this moment, I know that there's a part of me that will never forgive myself.

***

I thought I would be excited to be home after spending over a week in the hospital running test after test. I was, initially.

But then the nightmares started.

I'm not sure why I couldn't remember the accident the entire time I'd been at the hospital. Maybe I felt safer? Maybe I was so consumed with worry for my baby? Maybe there were constant distractions?

It could have been any of these things but none of them prepared be for the first night when I woke up in a cold sweat, a scream caught in my throat. My mom shared the bed with me, deciding that she would temporarily stay at my apartment until we both felt ready for me to be on my own again, and had shaken me awake looking beyond frightened.

"Honey, what is it?" She whispered.

I tried not to think about how scared she sounded. It only terrified me even more.

"I remember." My voice sounded cold. Detached.

"The accident?" She confirmed. When I nodded, she lay back down beside me and wrapped her arms around me. I don't think she knew what to say and for that, I was glad.

I didn't want to talk about how I'd been speeding in my haste to get to the hospital, or how I was crying so hard as I drove that I couldn't see what was in front of me, or how I'd screamed when another car barely managed to brake in front of mine as it tried to turn at the intersection, or how I managed to swerve my own car only for it to crash into a large tree. It had been my fault—the accident. There was no sugar-coating it. And so in that moment, as my mom hummed softly under her breath in her attempt to calm me, I stared vacantly at the ceiling while the sounds of squealing tires and horns honking pulsed in my eardrums. In that moment, I hated myself even more.

***

"Delilah!"

The sound of my own gasp wakes me up and I immediately sit up, my hands clenching around my blanket. I'm shaking. My throat feels hoarse. Sweat has matted my hair to my face.

Damn it. I had another nightmare.

It takes a second for me to swallow down my saliva. My mouth is so painfully dry I'm almost unable to. I blink against the black spots that dot my vision and wait for it to clear up. By now, I've become a pro at this, pathetic as that sounds. When I can see again, my gaze lands on the only other person in the room besides me.

Nate.

He's sitting at the edge of my bed, watching me with so much concern that my heart twists. His fingers are curled into his palms tightly enough that his knuckles are white.

"What're you doing here?" I manage to ask. I've only seen him a handful of times these past two weeks. The truth is I've needed space from everyone. Even being in my mom's company is too overwhelming but my psychiatrist warned me that my trauma might convince me to isolate myself. Even so, I felt like I could breathe so much better when she ran out to do some grocery shopping, as crappy as that makes me sound. I'd laid down to take a short nap and...

Yeah. It's kind of obvious what happened next.

"I could hear you screaming from my apartment, Del." Nate runs a hand through his hair. "Scared the fuck out of me."

"Sorry." I whisper and feel an overwhelming urge to cry. I know this isn't the first time my screams have given him a scare or woke him up in the middle of the night. It angers me as much as it embarrasses me.

"Why are you apologizing?" He reaches out a hand towards me but pauses when I rear back slightly. I can tell I'm hurting his feelings but I don't have it in me to take his touch—his comfort. I don't feel deserving of it. He drops his hand again. "Must be one hell of a nightmare to do this to you."

"More like one hell of a memory." I correct softly. He looks like he wants to say something else but I beat him to it. "How'd you get inside?"

"Your mom gave me the keys." He admits. "She was worried that without her being here..."

"Got it." I say tightly. "Can't leave the crazy girl alone, right?"

"Come on, Del." His voice is exceptionally quieter. "Don't do that."

"It's the truth." I shrug non-chalantly when I'm feeling anything but. "Anyways, I'm fine. Thanks for checking."

I don't have to say the words for him to understand that I want him to leave. He continues to watch me like he can see right through me and I can feel my walls building back up. I take a deep breath through my nose and exhale slowly, trying to be mindful about my stress.

Relax, I remind myself. For Zack.

He's the only person I have it in me to care about these days.

"I'm okay, Nate. You should go." I push.

"Fine." He stands up and stuffs his hands in his pockets. I can't blame him for losing his patience with me. I haven't exactly been the easygoing, pushover Delilah lately. "You'll let me know if you need anything?"

"Sure." We both know that's a lie.

He takes a visible breath of his own and nods jerkily, waking away without another word. Even though that's what I wanted, my heart sinks when I hear the front door slam shut and the tears finally slip through.

***

"Knock, knock!"

My stomach sinks with dread as I watch Avery and Emily walk inside my room. What are they doing here?

"Hey." I say with obvious hesitancy.

"Up for some company?" Emily asks a little timidly and holds up a tray of drinks from Starbucks.

I'm really not but I wouldn't tell them that. Especially not after avoiding them for the last three weeks. The truth is, the closer I'm getting to my estimated delivery date which is about a month and a half away, the more nervous I'm getting. I already won't be able to carry Zack to full term. What happens if I'm not able to carry him for eight months? My own distraught has made me paranoid from so much as stepping out of the house. I've been a complete wreck trying to hold it together and people only make me more nervous. Hence, my reluctance to stay in touch with anyone in my life.

"Got you your favourite." Emily sets down a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate and an oatmeal cookie on my bedside table. I stare at it already knowing I'll be too afraid to eat anything my nutritionist didn't put in my meal plan. She said I'm allowed to be flexible but I don't want to take any chances.

"Thank you." I tell her because I really do appreciate it.

"What's been up?" Avery toes off her flats and sits cross-legged on my bed. Emily joins her and the two watch me like I may burst into tears or hysterical laughter at any moment. Heat prickles my cheeks with embarrassment.

"Not much. Just taking it easy." I answer vaguely.