*Kaelith*
"I tell you, she's pregnant!" The annoyingly loud feminine voice pulled me out of my sleep and I blinked awake slowly, gauging my environment.
White pale walls, the kind that seemed chosen not to comfort but to avoid offending anyone's nerves. Smooth and sterile, they reflected the fluorescent lighting with a dull hue, interrupted only by a wall-mounted monitor that beeps softly with each breath I took.
Above, the ceiling loomed in a grid of white acoustic tiles, each one identical, soulless, and slightly textured like pressed chalk
In one corner, a circular air vent hummed faintly, stirring the cold, filtered air. The light fixtures — long fluorescent bars — buzzed ever so slightly, casting a clinical glow that made time feel suspended.
I was in a hospital.
A freaking hospital! How the hell did I even get here?
"I tell you, Frederick, she's a whore! A fucking whore and I can bet my two breasts— even though I only have one left— that she's pregnant, and that's what all this fuss is all about!" The female voice snapped again and I frowned as realization soon hit.
It was my mother. Hurray! The Queen was finally here!
"Because you've slept with a few men in the past, Margaret, it doesn't mean your daughter would do the same. Give her some credit!" My dad's bored tone drifted into my ears, and if I wasn't rendered immobile by the drip set and all the shit connected to my body, I'd have done a fist pump.
I heard a shocked gasp— my mom's, and the usual words that usually followed; "You did not just say that to me, Freddy?!"
I rolled my eyes, and deciding that I could no longer witness this, I groaned loud enough that they would both hear, and intentionally muttered; "Dad?"
My father was beside me in seconds. "My goldfish, how do you feel?"
I smiled at him, and at the usual nickname. And then I nodded. "I feel fine. I just do not understand why they need to connect so much stuff to my body. What happened earlier?"
My dad smiled back, but it did not quite reach his eyes. He whispered; "Because you lost consciousness. I thought I'd lost you. We all thought you were gone…" his voice trailed off, cracking; and I noticed how he stared lovingly at me for a moment before blinking, as if shaking himself out of his trance, and then he ruffled my hair before leaning back.
"I'm glad you're safe now," he added.
But I wasn't. I wasn't safe.
His number still floated over his head like a damn cloud.
And from here, I could see one floating over mom's as well.
'No. 589.' It read, and I shuddered.
Whatever this is, she was pretty low on the scale, and for some reason, that was all the satisfaction I needed. I smiled.
My smile faded instantly when she came into view, her maniacal eyes latching onto mine like a trap to its prey. She studied my face for a moment and then she laughed, the sound loud and annoying.
She spat; "I told you, Freddy, she's pregnant!"
"Not this again, Magaret…" Dad groaned, the embarrassment evident in his eyes. He winked at me as if begging with his eyes, pleading that I do not respond to her, but I couldn't.
I frowned. "I know I'm not, mom!"
"Oh cut me that bullcrap, Kaelith! You think I don't see you sneaking around the house with that nerd with shady glasses and ugly hair?!"
"You mean Dustin?" I nearly shouted, "Dustin, my best friend?!"
"If he is your best friend then Gigi Hadid is a lesbian!" She shouted back, forcing me to swallow the next words I wanted to say.
I couldn't believe her. Couldn't believe that the first thing she could bring herself to think of when I was hit with a sudden illness was pregnancy. Tears of frustration gathered in my eyes but I struggled to blink them away.
And I failed.
I always failed.
Because as much as I hated her, as much as I tried to always avoid and ignore her, her words and actions still affected me in ways I couldn't explain. She was still my mother after all, and maybe that stupid bond was the reason she could still hurt me so terribly without even trying so hard.
I saw her open her mouth, and I knew just then that she was about to say something worse. However, I was saved when the doors creaked open, and a very petite very pretty nurse stepped into the room. She was dressed in a blue scrub and her luscious purple hair was styled into a messy bun atop her head.
She didn't have a number.
She looked at me and smiled, her eyes warm. Turning to my parents, she said; "We've examined your daughter thoroughly and besides a small drop in her sugar levels, we noticed nothing unusual."
"Is she pregnant? Did you check for that too?" This time, it was my mother who asked and I didn't even resist the urge to roll my eyes at her.
"Yes, we did. We checked everything and she isn't pregnant. She doesn't even seem sexually active from the results of the scans done around her pelvic area." She said, and as soon as she did, the room went silent.
My mother looked away from my father and I like we were the least exciting thing in the room.
Ms pretty nurse turned to me again, her smile still radiant. She said; "Try to rest buddy. We'll prescribe medications to help with your sugar levels… and I can help you draft out a meal plan. That could help too."
I smiled. "Thank you so much, I'd appreciate that." I said sweetly, even though deep down, I knew I'd never follow through with the meal plan.
However, she seemed satisfied with my response because then she nodded and walked out. My mom followed shortly afterwards, and I let out a sigh of relief, glad to be finally away from her.
And then suddenly, a thought struck me.
"Dad, do you see a number floating over my head?" I asked slowly, confusedly, and my heart fell when his brows knitted together.
He stared at me differently— like I was an alien.
And then he fixed his face, chuckling dismissively. "No. Am I supposed to?"
Something about his words made my world tilt on its axis. It confirmed my suspicions: I was indeed going mad.
My body trembled as the thought hit me, but I didn't back down. I couldn't.
I nodded slightly. "Maybe… because I see numbers over your own head. And I see it too on everyone's— a lot of people— as well. It's why I keep feeling dizzy. It's why I keep slipping in and out of consciousness."
I half expected my father to laugh off my words. Hell, I even expected him to call the doctors on me; But he did none of those. Instead, he stared at me— like really stared at me, and then he asked;
"What number do you see above my head?"
I gulped. "No. 95."
And as soon as the words slipped past my lips, my father slapped his hands over my mouth. His eyes were wild— the first time I'd ever see him like this— and his mannerisms were frantic.
"Never say that out loud." He hissed in a voice so fierce, it made me shudder. "Never tell anyone my number is above hundred!"
My eyes widened. I balked. "They mean something?"
"Yes, they do!" He gritted through his teeth. "And don't ask me what they mean. I can't tell you here. The people in charge of those numbers are everywhere. They see everything and hear every conversation. So do us both a favor and keep your lips sealed shut!"
I gasped.
For sixteen years, I've lived.
For sixteen years, I've made mistakes.
But not once in all of those times did my father ever talk to me the way he just did. Not once has he looked at me the way he just did.
He looked at me like I was vile, something he couldn't recognize.
Like something he wanted to keep quiet.
And that made me extremely afraid.