Stretch the Skin 🐺

I hate it here. I hate the gleaming wood furniture without a single speck of dust. Like. It's not normal. I hate the patchwork blanket on the bed. It looks like it belonged to somebody's grandma's grandma and they probably died under it.

I hate the painted-shut window. I hate feeling trapped, like an animal. I hate being alone all the time. I even miss the weirdos and pervs at that hostel. The smiles and frowns and banter. The shitty soup in thick plasticky cups.

I hate the thick wooden door with that ridiculous old fashioned latch that does absolutely fuck-all because the crazy old bitch locked it from the outside.

I can't stand the food here, either. It's plain but even the smell makes me gag. I hate that she only gives me a thick plastic spoon to eat it with. She knows I'm mad. Doesn't want me to have anything that could be a weapon.

I hate that when she brings me a tray, she balances it on one hand, the other pointing a gun at me. I hate the way the mouth of it yawns, the way you have to stare it down, can't look away.

I hate her most of all. The way she says no getting pregnant, not if you're staying here, and then when I am, she traps me here. The way she says, listen, you won't be pregnant for long, but she won't let me out of here to do anything about it. Last I knew, being pregnant lasted nine months. Right? And that is a long time. Too long to be stuck in this room anyway.

I hate that my belly is already starting to swell. I noticed it before the test, but I thought it was the heavy food. How far along am I??

This morning, she brought me breakfast, gun tracing little circles in the air above the porridge and fruit.

"I know you're angry," she said, "But aren't you curious as well?"

I give her a Look, a real evil one, but she acted like she didn't notice.

"How come you're pregnant?" she asks me, and I don't know how to answer that. I've not got laid in ages. Not since way before I got here, and my periods were regular then. Tummy flat. No sickness. Not in the morning, not any other time.

So... How. The. Fuck.

"So," she continues, peering at me with those beetly little eyes, "Not even a little curious?"

Fuck her. Sideways. But she had a point.

"Give me a few days. A week, maybe. See how you feel. And then, after that, if you want rid, I've got a medicinal tea that will do it. You won't even have to go to a clinic."

She's still watching me, like she can see right through my skull, see the cogs turning.

"Just think about it," she says, and backs away, gun still level, door swinging shut.

The lock clicks. My brain whirs. I sink down on the edge of the unmade bed. The food just sits there, going cold and gooey and even more gross. My eyes flick over to my rucksack at the end of the...

It's gone.

That bitch!

I'm getting angry again. Like when she first locked me in here, yesterday morning. Right after the positive test. Like it's gonna swallow me. Or I'm gonna open my mouth and breathe fire.

That moment, right then, that's when I feel it. I'd never felt it before but I knew excatly what it was.

A hard kick.

Inside me.

And it's really hard, too. For a second, I get this mad idea that this... this thing (I can't think baby, I just can't) is having a tantrum. Like he's as mad as I am.

Isn't it far too early for that? I wonder again how far along I am. I got my last period didn't I? On time? I'm actually not sure. I'm never very good at tracking that stuff. I used to use my phone, but it got nicked, and I haven't been able to afford another. I think hard, and try counting the weeks, but they've all smudged together.

I frown down at my belly. I pull up my pyjama top and stare at it some more. It's definitely fatter. Oh! There it is again - another kick! Even stronger this time! It actually hurt.

Thats not normal. Is it?

She's right. I am curious. But I still want rid of it. I don't want a baby. Not even a fucking miracle one. Miracles still need their asses wiping. Still need feeding. I can't do all that. I can't.

Still. It'll be easy to convince her I agree, won't it? How much freedom will she give me then? I sit and stew and try to come up with a Plan. Wouldn't do to cave too soon, would it? Not convincing at all.

I try and try but I have no idea what to do about my situation. Maybe she will give me this magical tea stuff. Doesn't seem likely. I don't trust her. Maybe I really can just make a run for it.

She comes back quick when I start yelling and banging on the door. Not like yesterday. She's so fast, I think she was waiting out there in the hallway. What else is she gonna do? She doesn't seem to do anything. 'Cept scrub away every speck of dust, a d cook crap food. And see to whatever it is she keeps hidden in that back bedroom.

It hits me just then that it might be a who in that room, not a what. I thought maybe it was a fella she kept locked up as some kind of sex slave. Well. I didn't really think that. It was just a funny thing to think. But maybe it is a person. Someone like me. And she won't let them go, either.

Oh, I'm curious alright, but I'm getting rid of it as soon as I possibly can.

The lock is clicking again, the other way this time. So I squash down my temper and my questions. Sit back on the bed. Clasp my hands together. Try to look meek and scared.

The door starts to swing open, right as the little shit kicks me again. I flinch and glance down at my bel... Holy shit. I have an actual bump! Didn't even have to pull my top up, it's sticking out that much! Did I just not notice it before? How is that possible?

Thank you for reading!

I have two challenges running at the moment...

Fiction - any genre - a woman-centric effort:

And a song challenge - write a passionate ballad to yourself:

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CW: unwanted/coerced pregnancy