Note: I find this story disturbing, as it spawns from one of my own nightmares. It involves kidnapping, enslavement, and contains strong language. I imagine it may be too disturbing for some. Consider yourself warned.
I gradually heard a persistent beeping noise invading my head. Ugh, it’s Saturday, make it stop. My body felt heavy and my brain and my arm apparently didn’t feel like communicating yet to turn off the alarm. Or better yet, to pull the covers over my head and bury myself in ignorant bliss for at least another half hour.
Rustling movements began to register all around me. Were the dogs up already? I still can’t make my body work, or open my eyes. I try to focus on breathing, racking my brain to come up with a logical explanation for why I suddenly felt paralyzed. All the while, I feel the panic bubble begin to swell in my stomach. Without warning, feeling rips back into my body and an explosion of pain from my abdomen shoots me into reality as I let out a blood curling scream.
“Ah, there now, she’s back with us!” It’s a female voice; clipped, calm, collected. She must be the source of the rustling. “Hello Miss Prescott. Just keep breathing and we will be done in a flash. That’s a good dear…”
What the hell— I try to force my body to sit up but I am still dead weight.
“Now dear, don’t trying to struggle, it’ll just make things harder. Just breathe and push, breathe and push. We’ll have these little ones out in no time.”
Little ones? What little ones? I am trying with all my might to leverage my arms into a sitting position until I finally realize my chest and arms are strapped to the bed. My legs are up and I feel straps around my ankles as well. I try to look around the room, trying to gain my bearing, but nothing is in focus. Clouds of blue and black and red swirl through my eyes, further distorting my vision.
I don’t understand. I think I am managing to talk out loud, but I’m not sure if anyone can hear me. Or, if they can, they truly don’t care about what I’m saying.
“Okay, dear. One more big push then Number One is out!” This bitch sounds almost cheerful. Number one of wha — oh my God, I can’t do this, oh shit this hurts! What the fuck is happening to me?!? Without any conscious thought, I am pushing with all of might, praying that doing so will make this pain stop.
After what seemed an eternity, the pushing seemed to help and pain subsided. At this point I was fully conscious, although my vision was still a bit clouded. I looked around and it looked like I was in the middle of someone’s library strapped down to a hospital bed attached to a monitor and an IV. The monitor continued to beep out my heart beat as I heard a cry erupt from somewhere past the foot of the hospital gurney. Everything clicked.
No fucking way! No FUCKING way! I am not pregnant! I don’t remember being pregnant! Fuck that, I don’t remember getting pregnant and that’s a pretty important part of having a — the pain suddenly returned, shooting up my back with a vegeance.
“Hush now dear,” Cruella was really getting under my skin. ” Just two more to go, then all will be done for this round.”
Two more? Two more? I’m having triplets? What the fuck – this isn’t possible! Right? This can’t be possible! I haven’t missed a period. Paul and I broke up over a year ago. There hasn’t been so much as a man I wanted to talk to come through this town in a year, much less sleep with. I don’t —
Oh God heeelp meeee! I couldn’t even concentrated on my internal monologue, it hurt so badly. Tears streaming down my eyes, I tried to get a better look at Mary Poppin’s demonic sister. Tall, skinny with short brown hair, all pointy and sharp, no curves at all. Wearing an old fashioned crisp nurses uniform, complete with the cap.
I stop analyzing Charlotte Diesel because now all I can do is push again. This is surreal. I am surrounded by books, giving birth to three children that I didn’t know I was pregnant with twenty four hours ago and had no idea how they could have possibly been conceived. Oh my god, have I been raped and don’t even remember it?! Aaaahhhhh!! I push with all of my might until the pressure is finally relieved. After a minute, I hear another shrill cry come from the corner. I close my eyes, desperately praying for all of this to go away. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. Wake up Joanie, wake up!
“Oh you are very much awake dear.” Nurse Ratched came up beside me, looking in my eyes for the first time. “And don’t be silly, of course you weren’t raped. We used fertility drugs and artificial insemination. Everything must be clinical and sterile to insure product quality.”
Product quality? Clinical? Fertility drugs can take months… I feel my body trembling as the implications of her words wash through me. I narrow my eyes at her and draw in my breath. How did I get here?
“Dear sweet girl. It’ll be easier next time. You put up such a fight we’ve had to keep you drugged for quite awhile. The sooner you accept your fate, the better it will go for you. Just think, after this is over, you can enjoy the gardens and the music room and are only required to pump breast milk for the next ten months before we even start the second round of fertility. And we so hope the next round will be bigger. Even with the high dollar we can fetch for your particular gene set, three is a rather low yield. Oh, it looks like we are almost there! Now push!”
My scream reverberates for miles, but Annie Wilkes is the only one that can hear me.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Nightmares.”