Trouble in Hell (Hell Night 1)

Luckily, we make it to the car before another contraction hits. Without asking for permission, I snatch up Susan’s phone that she tossed on the console. Tears blur my vision and another painful contraction grips me, but I focus on bringing the phone to life. Finding his name, I press it, and then hunch over. It rings a couple of times before going to voicemail. I hang up and try again. I do this over and over again as Susan drives the short distance to Trouble’s office. She doesn’t say anything, and I’m grateful.

“Let’s get you inside and get you set up before I check you again,” she says, shutting off her car. It’s still dark out, but there’s a light on over the back door.

I’m glad Susan’s calm, because I’m on the verge of freaking out. I keep the phone in my hand when she comes around to help me out. We’re forced to stop when another contraction makes me immobile for a moment. A low cry slips from my lips with the force of it. I have sweat dripping down my face, and it’s not from the heat. My breathing has become heavy as well, and a wave of dizziness hits me.

Susan flips on the lights when we walk into the back entrance. I bring the phone back to my ear, only for it to ring once and go to voicemail. I want to throw it at the wall, but instead I grip it tight in my fist. Thankfully, Susan hasn’t asked for it back yet, because I’m not sure I’d hand it over.

I pant as I’m set down on a chair. Susan hands me a checkered gown.

“I’m going to go grab a few things. Start working on your clothes, and I’ll be back in a moment to help you.”

Instead of doing what she says, I try calling Trouble once again. I want to scream when it doesn’t even ring this time. Sudden anger slams into me, and I yank off my shirt, pushing through the pain that’s starting again. That’s as far as I get when Susan comes back in the room. I grab the underside of my stomach, hunch over, and release a cry of pain.

“Come on, honey,” Susan says softly, grabbing the gown from me. I never put my shorts back on after Susan removed them to check me. Thankfully, my shirt was long and covered my bottom half. Now though, with the shirt gone, I’m naked. I don’t feel an ounce of embarrassment.

I sit up, and after she helps me with the gown, I waddle over to the bed with her assistance. It’s the same bed I was on before. Once I’m settled back against the pillows, her phone clutched to my chest, my legs are raised and she’s checking me again. As she pokes me between the legs, I try calling Trouble once more.

Frustration bubbles in me when I get the same response, but I don’t have time to dwell on it because a hellacious contraction sends pain skyrocketing through my stomach. The phone drops beside me as my hands ball into fists. My whimpers turn into cries as the pain mounts.

“Well,” Susan starts, slipping off her gloves and stands at my feet. “You’re at eight now and your contractions are two minutes apart. Looks like he might come pretty fast. Would you like something to ease the pain? Unfortunately, Trouble is the only one qualified to give an epidural, so that won’t be an option.”

My mind screams, “Yes! Give me all the drugs,” but I knew from the start I wanted to do this without them. I want nothing to alter my experience. I want to be fully awake and aware when my little guy comes into the world.

“No,” I moan. “No drugs.”

She frowns. “Are you sure? The pain is only going to get worse.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I want it to be natural.” I reach for my cross and grip the silver metal. “Have you delivered a baby before.”

“Yes. Four actually,” she answers, tossing her gloves in the trash.

Just then, a woman walks in the room. It takes me a moment to realize it’s Jenny, the woman I met at The Hill a few days ago. She looks much different in a pair of yoga pants, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. She has on no make-up and her hair is in a simple ponytail.

As soon as she sees me, she rushes over and picks up my hand.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” I croak out.

She beams at me. “Susan called. I help out here sometimes when I’m needed. I’m a registered nurse.”

My eyes widen in surprise. I would have never pegged her as a nurse.

“Oh,” I respond lamely.

Another contraction comes, and I swear it feels like someone

is cutting me in two. I pant, then whine, then let out a low cry.

“We need to get her hooked up to the CTG to monitor the baby’s heart rate and her contractions,” Susan says, stepping up to me carrying a small flat round device with a belt attached to it.

Before they get it around my stomach, another wave of pain hits. My hand blindly reaches for the phone, my hope that Trouble will answer still alive inside me. I know my insistent need for him to be here is more than just him being a doctor. I don’t know what it is, and my brain is too scrambled to really think about it.

“Where in the fuck is the phone?” I shout hysterically when my hand comes up empty.

As if sensing my thoughts, I hear a chime coming from my left. I look over just as Susan grabs her phone from the counter that she must have taken from me when it dropped from my grasp.

“Where are you?” she asks as a greeting. After a moment, she continues. “Remi’s in labor. I’ve got Jenny here with me.” She pauses. “I don’t think she’s going to make it that long. The contractions are coming pretty quickly, and she went from six centimeters to eight within twenty minutes.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” I chant when my stomach tightens with unbearable pain. I roll to the side and draw my knees up as far as they’ll go, but it doesn’t help the pain. I almost tell Susan to give me the drugs, but I refrain.