Winning Hollywood's Goodest Girl

The machine we bought in an effort to simulate the feelings of labor and childbirth for me buzzes, and the electrodes on my stomach contract my muscles into tight balls.

My heart races, and her laughter bounces off every wall in my apartment like a metaphorical pinball. Which makes sense. With me on the bed with my knees in the air and Rocky next to me coaching me on the timing of my breathing, we’re most definitely characters in the Twilight Zone game.

The music in my head shifts, turning dark as my pain ratchets up to a whole new level. It’s as if the longer it lasts, the more my body rejects the idea that all will be well soon. “Oh hellll, what the fuck is happening?” I shout. “I swear, my organs are pulsing.”

Rocky laughs and turns the dial up a little higher. No mess, no gain apparently. No fucking mercy. Jesus Christ, I’m co-parenting with a masochist.

“Jee-sus. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask, trying like hell to breathe through the pain. “Like way, way too much. Why are you enjoying this so much?”

“It’s the only thing I have to hold on to,” she says through an evil little giggle. “When you’re coaching me through labor, telling me to breathe a little deeper to make the pain go away, I’ll be able to remember this and throw it appropriately in your face.”

I chuckle and groan harshly through the agony. “I won’t downplay your pain like that. I’m not an animal like you.”

Rocky laughs harder and shrugs, turning up the dial yet again. Apparently, calling her out on her evils only pushes her further into bed with the devil.

“Oh, look at that,” she says, looking at the screen with eyes that are far too amused for this current situation. “You’re entering transition. This is known as the most painful part of labor.”

“For good reason,” I groan with a wheeze. “Holy hell, I feel like a sheath for a samurai sword. And my samurai can’t fucking decide whether he wants to use it or not. In, out, in, out. Lots of twisting.”

“What’s that?” she asks, putting a dramatic hand to her ear. “Is that the sound of you begging for the drugs?”

“Yes!” I yell, my stomach gripping with a spasm so tight I almost faint. “Good Lord, I’ll take anything. Meth, pixie dust, whatever the kids are doing these days, just give it to me!”

“I sure as hell hope the kids aren’t doing meth. Jesus, parenting is going to be harder than I thought,” Rocky muses, and as much as I’d like to concentrate on how cute and funny she is, she’s completely forgotten that I’m dying and she’s the one killing me.

“Rock—”

“I mean, a little bit of weed I guess I can see. Everyone experiments, and it’s being legalized more and more, but coke and heroin and—”

“Rocky!” I groan.

“I mean, when I was a kid, I was around a lot of shit. I grew up in Hollywood, for God’s sake. But meth? Why are children doing this to themselves?

“Rocky! Rocky! The dial…please…”

“Oh,” she says, seemingly surprised that I’m even here. “Right. I forgot to turn it up the rest of the way.”

“What?” I squawk as she turns the knob all the way up to a ten. “Down, down, down!” I yell like a weakling. “Not up!”

She panics then as she sees the true hysteria in my eyes and grasps wildly at the dial without decreasing my pain in any way.

My throat closes up as my stomach twists into a knot and punches me directly in the groin. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, and I start to see flashes of my life before my eyes.

This is it. This is how I end. Not with the birth of my child or in something cool like a skydiving accident, but in the bedroom of my apartment with electrodes taped to my stomach.

When she finally gets the dial turned all the way down and I sag in relief at the respite, she jumps up onto my side of the bed and starts running her hands along every inch of my abdomen. “Are you okay? Oh my God, did I really hurt you? Where’s the most pain?” she shrieks wildly.

My panting is real as I recover from my bout with the satanic machine, but now that it’s turned off, the relief is oddly complete. Like, instantly gone. Just like that.

Thank fuck.

Still, I can’t help but use this moment to my advantage. It’s been nearly two months of torture since we broke the barrier to physical contact again, and though it’s been beyond worth it to take my time, I’m at almost the end of my rope made of self-control.

I want her so badly I’ve started to hallucinate about her naked body around every corner I turn.