She had really wanted a nice, calm labor. You know, she would just be conveniently walking by St. Mungo's when her water broke, without much pain shooting through her. A nurse would lead her to her room, Adrian would be by her side in a moment's notice, and then after a few minutes they would have their daughter without breaking a sweat. Of course the simple plan in her head had never been thought to be plausible, but some sort of variant of it had been desperately wished for.
What Maggie had not wanted from her second go at labor was to be in the middle of quite possibly the loudest club in London, with her teammates and opponents all drunk and rowdy wearing ridiculous mustaches and dancing up a storm. At least she looked nice. She would go into labor looking fabulous, which was what really mattered in the end, wasn't it? Merlin's beard, she knew she should not have come tonight! She knew it, she knew it! Maggie's grip on Adrian's arm tightened, her nails digging into his forearm, sure to leave a mark. Why had they stopped? Why had they stopped moving?
Her expression could not be properly read. It was a mixture of so many emotions that Maggie wasn't even sure what she was feeling herself. Confusion? Rage? Worry? Anger? Astonishment? A bit of everything, and it was all directed at her husband, who was seemingly questioning her desire to get out of here and go to the hospital. Her desire. The pregnant one's desire to go to the hospital? Her face boiled a deep, dangerous red, and Maggie was sure that her nails had now pierced the skin of Adrian's arm.
Another pain rattled every bone in her body, letting Maggie know for sure that her instinct had not been wrong. This beautifully stupid husband of hers really needed to stop talking.
"We. Need. To. Go," she commanded through gritted teeth.
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
