It was over.
Fergie wished she'd gotten more drugs. She thought it might never be over. And yet, this big void felt like a bottomless pit. She could not speak. Her voice was gone. Everything felt as if it was taken from her.
There was nothing to say to Trevor, who might as well have been a robot at the moment.
If she could have moved, she would have ran, but it wasn't possible. At least not yet. Her body felt as if it needed rest. Yet she was starving, but she wasn't hungry. Her throat so parched. It felt as if it might close off, and she'd lose air.
All Fergie could do was watch the ceiling as they rolled her out of the birthing area back to her room. How long did she have here, before they sent her home?
Where was home?
Did they even care where went? Her breasts were so heavy. Why? Weren't they going to give her something for that?
As they passed down the hall, she noticed balloons in someone's room. A dozen roses in another room. No nothing but a spacious white room. Finally, she started to let tears slip. It was as if she felt so much. It was just too much to hold in.
If only her Mom were here. But she wasn't. She choked for air. Maybe she was truly dieing. She took big gulps. Trying to keep calm.
Finally, she was left alone. As the minutes ticked by, she gathered her strength. Even if she felt almost like a zombie at the moment. At least she managed to get to her cell. Her luck it would be dead. Thankfully, it was alive.
She went to her contacts. A text would not do. Finally the number went through. And it rang..and rang..
"Please pick up, please pick up.." She whispered.
"Hullo." His voice so dull, yet quaint.
Fergie choked on tears. Now if she could only talk.