A Little More Than Convenient

|Carmen Sanchez|
My stomach was in complete knots as I lay on the kitchen floor. Trent had promised to be here in five minutes, but it felt like I laid there for days. My head and the room was spinning. Trent, the baby, Christian, Lizzie, Jessica, just everything was running through my mind.
This didn’t make any sense. The baby wasn’t due until July and it was the twelfth of June! I was concerned about the baby. I was concerned about myself. I was concerned about my life and everyone in it. I had no idea what was wrong. I had cut out junk food, caffeine, and fatty foods. I’d tried to eat more green and orange fruits and vegetables, and had taken my vitamins. I’d attempted to sleep as much as I could, too. The only thing that I could imagine was the stress from leaving Trent and the Christian fiasco.
Suddenly, someone banged on the door. “Carmen! Carmen, open up!”
It was Trent, and the sound of his voice almost (almost) made me forget all the pain that I was having in my stomach.
“Can’t...get up...,” I breathed.
“Can’t get up?” he asked.
“Key...under...plant,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer, but the door flew open, and Trent emerged into the kitchen. He darted to me and kneeled down by my side. “What’s the matter?” he asked frantically.
“Stomach...cramps,” I uttered. “Ahh!” I exclaimed in pain.
He put his arms around me defensively. “It’s going to be okay,” he soothed, “I’m going to get you to the hospital and-”
The front door swung open again. I used what little was left of my energy to turn my head to the right. A wave of nausea passed over me as I saw who was at the door.
“Remington, what the hell are you doing in my apartment?!” A very angry Christian roared.
I felt even sicker as I watched the situation unfold.
But there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
“Christian, we don’t have time for this! Something’s wrong with Carmen and the baby and-”
“Save it, you stupid son of a bitch!” Christian bellowed, lunging toward Trent.
“Christian...,” I whispered, “leave Trent...alone. The baby.”
He stopped and looked at me. “I will not leave him alone, Carmen! Shut up! This is my fucking house and I will not be chastised in my own home!”
Trent held up his hands. “Christian, Carmen needs help. Just leave it!”
“Shut the hell up and get the fuck outta my house!” Christian howled.
“Christian, no,” I said firmly, “hospital...now.”
He glared at me. “I told you to shut up!” Then, he kicked me hard in my shin.
I jumped as the pain seeped through my leg. I yelped. Not only had it hurt, but I was weak and worried enough as it was. Tears made their way down my face. I was so ashamed that I’d ever came back to this bastard, and that I’d ever put my child in that kind of danger.
Trent’s eyes flashed with pure fury. “You candy-assed pussy! What the hell is wrong with you? She’s a woman! Not only that, but a pregnant woman! Are you stupid?” Then, he flew out at him.
Christian landed on top of the kitchen table and one of the legs creaked to the right.
“Fuck!” Christian screeched before getting up onto his feet. This time, he went after Trent. But Trent wasn’t an idiot, and he caught Christian off guard by socking him square in the jaw with his fist.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Christian asked loudly. He shoved Trent into the kitchen island and then he grimaced.
Trent bounced back quickly and grabbed a glass plate off of the counter and smashed it over Christian’s head. Christian stumbled and Trent punched him again, then, kicked him violently in the gut.
“Ugh!” Christian groaned, doubling over in pain. Trent saw this as his chance to win. He punched Christian three more times in the face and he landed against the refrigerator, knocking his head onto it.
“If you ever, and I mean so much as even look at Carmen again I will kill you. I will make you experience worse pain than imaginable. And I’ll take it slow that you will suffer long and hard, begging me to kill you, but I won’t. Not until you pay for everything that you did. And then-”
“Trent...the baby,” I interrupted.
Recollection passed over his face. “Shit, I’m sorry, Carmen!” He sped over to me and scooped me up. “It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay. I am going to get you to the hospital and they are going to take care of you.”
He carried me bridal style out of the room and down the elevator to the parking lot. All the while, he was stroking my face and telling me repeatedly that I was going to be okay. He opened the door to his tan suburban and sat me gently in the passenger seat, and then ran to the driver’s side. He turned the key in the ignition, gunned it, and sped off toward the hospital.
On the way there, my stomach pains got more frequent and stronger. And then finally, I felt a weird, wet sensation. Realization hit me.
“Trent,” I whispered.
“What is it?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of the road.
“My...my water...it just broke. I’m...going into...labor.”
His eyes widened and he sped up. “Oh my God. Shit, shit, shit.” Then he sighed, “We’ll be there soon, don’t worry.”
When we finally reached the NEA (North East Arkansas) Baptist Hospital, Trent insisted on carrying me again, even though my pants were damp. He all but ran up to the hospital doors.
She’s pregnant and in labor,” Trent exclaimed between huffs and puffs.
“Well, we’re a little short on rooms and people have rented some, and so-”
“She’s in labor, goddamn it!” Trent cried out.
Any other day I would have winced at the GD word, especially Trent was the one who had said it. But I was in way too much pain.
The nurse’s eyes filled with fear. “O-okay,” just hold on one second.” She paged the maternity ward, and within seconds they had another nurse, a plump blond woman, come to us with a wheelchair. Trent eased me into it.
“Are you the father?” she asked.
I almost said yes, but before I could, Trent shook his head. “No, I’m just a friend.”
“Is the father coming?” she asked.
“N-no,” I replied, “but I want him with me,” I pointed at Trent, and then grimaced with pain again.
“Oh, lord,” she said, “we’d better get you to a room before you have that baby right here in the hallway.
She began to wheel me off, and Trent followed quickly.
I was so glad that he was here with me and not Christian.
After all, Trent was the real father anyway.
He didn’t know it, but the baby was not a Nance.
It was a Remington.