Chapter 3: Not So Picture Perfect

 (Scrapbook pictures)

It's funny how fast things change. One moment we're laughing, enjoying the day. Dancing, kissing, playing with the kids. The next, you're jumping down my throat, or Willows sick and I have to make sure she had the best care. Or I'm in labor. Like I was that day.

Miracle was born on a Wednesday, I remember because I was asking what day it was because I was so out of it. I was screaming from the pain,  something was wrong. It had to be. There was no reason in the world it felt like this. I knew it was supposed to hurt but why couldn't I breath? Why was my vision blurring and why in the world was I bleeding from my mouth? I was sweating, which was a given but I hadn't even had my water broken yet. I repeat, something was WRONG. As in, not right. 

"Isaiah, I'm scared...I..." I don't remember anything after that.

I remember waking up and Isaiah being there next to me, crying. Was I dead? Of course not, I was way too freaking cold to be dead. Maybe he was just worried? Of course. I sat up as I watched him go over to our sons crib. Baby Miracle is what Isaiah said I named him. Because he was a Miracle. I had a staph infection, which is why I went into an early labor and why I had such a bad time in the hospital. I'd been out for weeks. I missed Willows third birthday, and the baby was a month old just about. They said I wouldn't have made it, but I seemed determined to live. I looked to Zay. 

"Babe..." I said with a dry throat and a cough. 

"Inspiration?" he said, eyes lighting up. 

"Don't get up."

"I want to see him. I need to." I stood too look at my one month old bundle of joy.

 His skin looked burned to a crisp. "Wh-what happened to him?" I asked with tear in my tired eyes. For someone to be sleeping for over a month, I sure was tired.

"He had a bad reaction to the medication given to you for the staph infection. He nearly died. Thanks to you. Anyway, they said it'd clear up in the next four to six weeks now."

"How is this my fault?"

"You got sick..."

"I know that, dingbat. Why are you blaming me?"

"Because you're the one who got the infection."

"I didn't kn-"

"Okay, well he can go home today, so we're leaving. See you at home. Willows fine, so don't ask."

I was confused. Deeply confused. I got to go home a week later. It was seriously argument after argument as soon as I got back. Was he getting deeper into those drugs? 

A year had passed, and my little Miracle was getting big! And cuter by the minute. So was his sister. I had the most beautiful kids in Twinbrook hands down. 

Anyway, my hair grew, and my eyes, they can't explain it but they turned a baby blue. Perhaps the meds? Maybe. I was still getting over the sickness, and Isaiah he'd begun to lay his hand on me. Little shoves here and there, maybe pushing me into the wall. I was scared of him. I don't know why he treated me like this. 

 I'd finished my breakfast for the morning and just gotten up to clean a little around the house because it was beginning to look really dirty. Something had to be done.  So I took the liberty of cleaning, because that's what moms do. Even though I was dog tired of chasing a four year old and a one year old around the house all day and taking meds that make you look and feel like a zombie.

"Inspiration! What the hell is this! Why are there dishes everywhere? I told you to get them up earlier!"

"I had to make sure the kids were OK first, Zay."

"Did I ask you that?"

"N-no..."

"Then shut up!"

Well, I didn't get the chance to do much cleaning because Isaiah scared the living daylights out of me. I began to wheeze.

"Stop that damn wheezing, I told you to SHUT UP!"

 That was when he finally struck me. In my face, it felt like my nose had been crushed. "Isai..."

"Inspiration. Shut up! I'm telling you this because I'm not trying to hurt you. SHUSH."

"I-I'm....I'm sorry, I didn't know you were so mad...I..." I began to sob. He'd hurt me, he promised to never hurt me. He was hurting me, and it was really hurting me bad.

 "I keep telling you to shut your mouth, Inspiration. I keep telling you, why aren't you listening to me?"

This became and everyday thing. Every single freaking day. When did the misery end?

 I was seriously getting fed up with him and his hitting me. The kids were scared, and I wasn't going to let him hurt them too. I wasn't going to let them see me get hurt. I wasn't going to let them think it was OK. I was a mother, meaning I was a protector. Mamma bear was ready, and she wasn't taking anymore.

 "You're not doing this anymore!" I said as I pounced on him. I tore him to shreds, I don't remember much because I blacked out but I knew he lost by the way I heard him scream for mercy at the end. What had gotten into me? I think I was tired of the pain, and I took all that pain in me, and gave it to him all at once. All of it.

 I was beaten and bloody, but dangonit, I wasn't taking anymore! I refused to be hurt again.

 I brushed myself off and went to clean myself. I had a nasty bruise, but it was okay, because  I knew that bruise was the last one I would get. Ever again from him or any man. I'd gotten dressed and went to go retrieve my children from their bedroom so that we could go to Llama-E-Grain for some fun.

He was right there, waiting. 

"Give him to me."

"No."

There was always something...