I bite down on my lip so hard that a sudden burst of blood hits my tongue as I try to keep myself from crying out. I breathe heavily through the pain, trying to do as Bishop told me, taking air in through my nose and then steadily breathing out through my mouth. Concentrating on my breathing, on getting through each contraction is distracting me. It's hard to concentrate on the problem at hand; Stryker's intentions.
It's clear he plans on keeping me here until the baby is born. But then what next? Is it me he wants or the baby? Or both?
I'm laying on the bed he'd prepared for me, in the corner of the baby's room. I want nothing to do with this creepy, weird scenario but I'm about to give birth, I can't exactly be picky at the moment. There'll be time later to mourn the loss of my home birth plan, with my husband at my side and our doctor attending. For now, all I care about is that me and the baby survive whatever Stryker has planned.