The Slob

Things finally seemed to settle down between Daniel and I. At first, it was difficult to handle everything I’d been going through and the scarring that the truth had left upon him. His drinking was severe for a few weeks but I helped him break free of that demon again, just as we’d done together once before.

But there was always that constant reminder of the situation. My altered appearance, relentless cleaning, and apprehensive sexuality constantly prodded him. My mashed face wasn’t the same one he fell in love with but I was still holding out hope that he could grow to love this one just the same.

I was just happy to have him by my side again, to hold him at night when I was frightened; when the nightmares came back. They did so quite often now, I didn’t know if they’d ever go away. The visions were so intense and vile that, oftentimes, they evoked a physical reaction. They made me cry, wet myself, and even throw up.

I’d awake in the morning after a full night of torture, back in that house. It was a mixture of the one I grew up in and the one The Slob had imprisoned me in. When my eyes came unglued from that carnage, I’d found myself running full speed for the porcelain.

In addition to the sickness, we were having intimacy issues. Ever since I was repeatedly raped and assaulted by The Slob, I could never find my mood again. The psychiatrist said it would come eventually but it was hard to be patient when I knew Daniel wasn’t feeling loved anymore.

I was beginning to think I needed more help but I wasn’t sure what kind. Things had gotten so stressful that I figured I’d start with a visit to my clinician and figure out the next steps from there. Maybe Dr. Guyver could prescribe me something to stop the dreams. Or if he couldn’t stop them, maybe he could at least find a way to pacify them.

He said he’d do some testing on me, check my health to see if it might be anything physical or if it was all just mental. Once we figured out the root of the issue, we could better diagnose a solution.

After a few hours of questionnaires and other recommended activities, Daniel and I were waiting in the patients’ room for the doctor to return. Dr. Guyver stepped inside with a serious expression as usual and his chart in hand. He looked down at the paperwork, then back up at Daniel and I.

The words that left his mouth didn’t make a lot of sense. After the punishment I’d sustained during my assault, it hadn’t even crossed my mind that it was possible. It couldn’t be possible.

Dr. Guyver had either offered us a tasteless joke or a morbid miracle when he looked at me and said, “Congratulations, Vera, you’re pregnant.”