Her parents indirectly called her a liar, and she knew her aunt believed them over her. What else was she supposed to say? That she'd imagined it all? She'd definitely be a liar then.
Aunt Ruth gazed at her for a moment longer before saying in her very firm -almost exaggerated now she was trying too hard- professional speaking voice, “I want you to write in this journal every day, or at least as often as you can. I will see you each week to discuss anything you wish, but I will not read your diary. I only ask you to give me an extract, or a day from your journal to look over. You can ban me from certain ones if you so wish but I strongly suggest you let me in, Jasmi- I mean- Jaz.”
Jaz flashed a smile of victory but it was gone before her aunt was sure she’d seen it.
“Fine.” Jaz then got up, though she didn’t know –or care- if the session was over.
“I’ll see you the same time next week,” Aunt Ruth said.
Jaz lifted up her handbag that was hanging from the back of her chair and headed for the door. When she reached it she stopped and turned. “Despite what you might think, I didn’t lie.”
Aunt Ruth gave her a sceptical and slightly condescending smile. “But even the doctor confirmed it.”
“No, he didn’t. There was no proof I’d ever had a baby. He never checked me out.”
“That should be standard procedure.”
Jaz shrugged, though inside she had been wondering the same thing.
“Perhaps you were in too much shock to remember the tests?” her aunt offered.
Jaz tried to control her voice as she replied, “He just assumed the blood was from a miscarriage. It wasn’t.”
Aunt Ruth leant back on her chair. “So what was it then?” she pushed, clearly in need of convincing.
Jaz clenched her jaw. Her grip tightened around the strap of her bag. “I. Don't. Know.” She then added with a sigh, “But it wasn’t a period or a miscarriage. And the doctor could have seen that if he’d just listened to me for five seconds.”
“Oh, come on, Jaz. What else could it have been?”
Jaz looked Aunt Ruth square in the eye. “It wasn’t a miscarriage, because I’m a virgin!” her whisper came out in a low hiss.
It wasn’t something she liked to admit out loud, let alone to her patronizing aunt/therapist who wouldn’t know where her heart was even if it was ripped out of her chest and handed to her. Jaz pictured that satisfyingly bloody image as she watched her aunt’s reaction.
Aunt Ruth didn’t take Jaz seriously at first, but the more sharply Jaz glared at her the more she realized her niece was telling the truth. Aunt Ruth's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Really?” she drilled, the word stained with disbelief.
Jaz didn't respond. She knew that if she stayed any longer she’d probably be convicted of murder. In a swift motion she opened the door and stormed out, slamming it behind her.
*
Original Copy
My name is Jaz and I’m crazy.
Well if having therapy because you dreamed you had a stillbirth and then woke up in a pool of your own blood- even though you weren't pregnant- never even had sex- and no one believes you- constitutes as losing your sanity, then that’s my name and don’t wear it out.
It happened last year. January 16th. It was a Saturday morning. Even after a year I still haven’t gotten over it.
In the nightmare I was lying down, propped up on a hard pillow and the room was bright; so bright it hurt my eyes. There were at least four other people in the room with me. I couldn’t see their faces.
I remember the scent of a woman’s perfume - a mature woman- drifting into my nostrils. The scent seems familiar to me even now but I still can't place it. That’s been bugging me a lot.
A man was holding my hand. His hand was firm, big and slightly rough on the inside of the thumb. I think he was wearing a ring, I remember feeling it against my skin. I couldn't make out his face. He was speaking to me but the words didn’t make sense; because of the pain.
My god I have never experienced so much pain in my life.
The smell of blood. Even now I want to be sick just thinking of it. It reeked of death though I can't imagine what that smells like.
After the ripping, twisting pains in my stomach seemed to ease, I was screaming over and over ‘My baby, my baby!’ though it wasn’t me saying it. I couldn't not say it, like I was inside the mind of somebody else.
It wasn't even my voice. This voice was higher and sweeter, even when it screamed.
Then the agony returned but it was a different kind of pain. I knew- she knew- it was all over for her. And then the pain climaxed to a point I felt like I was going to split apart and faded like I’d been pumped full of morphine.
Then everything went black.
She -I, died.
It was the most terrifying and yet relieving feeling I've ever experienced in my life.
When I woke up I still had tears in my eyes. My arms and hands felt wet and I thought it was from a lot of sweat. The sheets were soaked. The faint light from the early hours of dawn allowed my eyes to see what was really there.
The sheets were red. They were drenched in my own blood.