Burr screams, an awful, animal sound, when he pushes. He feels like he has been pushing for hours, his whole body trembling, shaking with it. He has never felt a pain so intense--the tearing from inside him, as he bears down, and it hurts, lord, god, it hurts.
He cries, when the next contraction comes, begs. He feels pitted, light headed. He is sure he will split in two, when they tell him to push once more and he can feel it, the baby, tearing through his insides. He is blubbering something to Hamilton, sobbing, and Hamilton is trying his best to be encouraging but is really only saying words, as if that could help, and Burr screams again as something gives way, a rush of blood. "I hate you," he sobs, as he waits for the next contraction, though Hamilton had not gotten him with child he doesn't care, blames him, as the burning increases.
"You have to push again," the women tells him, but he sobs.
"I can't--" he says, and he is so exhausted, so tired, and he really doesn't, but the spasms of his body seem worse for it, and he resumes his crying in earnest, falling against Hamilton and begging, "please, please," he says, "please help me," as if there were anything Hamilton could do.
The contractions come, and his body seems to bear down without him. The omegas are saying something, about crowning, and tearing, but Burr isn't listening. He is lightheaded, and dizzy, as he had been that night on the horse. He is no longer holding any of his weight, allowing Hamilton to bear it all as he gasps for air.
Another contraction, a drop, and he pushes one last time. Everything goes white-hot, spots bursting behind his eyelids, and Burr goes silent, unable to breathe, to make any sound. He is clawing, must be, but he cannot feel it, or see it, and then he does feel something; something being pulled from him, slipping free, but there are no sounds, and his sight is blurry, unfocused. He is being eased down, but he cannot hear, and after a moment he realizes he is screaming again, and writhing on the bed.
The baby is out of him, but he hears no crying. Maybe he passes out, but the pain doesn't stop.
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He cries, when the next contraction comes, begs. He feels pitted, light headed. He is sure he will split in two, when they tell him to push once more and he can feel it, the baby, tearing through his insides. He is blubbering something to Hamilton, sobbing, and Hamilton is trying his best to be encouraging but is really only saying words, as if that could help, and Burr screams again as something gives way, a rush of blood. "I hate you," he sobs, as he waits for the next contraction, though Hamilton had not gotten him with child he doesn't care, blames him, as the burning increases.
"You have to push again," the women tells him, but he sobs.
"I can't--" he says, and he is so exhausted, so tired, and he really doesn't, but the spasms of his body seem worse for it, and he resumes his crying in earnest, falling against Hamilton and begging, "please, please," he says, "please help me," as if there were anything Hamilton could do.
The contractions come, and his body seems to bear down without him. The omegas are saying something, about crowning, and tearing, but Burr isn't listening. He is lightheaded, and dizzy, as he had been that night on the horse. He is no longer holding any of his weight, allowing Hamilton to bear it all as he gasps for air.
Another contraction, a drop, and he pushes one last time. Everything goes white-hot, spots bursting behind his eyelids, and Burr goes silent, unable to breathe, to make any sound. He is clawing, must be, but he cannot feel it, or see it, and then he does feel something; something being pulled from him, slipping free, but there are no sounds, and his sight is blurry, unfocused. He is being eased down, but he cannot hear, and after a moment he realizes he is screaming again, and writhing on the bed.
The baby is out of him, but he hears no crying. Maybe he passes out, but the pain doesn't stop.