Round Four

This is when I discovered the lovely skins by Oepu, which I've been using ever since. There was a conflicting override I wasn't aware of that made some of the babies naked - I did find the culprit eventually.

The Big Day

I'm now eight months gone, and bored out of my mind. Not at home mind you... in hospital. What happened? Remember when I said I'd been diagnosed with severe anaemia? Puh... severe's right. Don't know about anaemia though... it started last month at home, when Daddy and I were sat at the table talking, and Mummy wanted a word with us. I remember feeling overcome with dizziness as I pushed away my chair, and I remember Daddy needing to help me to my feet, but I don't remember collapsing. The others certainly do though – apparently Daddy caught me on the way down.

I woke up in hospital, where I was subjected to tests-a-plenty as the doctors struggled to find out what was wrong. Not with me, they already knew that – this so-called anaemia is actually a continual loss of blood. What the doctors were scratching their heads over was where the blood was going, since I'd hardly slit my wrist this time. Neither was there anything else upon my person to give any clue as to how I was losing so much blood. The last place they thought to look was within my belly, but in the end that's where it was... that vampire cure I drank months ago had caused the weirdest of side-effects to my unborn children – it had turned them into little vampires, or Dhampirs according to Adrian, since they'll be born this way. Think Blade – born half vampire, half human with the strengths of the undead but none of their weaknesses. Trouble is they still need blood... my blood. The little babies growing inside me were killing me, all thanks to a concoction sold by a gypsy to ensure I'd be able to see adulthood... if it'd been any later I wouldn't have had the chance either way.

Adrian was the one who told me, and he was also the one who called Andy in so we could discuss a good date to cut them free from my body – I was hardly in any state to give birth naturally, I could barely walk next door to the bathroom. Andy looked how I felt at the time when he told him what the problem was.

It was him who decided on our birthday for them to be born by Caesarian. At the time all I could think was “that's weeks away!”, but even eight months was still early by birthing terms, although twins apparently tend to arrive early anyway. Still, eight months was safer than seven, for the babies of course. As for me, I had another month of being stuck in hospital not able to do anything... if I didn't miss my exercise before I certainly did now.

Yet now, at long last, it's here! Most teenagers would spend their sixteenth partying the night away, and as much as we'd planned to do that originally we can hardly do that now. I'm incapacitated, he's heavily pregnant, and Daddy's getting fat too! Mummy's at home with the girls, who are now just approaching their teens... I can only hope they don't suffer as much as we have through adolescence, especially with that little discussion Andy and I had with them when they were younger.

However, as I wait for my operation and for Andy to arrive, Adrian comes in to tell me that he won't be here as he's... otherwise predisposed.

I should be happy about the news, but instead my heart sinks – not only was I hoping for him to see his first two babies being born, I also wanted to be there for him when it was his time, but seeing as that time's now there's not much I can do. My only consolation is that Daddy somehow managed to tag along, so he's with him instead. Meanwhile Adrian offers to call someone else in to be with me while mine are born, and there's really only one person I can think of who isn't a vampire – one of my triplet cousins, Kian.

We'd hit it off really well years ago; we often jogged together before I got bad and he would often stand up for us while people at school continued to treat us like dirt, even behind our backs. Now he pulls up a chair while Adrian makes preparations, and I find myself becoming grateful when Kian takes hold of my hand. I grow increasingly nervous as well as excited, maybe because it's an operation. It doesn't help matters when his Mum works the razor, and to make things worse it's after he injects me with a local anaesthetic, so if his hand does slip I'll be none the wiser! I don't know whether or not to be grateful for the screen erected to prevent me from catching a glimpse of my insides on display for all to see – I don't fancy watching my stomach being cut open, but I do want to make sure I leave with my trouser gear intact!

One thing I am glad for is the use of local anaesthetic. Adrian's reason is that a general one would pose a risk to the babies, but my reason is being able to watch them being born. It's an amazing feeling, especially when they're handed to your nearby cousin soon after so you can get a good look at your new child. Or in my case children; a boy and a girl. The minute I hear of there being one of each, I know exactly what I'll name them – Joey and Gina, after my parents. Not their real names, but the pet names they give each other.

It takes a while before I get to see my other daughters though – Andy's had two girls, which he named Eva and Emily, after our Uncle and his new wife (Well, you can't exactly call a girl Evan, so he improvised). Not only do I need to recover from the operation, I'm being kept in for a few days, still attached to blood bags to build me back up to normal levels, so when I do go in to see them it's in a wheelchair, being driven with expert precision by our dear doctor Uncle. Operating razors clearly isn't all he does a lot of.

I'm still very glad to get home though, to our new home no less. Andy and Daddy moved in while I was being poked and prodded by puzzled doctors. Yes, Daddy moved in with us – it was Mummy's idea but not the result of a split, on the contrary they're still together. It was more for his sake as well as mine; we both suffered antenatal depression, and there's still a danger we might fall foul of the postnatal kind too. Like I said before, we've got very close and it's partly through our pain, partly how we deal with it. Another reason she had was, she wasn't looking forward to dealing with “four girls, a depressive husband and another baby under the same roof” as she put it. Which is fair enough – it would take the patience of a saint to put up with what she's already had to endure.

It's turned out to be a good thing on all sides – he's even helping us with both sets of twins. Him being a vampire is proving to be a great advantage, as he doesn't weaken at night and therefore able to tend their needs while we catch up on some much needed rest.

That's not to say we don't do our share though, far from it. In fact it's ironic; with Joey and Gina feeding from bottles of animal blood instead of milk, the way vampires absorb their food rather than digest it means we have two less babies needing their nappies changed. It's a double edged sword though, as they don't sleep either so they effectively need twice the attention. Vampires sleep during the day, but Dhampirs are at full strength no matter what the time is, so long as they're fed of course... get the picture?

Evan said to cherish the moments when they're little though, and with good reason. Knowing what Andy gets like once he has a camera in his hand, I make sure I'm the one to snap them in their little baskets. Funny how three of them seem to look alike... the only one resembling me is Emily, but whether or not that's a good thing I have yet to decide.

Time's worn on now – a lot of time. About four months after those pictures were taken, Daddy went into labour while out hunting. Alex was there at the time and he accompanied him to the hospital – Daddy's usually a cleaner eater, but with getting painfully interrupted during dinner it's a different story - when they saw the receptionist he still had blood on his lips. This occurred while we were asleep, so we didn't know anything had happened until the next day, when we saw him with the little bundle in his arms. He explained then and there what took place the night before - he had given birth to a boy he named Zephyr, after Granddad. He'll turn out just as cute as his Mum too, I can see that already – he even has his nose.

Andy and I found a way to study at home while we bring up the children – not an easy task! It'll be worth it though, no reason why we should miss out on a degree just because we have babies to look after. The only thing is, we miss out on the social aspect of classes as it's online, but these things can't be helped. We're now eighteen and just starting our studies, while I somehow manage to keep up the exercise I've so dearly missed for so long. I've changed a lot over the space of a mere two years, but sadly it's only physical.

I'll have to get something done about those cheekbones at some point. It's about now I pity Emily – I hope she has better luck with her looks than I have, although it's debatable whether she will just going by what Daddy says, about how she looks just like I did at that age. Not much consolation when you see me now... in fact I think I looked better when I was fifteen. I know, I put myself down too much but I can't help it. I got left at the shallow end of the gene pool, fact. Just look how Andy turned out and then tell me I shouldn't feel like the one with the short straw.

I saw it coming, I have to admit. Not just my looks, but I did suffer postnatal depression in the end. I don't even know what triggered it, maybe it was just everything catching up with me – just when I was getting the hang of parenthood I felt myself start to sink, and there was nothing I could do to pull myself up again. Once more I'd spend my days feeling detached from reality, or sitting on the bed sobbing into my hands as my past came back to haunt me. I'm no better now, and it probably shows from the way I've been talking lately. Things are meant to improve as you get older; maybe I'm impatient, but I was hoping the end of adolescence would mean the end of the pain, yet in truth things don't always work out that way. It's worse now there's not much chance to go out jogging or work out – there just isn't the time with five babies in the house and coursework to do. They're a distraction, but if I'm honest that's the only thing stopping me picking up the knife again – not to end it of course, just a means of release. I feel a mixture of destructive emotions every time I look at the reminders of when I did that before, but just those pairs of big eyes peering up at me is enough to pull those thoughts from my mind, if only while I'm with them.

I felt guilty enough about Andy and our parents finding me in the bathroom, and the way people around me reacted to the sight of the scars - there's no way I could put my own children through that. As it is, I'm dreading the time they're old enough to start posing questions, to ask as my sisters did about the old lacerations on my arm. Just pondering that scenario makes me cry, and is most likely what keeps me trapped in this abyss, a seemingly bottomless pit that my only wish now is to finally be free from.

It's a miracle I can look after these ones, let alone think about having any more. I may change my mind in time, I don't know, but for now all I see are complications. I'm gay, so this is the only way I can have children, but as much as I still sometimes consider the ethics behind my relationship with Andy, I always come to the same conclusion; no one else would put up with me in my seemingly ongoing unhappiness. Andy's been wonderful and he still is, but the harsh reality is we should never have got together, let alone started breeding. Yet if we hadn't I would most likely be dead by now, my life taken by my own hands.