Wash 11

Clarisse traced the water stain on the popcorn ceiling,

as she tugged at the flimsy strap of the clinic gown

they’d made her wear, the fabric rough and itchy against her skin.

Her eyes followed the ceiling stain as it snaked toward the flickering

fluorescent bulb. The whole place reeked of cheap cologne

and DESPERATION.

She squeezed Drew’s hand, her only comfort in this miserable place.

Around them, the room was packed with women in different stages

of their own dilemmas. A heavily pregnant teen next to her smacked

her gum obnoxiously, throwing her a suspicious glance.

Clarisse followed her gaze down to her own belly.

Drew leaned in and whispered,

“Are you sure you want to do this? We can still back out, you know.”

Clarisse shot him a painful glance.

“Back out to where? To this?”

She gestured vaguely at the room filled with tense

bodies, quiet sniffles, and regret.

The pregnant teen overheard Clarisse.

She gave her the finger.

Clarisse ignored her. Instead, she shifted uncomfortably,

her fingers fidgeting in Drew’s grasp.

She sighed. “Drew, as I told you, I have zero idea who should

take responsibility. I called everyone.”

Drew blinked. “All of them?”

Clarisse deadpanned. “Yeah, Drew. All eighteen selfish men who don’t

give a damn that I got knocked up.”

Drew ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Clarisse. I hope…

I hope at least by being here, you’ll feel that I’m supporting you.

I know this is not an easy situation. This is a difficult decision.

But this is really about you and what you want.

This is something personal”

Clarisse pressed her lips together to stop

a tear from forming, but she wasn’t strong enough.

Drew kept his voice low.

“And even if this was mine… you know my mom

won’t accept it. She’ll cut me off.”

Clarisse nodded. “I know, Drew. And I’m not asking you to

take responsibility because—I really don’t know which guy

did this. But I’m glad you’re here.

And I meant that…I really do.”

Drew squeezed her hand lightly, “Of course, that’s what boyfriends do”

She gave Drew a slight smile. She looked around.

The air was thick and nauseating, a mix of floor cleaner and something rotten.

Then, the clinic’s door swung open,

an elderly nurse—probably in her late eighties—waddled into the

waiting room with all the grace of an underpaid gas station clerk.

She adjusted her too-tight scrubs and looked around

before her eyes landed on Clarisse.

Clarisse swore this woman must’ve been alive when Titanic sank.

She had sagging skin, a permanent scowl, and an attitude like she’d

been waiting her whole life

to judge someone like her. The nurse looked Clarisse up and down.

“You’re next, slutty.”

Clarisse blinked. “Excuse me?”

The nurse raised her voice, “I said, you’re next, slutty.”

Clarisse, mid-bite of her emergency stress cupcake,

narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to call your patients that.”

The nurse planted her hands on her hips, completely unfazed.

“Why else would you be here if not to pop that out so you

can go back to your normal slutty way?”

Clarisse chewed slowly, swallowed, and exhaled through her nose. “Whatever.”

Drew shot her a panicked look as the nurse turned to him

and wagged a bony finger. “And you—you stay here.”

Drew immediately got up. “I should be with—”

Before he could finish, the nurse shoved him back into his chair

with the strength of a bodybuilder.

Before he could recover, two very pregnant women sitting

next to him linked their arms around him.

“Well, well, look what we got here,” one of them purred.

Drew looked at both women in horror.

“I—I’m not—”

The second woman patted his cheek. “Oh honey, no need

to be shy. We love a responsible man.”

Drew looked helplessly at Clarisse, but she just sighed

and followed the nurse down a dimly lit hallway.

The walls like the ceiling at the waiting room were stained.

The peeled, uneven and mismatched wall papers had seen better days.

The flickering bulbs cast weird shadows.

The whole place smelled like someone had drowned

themselves in expired musk cologne.

Clarisse gagged. “I think I’m gonna—”

The nurse side-eyed her. “If you puke on my floor, I’m charging you extra.”

They entered a strange little surgical room.

It had white square ceramic tiles, an old fan rattling in the corner,

and—most alarmingly—all the surgical instruments were inside

unsealed plastic Tupperware containers.

Clarisse froze. “Um.”

The nurse, now in a doctor’s coat had seamlessly transitioned herself

from both poles of the medical profession. From Nurse to Doctor.

She motioned for Clarisse to sit by the examination bed.

Clarisse didn’t move. “I thought we were just going to talk?”

The nurse turned doctor snapped her fingers in front of Clarisse’s face.

“Wake up, girl. Every second you keep that thing in you,

the more likely you’ll be keeping her through college—

right up until she runs off with some loser and

leaves you wondering what the hell happened to your youth.”

Clarisse gulped. “Can I call Drew in? Just to talk first.”

The nurse scoffed. “Oh sure. Bring in your baby daddy

so he can mansplain your situation to you.”

From the corner of her eye, Clarisse spotted the

Nurse-turned-doctor yanking a cart across the room—a rickety old thing stuffed

with Tupperware containers of questionable surgical tools.

Clarisse’s stomach dropped. "Uh... what are those for?”

The doctor didn’t answer. Instead, she adjusted the support brackets on the stirrups

and—before Clarisse could even react—strapped her legs in like she

was about to be launched into orbit.

Clarisse flailed. "Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?"

The doctor sighed, exasperated. "Honey, are we doing this or not?"

Clarisse blinked. "Doing what?!"

The doctor’s eyes bulged. "THE REASON YOU CAME HERE FOR!"

Clarisse froze. "Oh my god."

The doctor picked up a massive surgical rod—it was so long she had to

hoist it over her shoulder like a medieval jousting spear.

Clarisse’s scream nearly shattered the fluorescent lightbulb.

Out in the waiting room, the gum-smacking pregnant teen choked mid-chew.

Drew jumped up in alarm,

but before he could do anything, the two clingy pregnant women yanked him back down,

their heads nuzzled against his shoulders like he was a comfort pillow. One of them petted his head.

Back in the surgery room, the doctor winced.

"What the hell are you screaming for?"

Clarisse, panicked, grabbed a cupcake from her purse and started stress-eating. "

That thingy—I don’t want that thingy in my thingy!"

The doctor sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"This ‘thingy’ is not going anywhere near your ‘thingy.’ It’s a METAL ROD for my damn window."

Clarisse paused mid-chew. "Oh... sorry."

The doctor grumbled, dragging the gigantic rod over to the window and leaning it against the wall.

Clarisse exhaled in relief, closed her eyes, and tried to meditate.

When she reopened them, the doctor was back—this time dragging

a forceps so enormous she looked like she was wrestling a steel alligator.

Clarisse’s soul left her body. "WHAT THE HELL?!"

The doctor grunted, adjusting her grip. "I KNOW, RIGHT?! It’s so damn heavy.

But since I don’t have a nurse to help me, this bad boy here will do the job."

Clarisse didn’t think. She reacted.

In one swift motion, she shoved the doctor backward.

The massive forceps flew out of her hands, crashed to the floor,

and took the doctor down with it—sprawling her out like a defeated bowling pin.

A loud CRASH.

Clarisse panted, hand on her belly. "I-I don’t think I can do this... I’m keeping this thingy here."

The doctor groaned for help.

Clarisse rummaged in her purse, handed her another cupcake, and bolted.

Drew jumped up—but forgot he was drinking from a tiny paper cup of water.

He choked on it.

Coughing, sputtering, half-dying, he followed her out as the receptionist called after them—

“No refunds, sweetheart!”

The gum-smacking pregnant teen muttered,

“Damn. Coulda told you that when you walked in.”

As they stumbled out into the fresh air, Drew gasped.

“You—you actually kicked a doctor.”

Clarisse patted his back as he kept coughing.

“Yeah.”

Drew wiped his mouth. “Are we… Are we going to talk about this?”

Clarisse took another slow, deliberate bite of her cupcake.

“Nah.”

And with that, they walked off towards their car by the parking lot

leaving behind one of the worst (and somehow funniest) days of their lives.

SUDDENLY, Drew stumbled, he felt an unexpected dragging weight behind him. Confused,

he looked down—only to realize that the two very pregnant women were still

clinging to his legs, arms locked around his calves like baby koalas.

——————————————————————-

The gum-smacking pregnant teen casually popped another

piece of gum into her mouth—not particularly bothered

that she had just swallowed the last one whole.

She watched Drew and Clarisse barrel out of the clinic like fugitives,

Clarisse still clutching her belly,

Drew dragging two very pregnant women along like human ankle weights.

The teen rolled her eyes. "Damn drama queens."

Beside her, the other pregnant woman nudged her in the ribs.

The teen scowled. "What, bitch?"

The woman jutted her chin toward the teen’s lap.

The teen glanced down—and her soul LEFT her body.

Her baby was already out. And weirdly, the baby

is all cleaned and diapered up.

Her jaw dropped. "WHAT THE—?!"

The woman shrugged. "I don’t think you need to be here anymore. Obviously."

The teen blinked, completely stunned.

Her baby also blinked. At the exact same time.

The other pregnant woman who nudged

her ribs slowly looked down. Her face paled.

To their absolute horror, the baby grinned—a wide,

unsettling, full-set-of-teeth grin.

And then, in a voice way too deep for an infant, it said:

"HOLA."

Both mothers SCREAMED.

The gum-smacking teen nearly choked on her third piece of gum.

But before anyone could react, the baby stood up—on two wobbly legs.

He snatched his mom’s phone with his tiny, terrifying hands,

opened TikTok with expert precision, and in the middle of the clinic,

started violently swaying his hips, launching into a full on viral dance routine.

The entire clinic ERUPTED into screams of sheer terror.

In the parking lot, Drew fumbled with the car keys,

his hands shaking. “D-Did you hear that?”

Clarisse, chomping aggressively on her cupcake, shrugged.

“Yeah, whatever. I just shoved her on the floor, big deal.”

She waved a hand dismissively.

Drew’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“But… are you sure she’s still alive?”

Clarisse paused mid-bite. Her eyes slowly widened.

“…Or is she?”

Both of them turned to stare at the clinic,

where silhouettes of people frantically trying to escape were now

visible through the blinds.

Drew slammed his foot on the gas.