Mitchell’s right, she’s enormous. From the look of her, you’d think she was at least six months pregnant. Yet she is barely more than six weeks.
“You’ve grown so much!” I can’t stop myself from exclaiming.
“I know!” She laughs. “Goodness knows the size I’ll be by the end!” Her words cause an involuntary shiver up my spine. What else will she be by the end, I wonder. Dead?
The thought comes from out of nowhere, attacks my conscience with its vivid imagery – Helena, grotesquely swollen, her stomach torn asunder as if the foetuses have exploded from there in a shower of gore and carnage. Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it back down and hold it there by force of will.