Chapter 3 - Our loss [Republished]
An awfully bright light was piercing through my eyelids when I felt my senses wakening, like coming through a channel of light.
If this was heaven, well, heaven was painful.
And then again, how could I have got in heaven? I killed myself and my child.
I tried to turn my face away from that cold light but couldn’t get rid of it, so I lifted one arm to cover my face hoping to open my eyes and see where I was, but I felt something hanging on the back of my right hand.
It was an IV. I was in a fucking hospital.
Of course, I know I am not dead! I still can make the difference between reality and my deep wishes, but frustration takes me over and anger builds up.
Fuck it! Lucas’s face, that horrified face hovering above me, flashes in front of my mental eyes and I know he must have got to me on time; on time to save me; on time to overturn my plan that I was so adamant to complete.
Thus, I am breathing, damn it!
My baby! What happened to my baby? I am pregnant... or was pregnant... Anxiety curls under my skin and I need to know what happened.
I force my eyes to open, rolling my irises to find someone around.
On my left side, sitting on a chair, I see Lucas leaning in front, elbows pinned on his knees, head bent low between his large shoulders.
“Lucas...” I try to say but my throat is dry and burning and I can only breathe the sounds while calling his name.
I must have been only mouthing the words because he didn’t move.
“Lucas...” I try again, reaching my left arm towards him but I hear only an incoherent hiss coming from the back of my throat and it’s only then I see Lucas’s eyes lifting towards me.
As always, his face is straight and blank, I can read no emotions, the only obvious change is in his eyes, darker blue with red veins around his irises as if he hasn’t had a sleep for a sizable number of hours.
He stands up and comes closer, bending his head and reaching his ear to my mouth.
“The baby...” I whispered, his steel-blue eyes piercing mine and I could swear I saw tears.
“There is no baby. Not anymore,” he said, turning around and leaving the room while I felt chocking, air refusing to enter my lungs, swallowing a few times the knot formed in my throat.
I killed my baby but I couldn’t kill myself.
Despicable! That’s what I am. Incapable of doing things right at least one time in my life!
I see a doctor and a nurse coming in, closing the distance between the door and my bed and getting busy taking my vitals and asking me questions I don’t even hear.
I see their lips moving, looking at me, talking to me but I care about one thing only, undisturbed by the tears rolling down my face.
As far as I knew Lucas, he could have lied, just to hurt me.
“My baby... what happened to my baby?” I hardly form a question, stopping their blurbs about things I don’t even give a fuck for.
I see compassion in the doctor’s eyes as he comes closer to me, laying gently, one hand on my left shoulder.
“I am really sorry, Mrs. Tate, but your baby was already dead when you arrived. It was dead for a couple of days, actually.”
I curl my lips in a soundless cry, staring at the doctor, hoping I’m hearing wrong.
“I have already sent the embryo for testing. Your husband wants to know the cause of it. We want to make sure that it’s been just one unhappy event and you can get pregnant again, without a similar risk to the child or to yourself,” the doctor continues to explain, his voice sounding soft and empathic.
I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know, and I don’t understand why Lucas wants to know. What is the use of it?
We lost. We lost our child. We// lost a piece of ourselves.
I turn on one side and curl my body in a ball, bringing my knees to the chin and giving in to the pain of my shattered heart, isolating myself from the world around.
“Please, leave me alone,” I tell them.
“Of course. We will be back in a couple of hours to check on you again. Meanwhile, you must eat. Your stomach is completely empty. We had to clean it mechanically.”
Without expecting any answer from me, the doctor and the nurse leave the room, giving me the space and time to go on crying my heart out till I fall in a dreadful sleep, shot down by the cocktails of medicines they must have gave me.
I don’t know for how long I’ve slept; it couldn’t have been too long because the light coming on the large windows had the same intensity as before, weak and cloudy, just like my heart.
Lazily I open my eyes, this time seeing Lucas staring at me from the same chair he has been sitting on before.
Why the hell is he still here? I want him to leave!
His eyes are bloodshot even worse than earlier. How long has it been?
“What are you doing here?” I asked, frowning.
“Why aren’t you eating, Becca?” he replies, ignoring my question.
“Don’t fucking answer me with a question, Lucas!” I spat out.
I didn’t know where that tone came from.
Maybe being on a hospital bed has given me some sort of unknown power to challenge Lucas, something I haven’t done before.
“Why are you here? Why can’t you just go home and let me be?” I tell him, pushing myself up and propping my back on the pile of pillows on the bed.
He stands up and takes the plate of food, shoving it under my nose.
“Eat, Becca,” his said.
His voice was low and deep and like always, neutral.
“You are here for three days and all you have in your system are the cocktails they’ve given you.”
Three days... ? I have been here for three days and all I can remember are some shadows coming in and going out.
“What do you even care?” I say, shifting my eyes to the other side, away from him, refusing the food like a wanton kid.
I felt his knuckles brushing gently the skin of my cheek and I could not understand how someone with such a heavenly touch could be so cold in his behavior.
“If you don’t eat by yourself, I will feed you with my own hand, shoving it right down your fucking throat, Becca. Enough of this,” he threatened, and I froze, not because of what he said but because of the contradiction between his voice and his words.
I don’t know why but his voice was not threatening, rather sad, like he didn’t mean those threats, as if a deep depression overcame his always sharp and composed being.
Though his words were cold, his voice got softer and warmer.
“Did you know the baby was dead for a few days?” I asked, fixing my eyes on his face and tears rolling down my face.
His eyes became darker at my words and shifted to the floor. He held an unbearable sadness in those beautiful eyes.
“I am so sorry, Lucas,” I sobbed, looking at my hands lying on my lap.
I don’t know why but something was telling me that Lucas was not as angry with me as I thought for getting pregnant and the pain he was showing for losing our child was another thing I had coming.
He didn’t shout; he didn’t curse, and I felt the need to apologize, I couldn’t say why.
Maybe because I was sorry, but not for Lucas, for myself.
Even though the news didn’t come in some fortunate circumstances, the thought of a life growing in my womb gave me a sense of meaning.
I felt I meant for someone. For that child that was going to exist because of me, I meant something.
And now that feeling disappeared. I was again drifting through life without a target, without someone to care for me and me to care for.
“It was not your fault, Becca,” he said and sat on the edge of the bed, picking food in the spoon and placing it in front of me to eat, under my shocked stare, glued to his face, not knowing what to make out of his obvious change.
He has never paid this much attention to me in the past two years. I was staring in awe at his hard face while he was feeding me, spoon by spoon, never looking into my eyes, making my heart ache and mentally shout at him to look at me.
There was no sign of Lucas, the menacing husband, who used to hurt me with every touch and every word he would spit.
I knew it was never a good sign for me that Lucas was not home yet, at 2am in that morning.
It was one of those many nights when Lucas was going to show again his “love” for me.
I startled when the door opened wide as if he kicked it with his leg, but I didn’t turn around.
His tall frame was covering the whole door, obstructing almost completely the light coming from the hallway.
I could feel his eyes burning holes in the back of my head, strolling towards the bed where I was lying on and pretending to sleep.
I was watching his moves through my eyelashes as he was coming closer, hoping that he would not bother with me.
The smell of alcohol and tobacco spread around the room together with him entering, while his appearance made me understand he was not exactly coming from a business dinner.
His tie was removed, buttons of the shirt opened down to his belt, showing his perfectly carved torso, his hair, usually so neatly combed on the back of his head and fixed with hair oil was now ravished, spread in curls on his forehead.
When he reached the bed, standing next to it, I squeezed my eyes shut, praying he would leave.
In a millisecond I felt myself grabbed by one of his arms, gripping my waist and tightening by the second, so strong that I was afraid my bones would crack.
I was kicking my legs in the air, fighting his rough hold, with my hands pinned on his chest, struggling for my release.
“Lucas, I can’t breathe! Lucas!” I was shouting while he forced my arms to my back, holding both of my wrists with his hand that he wrapped around my waist.
With the other hand he forced my head to stay still, digging his fingers in the flesh of my jaws, searching for my lips which he did find and pressed a wild, painful kiss till I tasted blood. I wanted him so badly; I was missing him every second of the day, tormented in loneliness.
I felt his arm squeezing me more till I couldn’t inhale air, crushing me to his chest in desperation, with hunger as if it was the last time he would taste me.
Every time it felt like it was the last breath for me and his last time to have me.
He was tasting of rich whiskey and tobacco mixed with bitter wood and peony perfume, invading my nostrils, dimming my thought and wakening my senses.
My struggle to push him away didn’t prevent me from noticing the lipstick on his shirt collar and a slight woman’s perfume on his skin.
I knew he was cheating on me, he never tried to hide it.
His lips wouldn’t stop pressing kisses on mine, his tongue dancing in my opened mouth that was gasping for air, capturing mine and circling it with hunger.
He was groaning and moaning in pleasure and I could not understand how come he could find satisfaction, starting with so much hate just to turn in tender and heated touches moments later.
He spins me around in his arms, throwing me on the bed with my face crushed to the bed, my thighs held up by his hands, my back towards him.
I fight him, throwing my arms in the air, hoping to catch any part of him and stick my nails deep into his flesh, wishing to make him let me go.
He pressed my face on the mattress with one hand and lifted my thin shirt with the other, threw my panties away, and in a blink he buried himself inside of my cores, stretching my muscles along his hard shaft, causing me pain and burns that soon melted in pleasure.
“God, I missed you,” he mumbled, bending over my back and planting kisses all over, squeezing his hands under me and cupping my breasts, enfolding them in soft touches.
My yelling was useless now, as he picks his pace, pulling out and thrusting in, hiking his pace with each move and pressing his forehead on my back, fanning his breath on the skin of my back and brushing his lips in ardent kisses.
My tears were flowing freely, soaking the bedsheets and I stopped fighting him, surrendering to his pace and touches, doing my best to resist the urge of touching him or turning around and hold him.
His insane thrusts increased, making me arch my back and sob from the depth of my dry throat.
My only luck was that the alcohol he used to have all too often lately was always rushing him to finish fast, making him last less and gracing me with strength not to give in.
He released inside of me with a loud groan and a curse, digging his fingers in the flesh of my hips, bringing my own climax that I welcomed with a soundless cry.
Panting heavily, he glued his chest on my back, resting and taking his time to regain his breath while palms were rummaging on my sides and lips pecking kisses along my spine.
When he became soft and sloppy inside of me, he pulled himself out, letting me slide on my right side, curled in a ball, sobbing and praying that for once he wouldn’t leave.
But he did, turning away, tiding his shaft back in his pants and trailing the fingers of one hand from my hip down to my foot, leaving shivers and goosebumps behind.
The forever play. Thrown like a trash, left alone, treat the wounds, keep living. For two years, almost daily.
“Why don’t you sleep now? Tomorrow morning, we will leave the hospital,” he said when I finished the food, tucking some rebel strands of my hair behind my ear, looking into my eyes for the first time.
Our eyes locked with each other.
We were both searching for something in there, that something that we lost long ago, and we were still hoping for.
He stood up, breaking the gaze first and exiting the room while I snapped out of the heavy memories.
I leaned back on the comfortable pillows and closed my eyes. It all became confusing.
Lucas was actually acting human, still cold, but human.
Something had changed and I couldn’t wrap my head around it, wondering what happened while I was passed out.
It couldn’t have been me; he showed no sort of attachment towards me in the past year.
Maybe it was the baby, losing our baby.
Maybe... it was me not being able to get through a pregnancy again... maybe he got the lab results and... if that is so, it will break my heart and I will probably never feel a complete woman, but who the fuck cares?
That would be my ticket out.
Maybe now he wouldn’t want me anymore. I would be of no use to him and he would give me the divorce.
Lost in my thoughts, I startled when hearing the door opening again.
I could swear he left home but there he was, back to this hospital room where I hoped to be alone for a while and take a breath, away from my sorrow life.
Lucas walked towards me, hovering above me, running his fingers through my hair, twisting some strands around his index and placing a kiss on my forehead with so much care that I could almost faint in pleasure.
Then he stood up and walked away to the other side of the room, laying down on the two seats sofa, placing one hand under his head and the other one on his eyes.
Being out from his vision I could watch him with no impediment, and I longed for Lucas that I used to be in love with, that I was still in love with, and who was resembling so much with Lucas laying in front of me now.
“Lucas... ” I called his name, being sure he couldn’t have fallen asleep yet.
“I want a divorce,” I said, and my voice failed me at the end of my request.
He didn’t move or said anything for a few long moments, and I waited patiently, admiring him still, hoping he would stand up and tell me there was no need for a divorce. That we were fine and the last years had been just a bad dream that we were both happy to wake up from.
“I will think about it,” he says with no change in the tone of his voice.
I should be happy. He finally showed himself willing to consider at least thinking about it.
But instead, I sank back in sadness. Maybe I didn’t really want the divorce.
Maybe I only wanted him to feel losing me, hoping to revive the love we once had.
Maybe I should stay and fight more to get my Lucas back.
“Dream without fears, love without limits.