Sweet Home
Page 68
I wrapped my fists in his favourite red Tide shirt and held on as we silently rode wave after wave of grief until all that was left was a shallow void.
* * *
My friends stopped by to see me, offering their heartfelt condolences and talking idle chitchat, skirting the taboo issue of children and trying their best to take my mind off things.
They needn’t have bothered. I didn’t feel… anything, and I never once spoke back.
Romeo slouched beside me on the bed. He ignored the strange looks he received from the doctors and didn’t flinch when the nurses would stop by my room to see the devoted boyfriend refusing to leave his girlfriend’s side. They could tell that the words “visiting hours” meant nothing to the quarterback from the Crimson Tide and allowed him to stay every night in my bed.
The power of football in Alabama.
Romeo tried over and over to talk to me, but I didn’t answer. I slept… a lot, and when I didn’t sleep, I lay next to him in a self-imposed comatose state. I was a living, breathing zombie.
After days recovering in hospital, the doctor told me I would be discharged the following morning. Romeo immediately began to pack my overnight bag that Ally had brought in and he couldn’t hide his relief that we were finally going home.
Home.
Nowhere felt like home. England held the memories of my lost family; Alabama now held the memory of my lost baby—nowhere made me feel safe.
Professor Ross had called by, upset and apologetic for my loss. She was leaving for Oxford that night for the lecture—she and Romeo had decided together that it was best if I didn’t travel. Romeo told me cautiously, expecting that I would put up a protest and insist on delivering my part of the paper due to the fact that I’d worked on it for almost a year. I simply shrugged and went back to sleep. Ordinarily I would have protested. But I just couldn’t muster up the strength to care.
Romeo sighed in defeat every time I rolled away from him, closing in on myself. He watched me, always watched me and stalked my every move. He could see I was broken. I knew he was too, but if I let myself feel, I wasn’t sure I would survive the onslaught of pain that I knew would follow. He told me over and over how much he loved me and, as always, begged me not to leave.
I made no such promise.
When my bag was packed and dusk closed in, Romeo’s phone sounded.
I turned and watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”
“It’s Coach. He needs me to attend a charity function at the stadium tonight. I’ve missed a lot of game prep, and he needs the QB to be there to show I’m with the team all the way to the championship.”
“Then go.”
He snapped his head to me. “I can’t leave you like this.”
“Yes, you can. I’m tired anyway. I need to sleep.”
Groaning loudly in exasperation, he aggressively smacked his fist into the wall. “For Christ’s sake, Mol! How can you be tired? You’ve slept for days, done nothin’ for days! I understand you’ve had surgery, but the doctors said you should be feelin’ a lot better by now. You’re wallowin’, Shakespeare. You need to snap the hell out’ve it! I’ve tried, been tryin’ to be patient, but enough is enough! I’ve lost a baby too, not just you, but you shut me out and act like I’m a damn stranger to you. I was the daddy, for f**k’s sake! I can’t do it alone. I have too much to think about—you being like this, leadin’ the team to the championship, the hopes of an entire state on my head. I need you to help me, Mol, not to drown in your own f**kin’ misery. Who’s supportin’ me? I’m grievin’ too!”
I watched as the old anger that haunted him when we first met seeped back into his body. He fixed his scarab eyes on mine, stormed over to my bedside, and lifted me, pressing his lips harshly against my mouth.
I didn’t kiss him back, and he dropped me to the mattress, practically growling in frustration. “For f**k’s sake! Please. Please. You’re scarin’ the shit outta me! You need to start dealin’ with it, dealin’ with everythin’ that’s happened.”
I just turned away and stared at nothing.
“You can’t even bear to look at me, can you?”
I narrowed my eyes, whipped back to face him, and bit out, “There! I’m looking at you! Tell me, Rome, what would like me to deal with exactly? The fact that your mother killed my f**king baby?”
Romeo withdrew as if I’d punched him and he answered through gritted teeth, “Our baby, and don’t you ever forget that. I was with you all the way until the end… still am! I’m still f**kin’ here, tryin’ to pull you outta hell!”
I shrugged nonchalantly and turned my back, my sorrow and guilt trying to bubble up my throat, but I pushed it down—deep, deep down. I couldn’t allow myself to feel.
“You know what? Fuck this! I’m out!” Romeo marched out of the door and I watched as he bolted down the corridor, his back rigid from stress.
I breathed out slowly and closed my eyes, wishing to just never wake up.
* * *
A newspaper being slapped on the bed table awoke me from my sleep. A very drunken Kathryn Prince stood at the end of my bed, the door to my private room tightly shut, blinds closed.
I was trapped.
“What are you doing here?” I asked angrily, scurrying to prop myself up on the pillows.
She smiled and wobbled to the chair, dropping herself on the seat beside me, whiskey once again reeking from her pores. She appeared completely dishevelled, her perfect blond hair was sticking out in knotty clumps, and her eyes were surrounded by deep, dark circles, her red lipstick slightly smudged.
Leaning forward, she pointed her boney finger at me and her face contorted into a vicious expression. “You’ve ruined us, you little whore.”
I regarded her blankly, fighting the disabling anxiety I could feel blooming in my chest. “You ruined yourself. You murdered our unborn baby! Your grandchild!”
“That abomination should never have been conceived. It was scum, just like its mother!”
I felt like I’d been hung up, nailed to a cross, and crucified. My baby was not scum. It was perfect; it was ours.
Mrs. Prince pushed the newspaper farther in my direction. “Read it. The editor and my husband’s not-so-biggest fan sent us an early copy. A little treat for suing him a few years back.”
* * *
My friends stopped by to see me, offering their heartfelt condolences and talking idle chitchat, skirting the taboo issue of children and trying their best to take my mind off things.
They needn’t have bothered. I didn’t feel… anything, and I never once spoke back.
Romeo slouched beside me on the bed. He ignored the strange looks he received from the doctors and didn’t flinch when the nurses would stop by my room to see the devoted boyfriend refusing to leave his girlfriend’s side. They could tell that the words “visiting hours” meant nothing to the quarterback from the Crimson Tide and allowed him to stay every night in my bed.
The power of football in Alabama.
Romeo tried over and over to talk to me, but I didn’t answer. I slept… a lot, and when I didn’t sleep, I lay next to him in a self-imposed comatose state. I was a living, breathing zombie.
After days recovering in hospital, the doctor told me I would be discharged the following morning. Romeo immediately began to pack my overnight bag that Ally had brought in and he couldn’t hide his relief that we were finally going home.
Home.
Nowhere felt like home. England held the memories of my lost family; Alabama now held the memory of my lost baby—nowhere made me feel safe.
Professor Ross had called by, upset and apologetic for my loss. She was leaving for Oxford that night for the lecture—she and Romeo had decided together that it was best if I didn’t travel. Romeo told me cautiously, expecting that I would put up a protest and insist on delivering my part of the paper due to the fact that I’d worked on it for almost a year. I simply shrugged and went back to sleep. Ordinarily I would have protested. But I just couldn’t muster up the strength to care.
Romeo sighed in defeat every time I rolled away from him, closing in on myself. He watched me, always watched me and stalked my every move. He could see I was broken. I knew he was too, but if I let myself feel, I wasn’t sure I would survive the onslaught of pain that I knew would follow. He told me over and over how much he loved me and, as always, begged me not to leave.
I made no such promise.
When my bag was packed and dusk closed in, Romeo’s phone sounded.
I turned and watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”
“It’s Coach. He needs me to attend a charity function at the stadium tonight. I’ve missed a lot of game prep, and he needs the QB to be there to show I’m with the team all the way to the championship.”
“Then go.”
He snapped his head to me. “I can’t leave you like this.”
“Yes, you can. I’m tired anyway. I need to sleep.”
Groaning loudly in exasperation, he aggressively smacked his fist into the wall. “For Christ’s sake, Mol! How can you be tired? You’ve slept for days, done nothin’ for days! I understand you’ve had surgery, but the doctors said you should be feelin’ a lot better by now. You’re wallowin’, Shakespeare. You need to snap the hell out’ve it! I’ve tried, been tryin’ to be patient, but enough is enough! I’ve lost a baby too, not just you, but you shut me out and act like I’m a damn stranger to you. I was the daddy, for f**k’s sake! I can’t do it alone. I have too much to think about—you being like this, leadin’ the team to the championship, the hopes of an entire state on my head. I need you to help me, Mol, not to drown in your own f**kin’ misery. Who’s supportin’ me? I’m grievin’ too!”
I watched as the old anger that haunted him when we first met seeped back into his body. He fixed his scarab eyes on mine, stormed over to my bedside, and lifted me, pressing his lips harshly against my mouth.
I didn’t kiss him back, and he dropped me to the mattress, practically growling in frustration. “For f**k’s sake! Please. Please. You’re scarin’ the shit outta me! You need to start dealin’ with it, dealin’ with everythin’ that’s happened.”
I just turned away and stared at nothing.
“You can’t even bear to look at me, can you?”
I narrowed my eyes, whipped back to face him, and bit out, “There! I’m looking at you! Tell me, Rome, what would like me to deal with exactly? The fact that your mother killed my f**king baby?”
Romeo withdrew as if I’d punched him and he answered through gritted teeth, “Our baby, and don’t you ever forget that. I was with you all the way until the end… still am! I’m still f**kin’ here, tryin’ to pull you outta hell!”
I shrugged nonchalantly and turned my back, my sorrow and guilt trying to bubble up my throat, but I pushed it down—deep, deep down. I couldn’t allow myself to feel.
“You know what? Fuck this! I’m out!” Romeo marched out of the door and I watched as he bolted down the corridor, his back rigid from stress.
I breathed out slowly and closed my eyes, wishing to just never wake up.
* * *
A newspaper being slapped on the bed table awoke me from my sleep. A very drunken Kathryn Prince stood at the end of my bed, the door to my private room tightly shut, blinds closed.
I was trapped.
“What are you doing here?” I asked angrily, scurrying to prop myself up on the pillows.
She smiled and wobbled to the chair, dropping herself on the seat beside me, whiskey once again reeking from her pores. She appeared completely dishevelled, her perfect blond hair was sticking out in knotty clumps, and her eyes were surrounded by deep, dark circles, her red lipstick slightly smudged.
Leaning forward, she pointed her boney finger at me and her face contorted into a vicious expression. “You’ve ruined us, you little whore.”
I regarded her blankly, fighting the disabling anxiety I could feel blooming in my chest. “You ruined yourself. You murdered our unborn baby! Your grandchild!”
“That abomination should never have been conceived. It was scum, just like its mother!”
I felt like I’d been hung up, nailed to a cross, and crucified. My baby was not scum. It was perfect; it was ours.
Mrs. Prince pushed the newspaper farther in my direction. “Read it. The editor and my husband’s not-so-biggest fan sent us an early copy. A little treat for suing him a few years back.”
