590 - Emma
Even sleep doesn't help to take away the pain anymore. I see her whenever I close my eyes, though she looks different every time.
With her, I see Lucien. It breaks my heart even more to see his face so far away from me, so filled with sadness. The same sadness I meet when I wake up, pushed away so far behind his eyes that at first I think I'm just projecting.
I feel like I can't breathe. Tears keep on stinging, but they won't actually come.
I want to talk to him, tell him what has been going on in my mind, but the words keep on getting stuck somewhere in my throat.
Minutes, even hours creep by. I wish for it to never turn one, as if the dreaded procedure is what will make this real. As if she's still alive and well right now.
As it happens with time, it comes before I want it to, and a wheelchair brings me to where I need to be. The preparations, though all physically done to me, seemed like a blur, and as per my request I will be going under for all of this.
The thought of being awake as they do this seems haunting.
Lucien gets to be there until I'm fully sedated, though I know he doesn't want to be here. He's here, though, and he's here just for me.
I stare up at the ceiling as they register the needed medication. The IV has become less scary to me, but I still need to take steady breaths to ensure I don't pass out before they even bring me under.
In some kind of a reflex, the arm they're not working on reaches out for Lucien. He's too far away to touch, and I'm afraid he won't return my gesture, but he takes a step closer when he notices my hand reaching for his.
As our eyes meet, my lip trembles. I'm scared. Not so much of the procedure, but of what else is to come. Suddenly, a little over a month ago, our future was planned ahead for the next eightteen years. Now, it's all gone, and I'm not sure if we were ever strong enough to survive this.
According to my nurses, I've been the perfect patient. It's probably just because I haven't asked for a single thing, kindly ate my food and didn't bother them, waiting for the days to pass and I could go home.
Home. The place where reality waits, where we spent hours fantasizing about a future, about what was yet to come. About our child, bringing her home, where her crib would be. I already thought of names, of what she would look like.
Now, those walls only house disappointment, shame. Soon enough, people will expect us to return back to normal life. They will start asking questions, wondering what is going on.
On the elevator ride up to our appartment, we're silent, just like we've been for the past few days. Ever since the news hit, it's like all of the words were knocked out of me.
I watch him unlock the door, letting me in first. I'm immediately toppled over by memories, by a claustrophobic feeling. I remember the photo Lucien took right before he left, when I promised him I'd keep our baby safe.
I take a deep breath before I step over the threshold, biting my lip to keep the tears from coming.
On the table in the diningroom, there's a vase with beautiful, yellow flowers. I recognise the handwriting on the card as my mum's.
"She sent them the other day," he answers a question I haven't asked. "She doesn't know yet. No one does."
It's going to break her heart. I'm going to break her heart.
"I'm going to take a shower," I mumble, unable to even look him in the eyes, knowing it will give away that I'm only a few seconds away from tumbling down.
The radio station I've been blasting in the bathroom to keep my mind from running has started playing that horrible In the arms of the angel song, making me want to throw my phone out the window. Dead people don't peacefully get held by angels, they end up detereorating.
With my hair still dripping wet, I walk out in my pyjamas, Frank immediately circling around my legs.
Lucien is in the kitchen, making food he must know I won't eat. "This came for you," he gestures at a package on the counter. "Didn't want to open it."
I haven't got a clue what it is, but it soon becomes clear to me when I rip open the cardboard around it.
Just before Lucien came back from London, I found an adorable website that sold hand-made mobile for above a future crib, with happily coloured flowers dangling from it. It made me very happy when I ordered it, but now it seems to rip my heart right out again.
I stuff the thing back in the package immediately, ripping it even further, popping the bubble wrap that was around it.
Lucien looks at me wondering, stirring in one of the pans. When he catches me look at him, he turns away, a wave of sadness or pity on his face.
Just the one look sends me over the edge. It's almost as if all of the words that got stuck come flowing out, my hands shaking.
"Don't look at me like that!" Frank, who had just casually come walking in to the room turns around quickly, sprinting away when my voice booms through the room. The package, now half torn on the counter, is the next victim of my anger, hitting the wall only seconds later, then falling onto the floor with a bang. "You shouldn't be looking at me like that!"
He turns off the stove, as if he's afraid that the next thing I throw will catch the entire house on fire, and stands there. He just stands there, calm and composed.
"It's okay, Em," he tells me, his voice void of any anger, nothing in him fights back against the tirade I've just spat at him. "I'm sorry."
"No it's NOT fucking okay, Lucien! None of this is fucking okay!" I can almost feel the walls shake, or maybe that's just my entire body fighting with me. "She's fucking dead! Our baby is dead, and it's all not fucking okay! I promised you, I told you I'd keep her safe, and now she's dead! I wished for my first trimester to be over every single fucking day and now it is and it's never coming back! I was fucking miserable and that's the last thing she felt from me, me hating every waking second of every day! You shouldn't feel sorry for me, you shouldn't apologise. All I had to do was take care of her, and I couldn't even do that! "
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