You're Gone

I woke up with horrible cramps. Worse than the seemingly constant back ache I'd had for the past week.

I was surprised too, because I couldn't remember the last time I had gotten my period. Drugs will do that to you though, I guess. I simply crawled out of bed, walked to the bathroom, grabbed an aspirin, put on a pad, and climbed back into bed with Oliver. I don't know how much longer I slept, but it was surprisingly bright out when my eyes fluttered open again.

"Nice day ou'," Oliver said. He was setting up a few lines on the back of the casing for a vinyl record. He didn't look up as he spoke but I smiled over to him none the less.

"Leave one for me, Oli," I whispered as I stretched, my back arching against the mattress. As my hips lifted into the air I felt a horrible and sharp pain. The aspirin didn't help at all. In fact, the cramps were worse than they were when I had first woken up.

"Yeh jus' woke up," he said.

"And?"

"Don't yeh fhink yeh should wait a little?"

"No," I answered flatly. And so ignoring the cramps I padded my way over to Oliver where I quickly snorted two lines. We sat around for a while in each other's arms. Occasionally making out, pausing to eat the small amount of food left in the fridge, but mostly just enjoying feeling the other's body heat.

"I was fhinkin' we could go ou' today. 's so nice ou'," Oliver repeated.

"I'm not feelin' so good," I admitted.

"Wha's tha matter, love?" He asked, moving me to the side and craning his neck so he could look down at me. His eyes were full of concern and I couldn't help but kiss him for being so caring.

"I jus' 'ave really bad cramps," I told him, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against his chest.

"Let's get yeh in bed, then," he said. He carried me bridal style to the mattress and placed me down carefully. "'m gonna go shower. I'll be back in a few minutes, love," he explained. "Take a nap." And so I did.

I don’t think anyone really ever prepares themselves for the worst. I mean, we all say we do but I don’t think anyone ever actually goes through with it. We all like to pretend that nothing bad will ever happen to us. We don’t want to believe that we would ever be put in such a horrible position. No one wants to think about how they would deal with real adversity.

Myself included.

Oliver came out of the shower, his hair still dripping wet and beads of water rolling down his bare chest. He was wearing only a pair of basketball shorts that hung loosely around his waist. I stirred slightly and let my eyes flutter open to smile at him softly.

I swear to God I will never forget the look of pure terror on his face as his hazel eyes fell on me. I've never seen anyone look so bloody scared in my entire life, and I would be happy to never have to see something like that again.

"Wha's tha matter, Oli?" I squinted at him, suddenly feeling too woozy to even lift my head off the pillow. "I feel sorta shitty," I breathed out, closing my eyes again.

"Tris," he said, his voice positively quivering. "Yeh're bleedin'."

I was suddenly embarrassed at the realization I had bled through my pad and all over our sheets. It was like every girl’s worst nightmare. And then I glanced down and saw just how much blood was leaking from in-between my legs. "Oh," was all I managed to say. "Oli," I bit my lip. "It hurts."

I remember Oliver frantically changing my pants and wrapping a blanket around my bottom half. I remember him quickly changing himself and then carrying me down the two flights of stairs to the street. I remember him racing to the parking garage and placing me in the backseat of his tiny car. I remember him weaving in and out of traffic and apologizing profusely for the bumpy ride. I remember being carried into the ER and Oliver shouting at everyone to help me. I even remember him referring to me as his "wife". After that, things started to get hazy.

2.7 months. 12 weeks. 84 days.

That's how old my baby was when it died.

The size of a lime, the doctor said.

Drugs, the doctor said, were the main cause of death. My body wasn't ready for a pregnancy either though, he had added. Just to make me feel better I'm sure. He mentioned something about the shape of my uterus as well, but it was hard to pay attention to anything he said after hearing the child I had unknowingly been carrying for nearly three months was dead.

At first I couldn't feel anything because I didn't believe it. I didn't even know I was pregnant, how could it be over so soon? According to the doctor though, the drugs hindered my body's ability to give me the most common signs of pregnancy. The morning sickness, lack of menstrual cycle, and flu like symptoms were all obvious signs of pregnancy, but because of the drugs they were masked. I related all symptoms to my drug use, never even thinking about the risk I was putting myself at of getting pregnant by the amount of unprotected sex I had with my boyfriend. You just don’t think about things like condoms and birth control when you’re tweaking on meth.

He was amazed I had even gotten pregnant, the doctor said.

I felt numb from head to toe, and after learning I would be spending a few more days in the hospital for observation and to continue treatment I was hit with the painful realization I had lost a child. My first child.

Oliver walked into the room soon after the doctor left, looking completely disheveled and grievous. The back of his hair was a knotty mess and the front was matted down to the sides of his face. His eyes were bloodshot and entirely lifeless, the bags hanging underneath them darker and heavier than I had ever seen them. He was pale and I swear the look on his face alone was what made me cry.

Sobs, they came to me fast and hard, shaking my body to its core as tears poured out of my eyes faster than I thought possible.

When I felt Oliver's skinny arms snake their way around me I only cried harder, and when I felt his own tears start to slip down onto my bare back (made possible by my hospital gown), I was to the point of dry heaving. My stomach hurt and I wasn't sure if it was from the miscarriage or crying, but at that point it didn't matter. I clung to the fabric of his tee-shirt, clawing at the back of it and trying to get him as close to me as possible as I just sputtered and cried. And just as soon as his embrace was there, it was gone again. He pulled away from me, holding me at arm’s length as I sloppily grabbed at the front of his shirt, balling the fabric up in two fists as the tears continued to pour down my blotchy face.

"Oliver," I whimpered pathetically. "I can't believe this."

"You killed 'm."

I swear his words could have been a knife being shoved deeply into my heart. Despite the obvious cliché, I couldn't describe it any other way. A kick to the stomach, a knife to the heart, etc, etc. All I knew was after the words dripped from mouth I couldn't breathe. And I couldn't see either. And the tears started up again, coming harder and faster than they previously had (which I didn’t even think to be possible). My hands fell from his shirt as I looked at him like he was a stranger to me.

How could he say something like that at a time like this? How could he possibly twist this into something that was my fault?

"I-I-I," I couldn't speak either, obviously. The mere thought of stringing a complete and coherent sentence together at the moment was impossible. My mouth was dry, though it was hanging open and tears were slowly slipping in on their way down my cheeks.

"Yeh didn't stop," he spoke again. His voice felt foreign to me. Even though I had gotten so used to his voice over the past years, I almost didn't recognize it as it passed through the lips I had spent so much time kissing. I knew he couldn't be telling me this. "Yeh jus' didn't fuckin' stop." It was then his tears began again. His beautiful face instantaneously found the palms of his hands and I sobbed as he sobbed. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to hold him against me again and just lay here until the rest of the world faded away. I wanted to rewind, fast forward, pause time. Anything to avoid being in this moment, to avoid this feeling, to avoid seeing the heart break all over his normally carefree face.

"I didn't know," I cried, my head fell back as I looked up to the ceiling. "I didn't fuckin' know. I woulda stopped. I swear I woulda."

Why.

Why now. Why me. Why Oliver. Why drugs. Why a baby. Why the pain. Why the suffering. Why put me in this position. Why was he acting like this.

Why.

"You killed 'm," he repeated, his voice shaking as he tried to sound firm. "Our babeh," he wept, his shoulders shaking. "'e's dead."

I don't know how long we sat there and cried, but it was at least until the nurse came and gently explained to Oliver he had to leave. He had spent the entire time repeating over and over that he was dead. That our baby, the one that had just started to grow into a little person inside of me, was now dead. And I wasn't sure I could ever recover for this. Especially with Oliver acting the way he was. The lack of conversation between us and the lack of love I suddenly felt overwhelmed me. I felt so fucking alone sitting there crying. So fucking alone.

The last look he shot me before he left the room, the last look I saw until two years later at some dingy house party in which I dropped my Xanax all over the floor (of course I didn't know this then), was one I would never forget. I never understood how one single look could say so much until that very moment. Even the look in his eyes after he told me he loved me for the first time seemed completely insignificant compared to the one he sent me as he was leaving the hospital room.

Our eyes were locked, both of us un-blinking and stone faced. But his eyes, they said it all. They said too much actually. Too much for that moment. Too much for me to handle. And too much for me to understand. But I did understand one thing, and my heart, the organ beating underneath my ribcage, physically ached as he blinked and turned to walk down the long corridor and out of the hospital. Because if I got anything from that last look, it was probably the most important.

I will never forgive you.