Hurricane

It was another year before Mikey uprooted us again. This time, to Nevada. It wasn't a far drive, but it took a while to get there; I hadn't been use to driving for that long in a while.

He had decided that we leave because one of his buddies had gotten robbed, and he didn't want us to be next. Mikey also decided to try and find a job, a legitimate job, but it was hard, because he was inexperienced.

His drug trade got dry, too. I went back to stripping, and the men were a lot more rowdier than I was use to. The pay sucked, the bars sucked, and I felt like I was doomed to die this way...

I contemplated it all when I had gotten really sick during the first November we were there. I had gotten bad cramps, and I was throwing up constantly. The owner of this new club forced me to go home and to not come back until whatever I had was gone. 

Mikey had picked me up, covering me with his warm, heavy jacket that smelled of weed and the colgne he wore. He had laid me back in the passenger seat, combed my hair back with his hand and kissed my forehead, "What's wrong? Do you hurt?"

"Yes, a lot." I hissed slightly, "I think I need a doctor."

Mikey and I had made a rule beforehand; no doctors/hospitals unless we're dying. 

He bit at his lip, "I'm gonna take you home first, get you in the bath, pop a few painkillers."

I nodded, without fighting about it. I let Mikey handle this.

He had carried me into the house when we got to our little one bedroom loft. He placed me on the bed and hurried to the bathroom; I laid there, clutching my stomach as sharp pains rushed throughout my lower half. I remember crying out, pulling Mikey's jacket closer to me, trying to comfort my ache.

"It's ready, c'mon, I got you." I sat up slowly, Mikey carried me, bridal style, to the bathroom and sat me on the sink and undressed me.

I sunk into the tub, the pain wouldn't subside, and I began to cry. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking in deep breaths, my hands took hold of the sides of the tub, squeezing them out of discomfort.

"Mikey, please, I need a doctor." I sobbed softly.

Mikey didn't want us to get caught; nearly 3 years on the run, we couldn't get caught now. "Just hang in there, Rooney, please."

I took in deep breaths, sobbing away from him and forcing the pain away. Mikey gave me two painkillers, he kissed my head and rubbed my back. 

"I need to get out," I told him, "I need a bed."

Mikey nodded, grabbing towels, "Can you stand up?" I nodded, my legs wobbled as I did so, and I reached for the towel. 

Mikey had stalled.

"What?" I whimpered in pain.

Mikey was staring at my legs, "Are you...why are you bleeding?" His voice was just above a whisper.

I had looked down and saw blood trailing down my thighs and into the murky water. 

The nurses had given me panthlets on grieving a miscarriage. I didn't understand, and I really didn't feel as if I were going to grieve over that. I don't mean to sound so mean, but you can't ever miss what you never really had.

I was about 4 weeks along, so, the little thing that Mikey and I had created wasn't really a baby. Had I been a little bit further, and had a sense that I was pregnant, I would had grieved. I just didn't know how to process that I was actually carrying a little thing...a fetus.

Mikey had a frightened look when the doctor had told him I was suffering a miscarriage. He was the one to ask how old the baby was, and if he were able to know if it were a girl or boy by then; I had been surprised by him. I could give two cents about it, but Mikey was the one to ask about it. I wanted to hold Mikey then, to kiss him and tell him how much I loved him.

When we had gotten back home, he took me to bed and laid in the bed with me. He wrapped his arms around me, from behind, and kissed the back of my neck, "I'm sorry, Roo." 

"What're you sorry for?" I asked him softly.

"Not taking you to the hospital when you said so."

"It couldn't have been saved, Mikey. I'm fine."

He kissed my skin again, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, are you?"

"Yeah."

"Can we just pretend that this never happened?" I whispered then.

"Yeah." He mumbled.

That day, nothing had really changed me or him, on the surface. He was a lot more careful of me, but he was still the demanding Mikey I knew. We never talked about that day, for an entire year.

I remember because it was Christmas time, it was finally raining, and he and I were in bed keeping warm. He had just snorted that shit up his nose and was feeling antsy. He wanted sex, and I was afraid to; not because of the miscarriage, but because I was pregnant again.

We had started having sex 2 months after the miscarriage, and we hadn't even thought of it then. But, when he had started to kiss on me, clawing at my clothes, I had to stop and tell him. He didn't even realize it, even with the test displayed in the trash, in the bathroom.

"Mikey, wait," I pressed a hand to his chest, "please."

He looked at me with worry, "Am I hurting you?"

I shook my head, "We have to talk."

He had furrowed his brows, "What?"

"Mikey, I don't think we can have sex." 

"What?" He repeated; he was becoming annoyed.

"I'm pregnant, Mikey."