Damaged Hearts

"Tuesdae," I could barely hear Lacey calling my name underneath the static of my beating heart.

"Tuesdae?" This time it was more of a question, but I couldn't seem to find my voice to answer her.

"Tuesdae!" She exclaimed louder than her previous calls of my name, worry laced in her voice. "Can you hear me?! Tuesdae, what's wrong?"

That was when my vision began to blur, along with my hearing. I found my world going black and there was nothing I could do about it.

I could only watch as my surroundings began to blur and Lacey's cries became fainter as the telephone slipped from my hands and my body crashed with it.

They say I was unconscious for nearly two days, that Lacey had to call an ambulance to go to my home and get me. They said she flew out of LAX on the next available flight to Dallas, just so she could be with me and make sure I was alive.

I woke up on the third day, feeling like absolute shit and oblivious to the heartache that I would soon feel. The doctor attempted to be compassionate as he told me that I blacked out and the impact of the fall caused me to miscarry. Apparently, my body couldn't handle the pregnancy, which meant that my doctor was right about one thing; I wouldn't be able to conceive a child. This made me angry, but there really wasn't anything I could do about it. Mother Nature apparently had it out for me or she would never curse my life in such a way.

I spent days in the hospital, mourning over what was never really mine to cherish in the first place. The doctors and even Lacey all tiptoed around me like they thought I might explode or have a break down any minute. At the same time, however, they monitored my every move and every breath in fear that I might try to off myself with the cutlery provided with my meals. It was obnoxious and pathetic, and it all made me feel even worse. I just wanted to go home and drown in my sorrows while laying in my Queen-sized bed.

But even something as simple as that ended up a failure. Lacey refused to let me out of her sight, taking on the role of mother hen almost immediately and even going so far as to suggest that I move in with her. There were so many things wrong with that suggestion that it made me wanna scream! For one, she didn't live in Dallas. Hell, she didn't even live in Texas anymore. Nearly two years ago, she had left our hometown to pursue her dream career in good ol' Hollywood, California. Moving in with her would mean moving away from all I've ever known to a place I had never even visited before. Could I do that?

For two, Lacey had her own life to worry about. She had a fiance and a soon-to-be stepdaughter, a career that took her on the road a lot, and a wedding to plan in between. She definitely didn't need me adding to the list.

Thirdly, I didn't know if I could leave the one place I grew up in. Call it extreme attachment but I loved Dallas. Not only that but I had a job here - a job I loved more than anything. I didn't know if I could find such a job in "glamorous California."

Another problem was the fact that after my boyfriend left me because I was pregnant, I became sort of a lone wolf. I didn't go out of my way to make friends with people I didn't know, and I didn't go anywhere outside of work unless it was to get food or go to my checkups for the baby. I just shied away from people, out of fear of getting hurt and to protect my self and my baby.

My parents had left Dallas long ago to indulge their shared fantasy of living in Australia after they retired. My mom was freshly retired from her real restate career as my dad was also freshly retired from his law firm. I had no brothers or sisters or even younger cousins to satisfy my need for family, so when my parents left the country, I was a little devastated. Even worse was when Lacey left me for California. It wasn't nearly as far away as Australia, but it was still enough to break a girl's heart.

That's when I met Vance Youngblood. He was a sweetheart with all the right words to make me fall head over heels for him. He made me feel wanted and loved, and he acted like he cared. But he didn't. He didn't care about me or love me; he just used me like a rag doll. And when I got pregnant, he ran at the first sign of trouble. He was a douche-bag, and I vowed that I would never let another man like him hurt me in such a horrific way, even if it meant that I never loved again. Love hurt far too much for me to fall for it again.

That's why I made the decision that I did. I packed my shit up and left for the sunny state with my best friend in tow.