Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
The world around me stopped spinning. Noise silenced, except for a whooshing sound that circled inside my head. Then…it hit me. The boulder slammed against my chest, made up of agony and grief.
Eighteen Years Ago
Sitting nervously in the small room the nurse had brought me to, I twisted my hands in my lap. The glass of orange juice sat on the table beside me, and I stared at it.
When my name had been called in the waiting room, I’d stood up and then lost my balance as my vision began to tunnel. An older man behind me caught me as I started to go down. I blinked, and two nurses were taking me from the man’s arms. He told them that they needed to take me back immediately. I didn’t know him and wanted to thank him, but I was too weak.
I was placed in a wheelchair and asked if I could hold a cup, and when I nodded, a nurse handed me the orange juice. I drank half of it, and it helped some. Once they had my vitals, they had left me here and told me to lie back on the bed. But I didn’t want to lie down. I was scared I’d close my eyes and not wake up. There had been so much blood.
I shivered at the reminder of the mess I’d woken up to this morning. A pool of blood had stained the sheets and coated my thighs. I was sure I’d never been this terrified in my life. Or this alone. And that was saying a lot with the father I’d lived with until I was fifteen.
Rome hadn’t called, texted, or even shown up to see me since walking out of my dorm room a month ago. I’d made it by going through the motions. School, work, eat, sleep, repeat. My weight had dropped considerably, and I had known I needed to see a doctor, but that was intimidating. I should have gone. This was my fault. Even my wrists were too thin. They looked fragile, as if they might snap under pressure. I couldn’t blame it on morning sickness either. I’d not had that. I just hadn’t wanted food. The heaviness that weighed down on me and the hollowness in my chest were making it hard for me to simply get up in the morning and function. Much less eat.
As I reached for the glass, my hand trembled, and I dropped it back to my lap. Anxiety, fear, and heartache were all there, taking turns attacking me. Sucking any life out of me that was there. It had been a month, and there was no relief. It wasn’t getting easier. If anything, it was getting worse.
The door opened, and the nurse from earlier entered with a male doctor. He looked young to be a doctor, but his white coat suggested that he was. He gave me a warm yet sympathetic smile. I had been getting that look a lot lately.
“Miss Gray,” he said, “I’m Dr. Kent.”
I watched him walk over to stand a few feet in front of me, but he said nothing. I waited for him to tell me what was wrong with me. Why was I bleeding to death?
“We are going to do an ultrasound to be sure, but before we do that, I want you to be prepared. I’m almost positive you miscarried. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Who drove you? Is someone in the waiting room who could come back with you?” His tone was kind.
Tears burned my eyes. I’d known that, hadn’t I? When I woke up and saw the blood, deep down, I’d known. But accepting it meant losing the only thing I had left of Rome. His baby. One that I didn’t know how I would take care of. I was in college on a full scholarship. I lived in a dorm and couldn’t afford housing myself. I made a little over two hundred dollars a week, and I was sure babies cost more than that. Still…it was mine and Rome’s.
I shook my head when I realized he was waiting for my response. “I, uh…I’m alone.” My words were barely above a whisper.
“You drove yourself here in this condition?” he asked, his brows drawing together in a frown.
I nodded. I’d had no choice. My roommates were all gone to classes or work, and I had no one. The friends I’d made, I had all but lost them this past month, withdrawing and not responding to their calls or texts.
“I see,” he said and cleared his throat. “Is there someone you can call? You’re not in any condition to drive home, and this is tough. You need someone here for you.”
A small sob escaped me as a tear rolled down my face even though I’d tried hard to hold it in. I shook my head.