Fulfillment Golland, M. (best classic literature TXT) 📖

My foot wasthrobbing in pain, and my head had the sudden urge to explode—thatwas fact. I could hear voices and noises close by and in thedistance—fact, yet again. I could smell the unmistakable scent ofsterilizing lotion—that was also a fact. And I had a dryscratchy-like irritation at the back of my throat, together with ahorrible metallic taste in my mouth —once again, fact.

I willed mybrain to force my eyelids open but instead my hand flinched,grasping the hand that was placed underneath it.

“Alexis.Alexis, it’s me, Hunny. I’m right here,” Bryce spoke, his voicepenetrating my ears, filling me with a sense of calm. “Maryann, Ithink she’s trying to wake up again.”

His handtightened around mine.

“Jen, get thenurse,” my mum said, her voice growing louder as she spoke.

I felt afinger graze my cheek and it startled me, forcing my facial musclesto twitch.

“Lexi,Sweetheart. It’s Mum.”

My eyelidswere stubbornly refusing to open, so this time rather than willingthem, I demanded they open with everything I had in me. They obeyedand fluttered, filtering in flickers of light and spectrums ofcolour. I blinked a few times, gaining back strength and control ofmy eyelids.

Almostinstantly, I saw Bryce standing to my left, an expression of mixedemotion on his face. He looked happy and relieved, yet at the sametime exhausted and concerned. My mum was to my right, brushing hairaway from my face and smiling warmly at me.

“Is sheawake?” my sister Jen asked, as she burst into the room, which Inow confirmed was a hospital room; the cream coloured walls andclinical equipment surrounding me a clear indication of that.

A nurse inlilac coloured scrubs walked in after Jen, making her way over tome with a calm and reassuring look on her face. She startedchecking the monitors that were set up beside my bed. “Hello,Alexis. My name is Stella. I’m a nurse here at the Royal Women’sHospital. You were brought in this morning after you fell down somestairs and hit your head.”

I tried totalk, but only intermittent words and noises came out of mouth.

“You mightfind it a bit difficult to talk at first. You were put underanaesthesia and intubated, so your throat may feel a little sore orirritated.”

I nodded andtried to speak again. “Mm...my...foot..ff...feels—”

“Yes,” sheinterrupted. “Your foot will feel quite sore. When you fell youfractured your fibula. You’ve had surgery to repair the break andyour ankle is now set in a cast.”

Nurse Stellachecked my wound dressing. I looked down at my ankle which wasslightly elevated and surrounded in a plaster cast—just looking atit heightened the pain.

“I will go andget you some pain killers and water, okay? I won’t be long.” Shepatted my arm gently then gave Bryce a reassuring smile.

He nodded ather then sat down on the chair next to my bed, still clasping myhand in his. Leaning over me, he kissed my forehead, his lipslingering on my skin for what seemed like a long time. “I loveyou,” he whispered, then I heard him sob and take in a breath. Theagony in his inhalation was unmistakable.

All surfacepain that I had felt moments ago—my foot, my head, even the spot onmy hand where the IV was injected—was nothing in comparison to theunbearable hurt I felt in my heart when I realised why he wassobbing and why I all of sudden felt empty.

I shook myhead. “No”.

Bryce didn’tremove his lips from my forehead when he responded. “I’m so sorry,Hunny.”

“No. No. No,”I cried. “Please, no.”

Mum placed herhand on my leg. “Sweetheart, there was nothing they could do. Whenyou fell, your placenta detached.”

My heart waspounding and my chest felt incredibly tight, strangling me fromwithin. I closed my eyes to stop the tears from over-flowing and totry and return to the moment before I fell, desperate to reversethe series of events that had led me here—bruised, battered, andcompletely heartbroken. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

Bryce pulledaway from my head and placed his hands on either side of my face.“You’re sorry? Alexis, what are you talking about? You have noreason to be sorry.”

“I fell. It’smy fault. Our baby is gone because I fell.”

“This is notyour fault. It was an accident.” He leaned forward and kissed myhead again.

Jen turned herback to me and looked out the window, her shoulders vibrating asshe quietly reeled in her sadness.

Mum dragged aseat to the side of my bed and placed my hand in hers. “Bryce isright, Alexis. It was an accident, you cannot blame yourself.”

It didn’tmatter what they said, though. I fell. I didn’t protect my baby. IfI had been more careful my baby would still be alive and growinginside me. My baby is gone. A wave of excruciating heartachehit me again, and I cried like never before.

Mum, Jen andBryce tried desperately to reassure me that I wasn’t at fault, butafter their attempts failed, they stopped trying and just let mecry. I cried on and off for hours, and I cried till there were nomore tears left to cry.

***

Day 2, aftersurgery.

The nextmorning I felt somewhat better, my tears having run dry and mydrowsy, sleepy state had lifted a little. I was also allowed to eata light breakfast of semolina and yogurt. Bryce had taken one lookat my first meal in over 24 hours and nearly left the hospital toget me something that did not look like ‘vomit’—his words, notmine. I had to insist he stay with me, which ended up being easy—he didn’t argue, not one bit. Weird. To be honest, I didn’tfeel like eating all that much anyway, I still had a headache andwas slightly nauseated.

Apparently, myhead injury had only been minor, resulting in instant concussion,subsequent soreness, nausea, and headaches. Apparently, I waslucky. Lucky? That one particular word from the mouth of anurse who had just undergone a change of shift, threw me back intoa state of devastation. I had cursed at her and told her that ifthe ‘definition of luck was falling down the stairs and killingyour unborn child then I was the fucking luckiest bitch alive’.

Bryce hadasked her to leave the room, while following her out—furious.Needless to say, I did not see her again, but looking