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

back at itnow, it really wasn’t her fault. She had just used a poor choice ofword, and at that time it had cut me like a knife.

Shortly aftermy outburst, a hospital counsellor came by to have a chat to me andBryce. She spoke to us about what we may or may not feel in thecoming days and weeks, which I found slightly irritating. I hatedbeing told what I ‘may or may not feel’ by someone who did not knowme at all and could not possibly know how I would feel. She kind ofmade me angry, but then again she said I ‘may or may not feelangry’, so I guess she did sort of know what she was talking about.Regardless, I was not sure I liked her, so I mainly just listenedon and off.

She wentthrough the various options that were available to us, for when wewere ready to farewell our baby. Options that I could notcomprehend, let alone make a clear decision about. I didn’t reallywant to think about it; I didn’t want to think about anything. Ijust wanted to sleep.

I didn’t havemuch to say to her anyway, not being the type to talk to a strangerabout my inner most feelings— irrespective of her training anduniversity degree. Bryce appeared to feel the same way, but Iexpected he would eventually talk to Dr. Toffee-Nosed-Carrot-TopJessica, which was fine. He could obviously confide in her and wascomfortable with her, and I was glad he would have someone to sharehis grief with other than me.

She must beone hell of a good psychologist despite her demeanour, because shehad helped Bryce in the past. And she dealt with Gareth and hisillness on a weekly basis. I sure as hell wasn’t going to confidein her, though. There was no way I would be entrusting her to helpme heal—no way. She made it very clear when we first crossed pathsthat she did not like me.

***

Later thatnight when all was quiet, Bryce and I finally had a chance to talk.We were lying next to each other in my rather large hospital bed,in my rather nice hospital room that I’m thinking Bryce had a handin organising.

“You should gohome and get some proper rest,” I said softly, as he rested hishead on mine and gently stroked my arm with his thumb.

“No. I’m notleaving you here alone. And anyway, I don’t want to be aloneeither.”

I tilted myhead to look up at him, tears filling my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hunny, don’t.Don’t do this to yourself again. It’s not your fault,” he saidsternly.

I trieddesperately to choke back my tears. “But it is. I fell. I was rushing to come and seeyou, to help you. It is my fault. The thing is, I’m sure I put myheels on properly...but maybe I didn’t...I can’t really remember,my memories are all mixed.”

I couldn’thelp but keep thinking about it though, replaying it over and overin my head, recalling things that I didn’t think happened but Icouldn’t be sure. The uncertainty scared me so I tightened my armwhich was lying across his chest.

“What do youmean, your memories are all mixed?” he asked, curiously.

“Well, I keephaving these flashbacks or visions where I stop and look at myshoes before I go down the stairs. They are secure on my feet. Iknow they are, because I look at them the whole time I fall.”

I closed myeyes momentarily in an attempt to get back the visions I had beenseeing over the course of the last couple of days. I reopened themand looked sorrowfully up at Bryce. “I don’t know how Islipped...”

I tore my eyesaway from his and dropped my head back down to his chest, feelingstupid for saying it. “I know...it’s crazy. It’s probably just mysub-conscious trying to help me feel less guilty. I don’t know...”I sighed, “If that is the case, it really isn’t working.”

“Hunny, yourmind will play all kinds of tricks on you. It’s life’s cruel way ofgetting you to sort through your grief, your guilt and your sadnessso that you can move on. It’s one of those fucked up lessons wehave to learn.”

I squeezed himtighter, appreciative, but equally saddened by his knowledge ofdespair. He, of all people, knew how to deal with grief and lossand what steps to take in order to heal. He also knew how to bearguilt.

“Thank you.Thank you for not hating me, because God knows I hate myself.”

“Alexis, Icould never hate you. I love you so much, it’s unfathomable. Seeingyou lying lifeless at the bottom of the stairs scared the absoluteshit out of me.” He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. “I keepfucking replaying it in my head, and each time it makes me ill. Ithought you were dead. Then I saw the blood on your dress and Iknew...well...I just knew.” He shook his head as if to shake awaythe horrifying vision. “I don’t want to think about it. You’resafe, and you’ll heal. We both will.”

He tightenedhis grip on me without causing any pain. I was still tender andbruised on the ribs and lower abdomen.

We fell asleepthat way, holding each other, comforting each other, supportingeach other, allowing one another to grieve in a manner that only weknew how. A small part of both our hearts had been torn away andwould be lost forever.

I knew deepdown that time healed the wounded and heartbroken, and I wasconfident that time would do just that for us. I knew this, becauseat the end of this tragedy we had each other and that would neverchange.

***

Day 3, aftersurgery

Day three waskind of a blur. Dr. Rainer came to the hospital to explain thedetails of my miscarriage. She said the force of my pelvis hittingthe steps had detached the placenta and ruptured my cervix. Shealso explained that while I was under anaesthesia for the surgeryon my ankle, a dilation and curettage was performed in order toremove the baby and placenta from my uterus.

Dr. Raineralso informed us that the hospital had a garden named The Gardenof Angels. She explained that we could have our baby crematedand that we could sprinkle the ashes in the garden