Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Her face is blank.
No.
I act without thought, moving back into her, taking her dress and lifting it higher, trying to find the cut. There has to be a cut.
I lose my breath when I see the blood-stained lace of her knickers, my body locked tight.
“No,” Ava yells distraught.
Her distress realigns me. “Oh, Jesus.” I pull her dress into place and get into the back of the ambulance, hauling her into my body, feeling her vibrate against me. “Fucking hell, no.” Surely God can’t be this cruel. I clench my eyes closed, because I know He can be. And the familiar surge of grief hijacks me as I hold my wife, squeeze her, try to protect her from this injustice.
“Sir?” The paramedic looks at me with concern.
“Hospital,” I demand, my vision hazy. “Now.”
I sit Ava on the stretcher and put myself next to her, gritting my teeth when she retreats into my chest, her tears soaking through my T-shirt. “I’m sorry,” she croaks.
“Shut up, Ava,” I snap, angry, not with her, but with the fucking world. I pull her out of my T-shirt and find her eyes. I’m fucking crushed, even though I probably deserve this endless serving of grief. But Ava? She does not. And I have to ask myself now, when she’s losing like I have lost before, if I can stay. My punishments are my own. Ava shouldn’t have to face them. Knowing she will always be hunted by my horrid fate. Knowing she’ll always suffer loss if I remain in her life.
Can I stay?
“Please,” I beg her, as she sobs and shakes, apologizes over and over. “Just shut up.” I try to wipe her tears away, but they’re coming too fast. “I love you,” I whisper, pushing my finger into her lip, trying to stop it wobbling. She swallows and curls into my side, making herself so small.
“Pregnant?” the paramedic asks.
“Yes,” I answer, even if that’s not the case now.
She nods and gives me a sympathetic smile, and I cuddle Ava that little bit closer, hearing her mumbled apologies. I can only hold her. Until the paramedic explains we can’t leave until Ava’s lying down on the bed. So I release her, watching as they ease her to her back. Watching her silently crying, her chest jumping.
How much more do I have to sacrifice before my dues are paid?
25
I don’t know what to do, how to act. Strong? Broken? Sad? The latter two are easy. But being strong? I’ve never faced grief with strength. I’ve hidden. Fucked. Drank. But now . . . now I have to be different.
I carried her to a private room because physical strength is something I could offer. I remained quiet while they checked Ava’s obs. I lost myself in my palms a few times when the tears were at risk of escaping. I feel useless, propped in a chair, trying to comfort Ava while fighting to hold myself together.
Vodka.
The thought jars me.
The nurse lays a gown on the bed, says something—I don’t know what—and leaves. It takes Ava to stand and start undressing for me to realize something is happening. She’s changing? I watch her, see her slow, lethargic movements, not because she’s in actual pain, but because she’s in fucking agony mentally.
I have to hold her up in both senses. I can be strong. Emotionally and physically. Because that’s what she needs from me right now. And because it isn’t just about me anymore. I have Ava.
I get up to help, to feel useful. “I can manage.” She doesn’t look at me.
“You probably can, but it’s my job and I’d like to keep it.”
Her whole body shrinks, her chin trembling. “Thank you,” she croaks as I remove her dress. Her chin drops to her chest, her eyes low. She doesn’t want to look at me. Or can’t.
I dip and nuzzle into her, forcing her face up. “Don’t thank me for looking after you, Ava,” I warn softly. “It’s what I’ve been put on this earth to do. It’s what keeps me here. Don’t ever thank me for that.”
“I’ve ruined everything,” she whispers. “I’ve lost your dream.”
My dream? Is it tragic that I feel like giving up on dreams? If you don’t find your dreams, they can’t be lost. If you have no faith, it can’t be destroyed.
I sit her down on the bed and kneel in front of her, my hands clenching hers. “My dream is you, Ava. Day and night, just you. I can manage without anything, but never you. Not ever.” Manage? Can I? Because my track record isn’t exactly shining. This is a cruel blow. I’m not sure how either of us will navigate this or get over it, but Ava needs to know that she is my priority. “Don’t look like this, please.” So broken and heavy with guilt. So . . . hopeless. “Don’t look like you think it’s the end. It’s never the end for us. Nothing will break us, Ava. Do you understand me?”