Sweet Home

All I felt was numbness, my body blocking out the hurt, switching back to the auto-protection mode that Romeo had broken through all those months ago. He scattered desperate kisses and soft touches all over my face.

“What happened to me? I don’t remember much.”

Romeo played with the hospital tag on my wrist, reliving the trauma of the previous night. “The paramedics arrived and brought you here. I came with you. Our friends are still downstairs; they never left. You’ve been in about twenty-four hours now. The impact of the table caused internal bleeding. You needed surgery.”

I focused on the ceiling, counting the small white tiles with detached fascination. “Can I still have children?”

Romeo smoothed hair from my forehead, holding tightly to my limp body in his arms. “Yeah, it was the first thing I asked, baby. I-I didn’t know if you’d want to get pregnant right away? If we should try again when you’re better? I just… just want you to be happy, whatever you want.”

I stiffened and he clutched me tighter. “I’m sorry, Mol. I shouldn’t have said anythin’ yet. It’s too soon, too raw. Forgive me. Just forgive me for everythin’. I love you so much, and our angel just made us so happy… made us a family… I… I’m afraid I’ll lose you too. It’s all I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout while you’ve been asleep.”

I tried to relax as I breathed in Romeo’s unique mint and soap scent. I couldn’t say anything. I knew he needed my assurance, my promise to stay, that everything would be okay, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to be here, childless, in a hospital bed, with my boyfriend shattered to pieces.

I wrapped my fists in his favourite red Tide shirt and held on as we silently rode wave after wave of grief until all that was left was a shallow void.

* * *

My friends stopped by to see me, offering their heartfelt condolences and talking idle chitchat, skirting the taboo issue of children and trying their best to take my mind off things.

They needn’t have bothered. I didn’t feel… anything, and I never once spoke back.

Romeo slouched beside me on the bed. He ignored the strange looks he received from the doctors and didn’t flinch when the nurses would stop by my room to see the devoted boyfriend refusing to leave his girlfriend’s side. They could tell that the words “visiting hours” meant nothing to the quarterback from the Crimson Tide and allowed him to stay every night in my bed.

The power of football in Alabama.

Romeo tried over and over to talk to me, but I didn’t answer. I slept… a lot, and when I didn’t sleep, I lay next to him in a self-imposed comatose state. I was a living, breathing zombie.

After days recovering in hospital, the doctor told me I would be discharged the following morning. Romeo immediately began to pack my overnight bag that Ally had brought in and he couldn’t hide his relief that we were finally going home.

Home.

Nowhere felt like home. England held the memories of my lost family; Alabama now held the memory of my lost baby—nowhere made me feel safe.

Professor Ross had called by, upset and apologetic for my loss. She was leaving for Oxford that night for the lecture—she and Romeo had decided together that it was best if I didn’t travel. Romeo told me cautiously, expecting that I would put up a protest and insist on delivering my part of the paper due to the fact that I’d worked on it for almost a year. I simply shrugged and went back to sleep. Ordinarily I would have protested. But I just couldn’t muster up the strength to care.

Romeo sighed in defeat every time I rolled away from him, closing in on myself. He watched me, always watched me and stalked my every move. He could see I was broken. I knew he was too, but if I let myself feel, I wasn’t sure I would survive the onslaught of pain that I knew would follow. He told me over and over how much he loved me and, as always, begged me not to leave.

I made no such promise.

When my bag was packed and dusk closed in, Romeo’s phone sounded.

I turned and watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”

“It’s Coach. He needs me to attend a charity function at the stadium tonight. I’ve missed a lot of game prep, and he needs the QB to be there to show I’m with the team all the way to the championship.”

“Then go.”

He snapped his head to me. “I can’t leave you like this.”

“Yes, you can. I’m tired anyway. I need to sleep.”

Groaning loudly in exasperation, he aggressively smacked his fist into the wall. “For Christ’s sake, Mol! How can you be tired? You’ve slept for days, done nothin’ for days! I understand you’ve had surgery, but the doctors said you should be feelin’ a lot better by now. You’re wallowin’, Shakespeare. You need to snap the hell out’ve it! I’ve tried, been tryin’ to be patient, but enough is enough! I’ve lost a baby too, not just you, but you shut me out and act like I’m a damn stranger to you. I was the daddy, for f**k’s sake! I can’t do it alone. I have too much to think about—you being like this, leadin’ the team to the championship, the hopes of an entire state on my head. I need you to help me, Mol, not to drown in your own f**kin’ misery. Who’s supportin’ me? I’m grievin’ too!”