WARNING: CONTAINS ELEMENTS OF LABOR AND BIRTH COMPLICATIONS AND POSSIBLE MATERNAL DEATH. ALSO, MILD LANGUAGE.
I’m Through- One Shot #235 (PART 1)
(+past one shots)
PART 2 will go up later tonight!
No visuals in this part.
It started with a heartbeat.
Three heartbeats together. He could still hear them vibrating through his ears from his place on the bathroom floor. He felt molded to it. He didn’t remember how to move. The tiles were cold and smelled of lemon antiseptic. It made his already heaving stomach, roll.
They’d handed him your wedding ring, a panicking nurse trying to pull him from the operating room, and he’d fought her the entire way. The diamond band was embedded into his palm, he was holding onto to it so tight. The fluorescent lights above him were buzzing and flickering and it sounded like a war zone inside his head. He wanted to rip himself apart. The thought of it, felt better than the agony coursing through his veins, now.
Somewhere, down the hall, you were naked and exposed on a table, for everyone to see, and the thought of your soft body under harsh, florescent lights and sterile air with the eyes and hands of those willing and ready to put you back together again, skating over your skin that he had watched pale to a sickening shade, your lips tinged purple, made the bile rise up in his throat. He wanted to throw his body over yours and hide you from everything in the room.
This couldn’t be real. This was some kind of sick nightmare; his anxious brain had conjured up to scare him.
He was safe in his bed, and when he woke up, you’d be curled up into him, like you always were. In one of his t-shirts because your belly had grown and grown and grown far too big and round and full of life to fit into anything else. And he’d roll over, because you always settled him, after a bad dream, to face you and kiss your forehead, and pull your tighter into him, hooking one of his legs over yours, to keep you there. You’d wake up just enough to nuzzle closer, before burying your face into his chest and falling back to sleep.
It had to be. This couldn’t be real. People didn’t die anymore from having babies. Maybe years and years ago, before modern medicine, but not now. You’d both woken up this morning, bright and bursting for what the day would bring, when labor had started early that morning, and gently. You’d been giggling through breakfast, and you’d shared a warm shower together and taken a nap with Darcy on the couch, all wrapped up in a blanket, while he called everyone to let them know that today was the day. And now, this. It just couldn’t be real.
The truth was though, it was.