Little Things #47

LT 47-1

 

“She’ll be fine in a few days. She’ll need to rest, though. She bumped her head pretty bad.”

“Yeah, K is okay. I’m just worried she hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Hey K. Wake up. H here is getting antsy.”

“Hey luv… come back to me…”

 —

I was in and out of consciousness after I blacked out, and I finally come to. I heard H humming absently, seated on the chair beside my bed. His eyes were closed, and one of his hands was on mine, our tattoos almost aligning. His forefinger was thumping against my hand in rhythm with his hum.

“H?” I manage to utter, my throat so dry.

He sat up quickly, and I turned my head, wincing. Okay, I should not move it fast. It felt like it was about to explode or split in half—either way, it’s not boding any goodness to my sanity. “You’re finally up,” he said, relief evident in his voice. He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the forehead—at least on the space that wasn’t covered by bandage.

“You’ve been out for a day,” he said, and I looked at him, and there were dark circles under his eyes, his eyes a bit swollen and red, and he looked so tired.

“And you haven’t been sleeping since then?” I asked, and H assisted me to sipping some water from the glass next to the bed before he answered. He stopped to adjust my bed, pressing a button atop my head and the bed slowly moved until I was in a seated position. I felt a wave of nausea overcome me, and I closed my eyes, trying to gather my senses.

“Well, I was worried about you,” he answered with a shrug. He sat next to me on the bed, finding my fingers and holding them tightly. “The boys were here too, but you were—”

“Yeah, I heard them. One of them—I think it was T—told me you’re getting antsy, so I have to be up,” I told him, a ghost of a smile on my face, and he nodded.

“What else did you hear, K?” H asked, and there was something in the tone of his voice that told me something was off.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him, and he avoided my gaze. “I think I heard the doc say that I’ll be fine—” And then I caught on. “The baby,” I whispered, and there were about three heartbeats before H looked at me, his soulful eyes filled with pain.

“Doc said it was a combination of the slip and my finding you late. You were already bleeding when I came back from the jog…” His voice broke, and he leaned forward, his shoulders hunched, and then they were shaking hard. I heard his sobs as it tore through him.

I vaguely remember emerging from the bath after that very relaxing aromatherapy bath that H had prepared for me. I was trying to reach for the towel from the rack and I didn’t know if I had slipped or if the rug beneath me moved. I remember falling, and then the blinding pain when I hit my head on the floor, and all I could think about was—THE BABY. THE BABY. I called out for H, even though I know the effort was futile, as he was out for a quick jog and to buy me croissants from the bakery.

I looked at him, and I saw that he was tired, his fatigue a combination of his two-week stint in the States and then my accident which didn’t allow him to fall asleep because I wasn’t waking up.

And to put the proverbial icing on this very bad cake: WE LOST THE BABY.

The baby we were excited about even if at first we didn’t know what to do about it. The baby we wanted. The baby that was the start of a very epic chapter of our lives.

“I am so sorry,” I whispered, placing my hand on his back, rubbing it, giving him comfort. And then he turned towards me, and I was trying to hold it together but I couldn’t, so I let the tears go. “H, I’m sorry, I wasn’t careful enough—”

“Shh,” he hushed, wiping his tears dry. He couldn’t move me, so he just placed his arm over my shoulder, pulling me towards him. I leaned against him. “It was an accident. We didn’t want it to happen. And it’s not your fault or mine,” he said, and I didn’t speak. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it—everything was set in motion: where H and I would live, how we will get married when our baby turns a year old. And then now it’s like we hit this big stupid bump in the road, and I don’t know anymore how to proceed.

“We’re okay. We’ll be fine. You can go home tomorrow, and then we can rest up,” H assured me. “I already talked to the boys and they’re fine with me skipping the week of press tours—”

“No,” I said, my voice not showing my conviction. “You’ll go with them.”

“And worry about you nonstop?” he countered. “No. It’s just press tours. It’s not like a concert or something.”

“Your fans will miss you.”

“The boys and I still have a ton of press tours to do, K. It’s fine.”

“But—” I started to argue, but he flashed me a glare, effectively shutting me up.

“We need this, K. We do.”

I took a deep breath, gazing deeply into his eyes. I know he was telling the truth, but in reality, what I just wanted to do is to shut the world out—maybe even him.  His fingers touched my cheeks gently, drying my tears, and then I just said, “Okay.”

We leaned against each other, feeling the void, knowing that neither of us can fill it in just yet.

LT 47-2

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