Fragment #6 - Pain in my body, pain in my heart

The night is here now. I haven’t turned the lights on. I like to stay in the dark a bit… I look around my apartment. Everything looks as if nothing has changed. As if you were here…

I open my eyes. You’re right there, just in front of me. It’s that morning. You’ve just finished your cup of coffee. You put your coat on and come to kiss me. Hum… I like it so much. I love your kisses. It feels like all the nerves of my body are meeting there, on my lips touching yours. And then, after a last glance to me, after a last “I love you” from me, you’re gone. I walk to the window. I’m still wearing my jamies, one of your t-shirt and some shorts. Instinctively, I put my hand on my belly. It’s getting bigger slightly. Now and then I feel something. Not an actual movement yet, but… Something. I can’t wear my jeans anymore, and I don’t feel big enough to wear the pregnancy clothes. I think of you. Of how much I love you. Of that child of ours who is growing in me. Of how much it means to us.

I’m screaming, now. It hurts so much. My trousers are full of blood. Why, baby, why? Why do you want to leave me? I can see the nurses and the doctor hovering around me. Somewhere, in my pain, I can recognize the face of Sasha. Sasha? I don’t want Sasha. I want my baby in my womb and you by my side. Where are you? I can hear someone shouting near me. And the pain, again and again, and again. Something is killing the little light inside me. Do something about it! I scream again, against the doctor now. I can still see all the blood… I can feel it running on my legs now naked. Baby, my little light, stay with me, please!!!...

I turn my head on the pillow. Sasha is there. Her eyes are red. She looks so sad. I wonder why. I try to talk to her. I ask her where you are. She doesn’t answer. Then, I ask her when we are going to do that baby shopping she promised. I’m trying to get her to smile. She takes my hand. She is still quiet. I realise something is missing. That double thickness of life. That other movement in me. I look at my belly. At that moment, the doctor comes in. He looks sorry. He tells me about a woman that I apparently know. He says that she lost a lot of blood. And that unfortunately, she lost her child. Her little child. So small you could hold it in your hand. Not even a little girl or a little boy yet… I don’t understand why he is telling me that story. I feel sad for that woman. I feel I should go and comfort her. Let me go, please. She needs me, I’m sure. Sasha holds my hand, firmly, and sticks me to my bed. No, she says. No, stay here, with me.

I turn back to her. I look at her face. Something is missing. No. Somebody. Somebody is missing. Where are you? I turn to Sasha. Where is Matthew, I ask. Where is he? Does he know I am here? Sasha’s cheeks are flooded with tears. This is not normal. I need to talk to Matthew. I want to get up. I want to, but Sasha keeps my hand in hers. She starts speaking to me. Matthew won’t come. What? Why? Of course he will come. Give me my phone. I just want to tell him that everything is ok now. That I still bear our child. That I am ok, and that we can go and spend the weekend with his parents. Sasha stands up straight. She is still sobbing. You can not do that, she says, you can’t because you lost your child and because Matthew is dead! What? Why? I don’t understand what you are saying Sasha. Calm yourself. Of course Matthew is not dead. You must have had a hard day to believe things like that… Stephen, Matthew’s brother, enters the room. He looks a bit different. Why… I know, because he is wearing a suit. A black suit. He never wears a suit. He is a builder. He doesn’t like suits. I try to make a joke about it. I want to laugh with you, with Matthew. I ask Stephen where you are. He looks at his shoes, and says something about a collision on the M8 while on his way here. I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. Matthew…

Although my mind is a couple of years away, my body is still here, in my living room. And I can still feel a bit of that double pain, in my body and in my heart.

At last, I raise my glass of wine, towards the window. The clock on the wall indicates 11:57pm. In three minutes, we’ll be the third of April. In three minutes, it will be six years…