I feel painful cramps strike me over and over again, each one more intense than the last. Each blow killing me softly. With nothing to do but wait for the inevitable to come, I wrap my arms tightly around my belly. I don’t want to move, afraid that it will make my baby leave my body sooner, faster.
I need to feel her inside me for just a little longer. I need to hold onto that small miracle for just…
Slowly, I lower myself to the floor and lean against the mirror. I close my legs as strongly as possible and pull them up against my chest, not allowing the baby to leave my body just yet. I wrap my legs in the illusionary safe cocoon of my arms as I start to rock back and forth, forbidding the truth sink in. My body is trembling, my hands are shaking, and I’m so afraid.
I’m so fucking afraid.
I can hear a broken voice mumble unintelligible words into my ear as I rock myself like a mad woman.
“Why me?”
“…body broken…”
“…not woman enough…”
I look around the room, realizing I’m alone. All alone.
The crazed voice I keep hearing is mine.
Minutes pass as I fight my body, pleading with it, pleading with God to let me keep my baby this time. Refusing to believe that life would be so cruel to tease me for a fourth time after such a long period of heartbreaking yearning and wishing just to take it all away once more. I continue to sway, oblivious to the world outside, when I feel a pain so intense in my lower back that it snaps me out of my mad daydream. The excruciating pain feels like someone took a heel and dug it in my lower back, twisting it mercilessly. As it passes, I’m left struggling to catch my breath.
When I feel something moist between my legs, I cautiously pull them apart to see bright red blood soaking my tan trousers. Death is spreading through my clothing like a disease.
It looks so red.
So vivid and bright.
It is exactly in this moment, when I’m looking at life slowly seeping out of me, that I willingly jump into the dark abyss of hopelessness. Misery welcomes me with its dead arms, despair freezing my heart.
A crazy urge comes over me. I need to feel the blood on my hands to know it’s real. Reaching to touch myself, I let my fingers linger there until they are covered with my blood. When I pull my hand away and raise it to my eyes so I can take a better look, I rub the red liquid between my fingers and let it stain my skin. My body trembling hard, fingers red, something inside me snaps, cutting loose. I grasp my head between my hands, close my eyes and scream.
Anguish, anger, and sadness are carried in that never-ending shriek.
“Cathy! What’s this? Oh, Cathy!” I hear Ben shout as he comes barreling through the door into our bedroom.
“Oh, Ben…please forgive…” Looking up from the floor, I can see Ben’s horrified expression. “Please forgive me.” My voice is hoarse from crying and having screamed so loud.
“I couldn’t do it…I couldn’t…I couldn’t keep our baby safe.”
I watch as Ben lowers himself to sit down next to me. He lifts me off the floor and sits me on his lap. I can feel the tremors running through his body, the way his arms wrap me so tightly in his warm embrace.
But I feel nothing.
I’m dead on the inside.
I’m cold.
“I couldn’t…”
“Oh, Cathy…please…” his voice is hoarse with pain.
“No. I couldn’t. It’s happening.” Swallowing hard, I continue, “It already has. It’s over.”
Everything is a blur as Ben stands up, holding me in his arms and takes me to the bed. He calls Dr. Pajaree, then lays down next to me, holding me in a powerful embrace and grieving with me for what was never going to be.
“Stay with me, Cathy. Stay with me,” he cries.
Garbage.
I’m throwing everything away. I’m cleaning the attic. I’m getting rid of any item that reminds me of what I will never have, of what Ben and I will never have. Is it a cleanse or a purge?
Who cares.
I lift my hand to wipe the sweat off my forehead as I glance around the nearly empty room. I can almost begin to feel at peace. I don’t ever want to see another baby item in my house. I want all hellish reminders removed once and for all. I want an empty attic.
Just like me.
God made me a woman to punish me. I hate my body. I wish I could erase my memory. Maybe if I couldn’t remember one thing, it would stop hurting so much.
I’ve lost all hope.
Wishing...
Wishing...
Wishing...
My dreams and hopes are shattered.
Like my heart.
My body.
And my soul.
I want to scream.
My body is a ticking bomb.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Everything dies inside me.
Nothing survives.
The placenta didn’t implant properly. The placenta didn’t implant properly. The placenta didn’t implant properly. The placenta didn’t implant properly. The placenta didn’t implant properly. The placenta didn’t implant properly.
It has been three weeks since the incident, since my life completely changed. I don’t care about anything. I don’t care about Ben. I don’t care about work. And I most certainly don’t care what happens to me. My life leads nowhere, so why should I keep trying and trying?
I’m done.
I’ve given up. And it feels so fucking good. Living in an emotionless stupor suits me quite well because it helps me forget and not feel. And I want that. I want to not feel.
Not one thing.
When the last of the baby items is wrapped in a garbage bag, I move to the top of the stairs and throw it down with the others. I watch as the bag lands in a mountain of shiny black plastic. That’s better.
Relieved, I walk to the center of the airy, and now empty room and let my eyes roam the bare wooden walls. There’s nothing left. No furniture or boxes filled with memories of my marriage throughout the years, not one bitter memento. I got rid of it all because each picture, each rickety chair, each item resurfaced a pain so deep, so crippling within me that it made it hard to breathe.
Yep, this is much better.
As I scan the place, I’m overcome by a desire to twirl. I want to let my body move freely in any direction it wants to take me. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back, and twirl with my arms outstretched, feeling free, unburdened. Faster and faster I’m blindly spinning as tears soak my cheeks. Unhinged by grief, I laugh so hard that it makes my stomach hurt. Or am I sobbing? Maybe a little bit of both.
“Cathy, stop that right now. You’re going to make yourself sick,” I hear Ben say. His voice ringing with sadness. Why? Isn’t he supposed to be perfect fucking Ben? Never sad and always happy. Always ready to catch me when I fall.
Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben.
The space between us grows each day. Can we stop it? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
“Go away, Ben. Or join me! But don’t tell me what to do,” I manage to say between laughs. “This is so much fun!” Really. He should give it a try.
“Don’t make me force you to stop.”
Well, that doesn’t work for me. With my eyes closed, I continue to twirl and ignore his warning. “What are you going to do, huh? Stop me with your big and strong hands?” I taunt him because I really don’t care, “Maybe—”
I’m cut short when I feel his very strong hands on my forearms, stopping me like he said he would. “Stop it! Stop it!” He yells at me. “Open your eyes, Cathy! Look at yourself. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t continue to watch my wife driving herself to an early grave. You’re killing yourself, Cathy! Open your fucking eyes and look at me!” Swallowing hard, Ben shakes me as the choked words leave his mouth. “Look at me, Cathy. Look at me. Please.”
And I do.
His pleading brown eyes are wet with unshed tears. “Well, what do you want? I’m looking at you
now. Tell me what do you want from me, Ben?”
His grip on my arms grows tighter. I’m sure I’ll have bruises by tonight. The pain feels good, though. It makes me feel alive.
I hear him groan as he lets go of my arms and pulls me close to his body. He wraps his tense arms around me in a constricted embrace. It’s a desperate call for help, and one I don’t care for. I don’t return the hug. My lifeless hands remain on my sides as Ben tips my chin up, making me look at him.
Clenching his jaw tautly, Ben stares at me for a moment before speaking. “I want you to stop hurting yourself. You’re not eating, you haven’t showered in days, and all you do when you’re not sleeping is clean this attic. There’s nothing else left here to throw away, so please, Cathy…please. Come downstairs with me. Let me bathe you…feed you…whatever you want, baby. Just let me back in. I can’t take seeing you like this and not being able to do anything about it.”
“Let me be. It will pass…” I whisper.
“How, Cathy? You won’t speak to anyone. You won’t return Amy’s phone calls, not even your dad’s. Hell, you won’t even speak to me. It’s like you’re here in my arms, but you really aren’t. The real Cathy has already checked out and I’m left only with the shell of my wife. You need help, babe, and it’s okay to ask for it. I’m here.”
“I don’t need saving.”
“Yes, you do. And I wish I could save you, Cathy. Take the pain away; erase it from your body. I wish I could hurt for you, but I can’t. You have to save yourself. All I can do is love you. Through it all, just love you. But you need to let me back in.”
“Are you even hurting, Ben? Do you even realize what happened? I fucking lost a fourth baby, Ben. A fourth beautiful baby. What kind of woman am I that I cannot even carry full-term? My body is poisoned. It kills them, Ben.”
My voice is rising, but I don’t care. I can’t stand Ben’s poise, his perfection…the way he seems to always look at the fucking bright side of things. Life is a fucking joke. And he needs to realize that.
“You keep saying that we will be okay. That we’ll get through this shit.” Lifting my arms, I push him away until we’re standing in front of each other not touching, a gulf between us. “That there are other options. Well, dear Ben, I’m fucking done with it all. I’m fucking done. I don’t want to try anymore. I don’t want to look at another baby item in this house. I don’t ever want to hear you talk about us having a baby, about the different options available to us. I don’t want to fucking hear it coming from your mouth. I’m done. I’m done. I’m done! Do you understand me? I don’t want it anymore!”
My body is shaking from anger.
Or is it despair?
“It hurts, Ben. Do you understand? No, you can’t understand it! Why am I even asking you? Asking Ben who has answers for everything. You want to know my answer? I’m not woman enough, Ben!” I begin to angrily hit myself, my hands attacking my empty womb as I sob irrational words. I want to feel as much physical pain as possible. “I’m a joke. And that’s the sad truth. So, please, please, please! Stop it! Just fucking stop. Let me grieve however I want. I need to…”
“Babe, let me try—”
“STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP TREATING ME AS IF I AM A FUCKING PORCELAIN DOLL! I’M BROKEN, DO YOU HEAR ME! I. AM. BROKEN.”
He reaches out for me with an entreating hand, but I don’t let him. Shaking my head, I turn on my feet and flee the attic as fast as my feet will allow me. I turn my back on him and maybe on our marriage, but when I said to him that I was done. I meant it.
I meant every single word.
And he’s right. Ben is right.
I’ve checked out.
A month later.
A: Catherine, I need to see you.
C: Why? I thought you were done with me.
A: I went into the office to see my father. I ran into Amy. She told me what happened…
C: So? It’s in the past.
A: I want to be there for you…
C: What a joke. And no. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.
A: Dimples, please. I know you must be hurting. Before shit went down between us, before I got fucking drunk and ruined everything, we were friends. I want to be there for you.
A: Answer me please.
A: Are you there?
A: Don’t shut me out of your life, Cathy.
C: Fine. But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want anyone to know.
Later that morning, I call Ben at his office to let him know that I’m going into town to meet Amy for drinks. At first he’s taken aback and surprised. I can’t say that I blame him. I haven’t spoken to anyone in close to two months. But when the black lie rolls off my tongue, I realize that I would like to see her, to speak to her again. I’ve missed her. But before today, I wasn’t ready to face anyone. I need to heal at my own speed, under my own terms.
My heart is broken, my dreams and hopes shattered alongside it. Even though the healing process has begun, and I know I will heal eventually, I will never be the same. I will never be the Cathy I used to be.
She’s gone.
And in her stead, there’s me.
The leftover.
The burnt ruins.
I’m a woman with so many inner scars that Dorian Gray’s twisted reflection could be mine. But they are my scars. My hellish reminders. They make me who I am, who I’m left to live life with. And I would never change that.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Ben asks.
“No. It’s okay. I need a girl’s night out. I think it would be good for me.” I wonder why lying comes so naturally to me now. Have I always lied to myself? Maybe.
After some silence, he continues, “I think it would be good for you. I’m glad you’re speaking to her again. Maybe you could try giving your dad a call…”
“No. One step at a time. This is good. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I need to run some errands. I’ll leave dinner ready for you since I won’t be here by the time you get home.”
“Cathy, don’t hang up just yet. I need to say something. I’m happy you’re getting out. I really am. Maybe this means—”
“Ben. It doesn’t mean anything. All I’m doing is going to meet a friend for drinks and maybe dinner.”
Which I am…kind of.
“Okay, babe. I’m just glad. Have fun and say hello to Amy for me.”
I hang up without saying good-bye. I won’t be made to feel guilty for this. I won’t.
Besides, why should I? If I’m in ruins, I wouldn’t even know how to describe the state of our marriage.
I hate when Ben reaches for me at night.
I want to throw up every time he makes love to me.
I’ve grown to hate looking at his beautiful face and everything that makes him so perfect.
I hate the fucking joke that our marriage has become.
And I hate myself because I seem to have lost all care for everything.
Valentino Red. Bright red lips.
A body fitting dress that shows off my petite figure.
Blonde curls falling down my back.
Champagne flute in hand.
Tangy bubbles on my tongue tickling my throat.
I wait for him. Sitting on a stool next to the bar, I scan the room looking for Arsen as the loud dance music pounds in my ears. He’s running late, or maybe I’m just early. Either way, it doesn’t matter because I’m out of the house, out of my self-imposed jail.
Calm.
I know I should feel nervous, but I don’t feel one thing.
I’m just cold.
“Excuse me, I noticed that you’re alone. Would you let me buy you another drink?” a dark haired man asks. Upon close examination, I note that he’s very handsome and he looks like Ben, though he appears to be a bit older than my husband.
“Thank you but no. I’m waiting for a friend. And he should be here at any moment.” I turn in my seat, completely dismissing him.
“You don’t have to be such a cold bitch, you know.??
? The man leans down to whisper viciously in my ear.
“You have less than a minute to apologize to her and back the fuck off, dude.” Ah. A ferocious chill snakes down my spine as I hear his sweet, sweet voice.
Arsen.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the guy mutter something to Arsen, maybe an apology, but I don’t really care. All I want, all I need at this moment, is standing in front of me. And for the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel so lost anymore. Not so cold.
I watch Arsen and the way his eyes shine like blue fire when they land on me, a burning fire that gradually melts the chronic sheet of ice covering my body. With one look, Arsen provides the warmth I didn’t know I needed until this very moment.
“Oh, Dimples.”
That’s all it takes. With those two words, I come undone. Not caring that we’re in the middle of a busy bar with loads of people watching us, I throw myself at him, bury my face in his chest, and let myself cry.
Oh, how I missed his smell.
How I missed him.
With me wrapped in the security of his arms, Arsen throws some bills on the bar and guides us to a corner booth, away from all the people watching us closely. He sits down first and then pulls me on top of his lap, never letting go of me. He begins to rock us both in a soothing motion as he tries to console me. One of his hands is on the back of my neck; my hair tightly wrapped in his fist as the other one gently caresses my back. Up and down. His touch is not sexual…it’s soothing. Arsen, a friend gone wrong, is comforting me. His are the first arms I am able to find solace in.
“I-I’m…so…soorryy.”
My words get mixed between tears.
“It’s okay beautiful. It’s okay. I’m here. We’ll talk later.”
After a while, when I’m all cried out, I begin my tale of sorrow, my trip down memory lane. Recounting how my life has been since the last day I saw him makes it feel as if a heavy weight has been lifted off my chest. It allows me to breathe painlessly again. With Arsen, I can finally grieve and not pretend that everything is all right. With Arsen, I can let my emotions take over me and not be ashamed by them.
With Arsen, I can be me.
Sniffling, I take the napkin that Arsen handed me before and wipe my eyes and nose. “I must look like a mess.”