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I want to tell him that I wish I could believe him. That I want to believe him and his words so badly, but I can’t. I can’t trust anyone. Still, a part of me hangs on to the hope that maybe, just maybe he won’t let me down this time. But how? How can he help me? How can he stop this from happening? He said so himself, he won’t go against my father. No one will. Not the hospital staff, not Matt, not the Bishops. I’m doomed. My child will die, and there is nothing I can do about it. Spots form over my vision, and no matter how much I try to hang on to that last shred of light, it slowly dims out, getting lighter and lighter.
My last thought before everything goes black is that I hope the guys will forgive me for this. Forgive me for failing to protect our child.
When I wake up, the same heaviness I felt earlier remains in my limbs, and the fuzziness engulfing my mind only increases. I feel like my brain has been run through a blender and has been poured back into my skull, but even with my head being in utter disarray, I remember what happened before I passed out.
The pain in my chest only gets more prominent, the emptiness expanding and leaving a hollow space behind.
I pry my eyes open, just to squeeze them shut again when I see my father standing at the end of the bed. I thought I hated him before, but the hatred I feel for him has grown into a colossal amount over the last few hours. I can’t put into words how much I despise my father for doing this, how much I loathe him for taking this child from me… for killing the life inside of me.
I never considered myself a violent person before, but if I had the strength to do so now, I would kill him. If I never again see this man who called himself my father, I would be a happier person… that is if I can ever find happiness after what was done to me.
“I’ll leave you to deal with this,” my father’s voice cuts through the fog surrounding my head like clouds surround the top of a mountain. “Since you two seem to get along so great now,” he continues, and for a moment, I don’t understand who he is talking to.
“We did get along, but after what you did to her, she is never going to trust me again,” Matt barks.
“Trust is overrated. There are other ways to keep people in line. More effective ways,” my father declares. I can hear him turn, his expensive leather shoes making a squeaking sound against the hospital floor as he does. I listen to each of his steps as he is leaving the room. The door opening and closing, leaving me alone with the man who promised to keep my child and me safe.
I didn’t realize how cold I was until a large warm hand comes down to rest on my icy cold fingers. Even though the warmth feels good on my frozen skin, I pull my hand away at once, not wanting to feel an ounce of relief and comfort. Because I don’t deserve either one. I deserve to be cold, alone, and in pain after I failed… I failed everybody I loved.
“Harlow,” Matt whispers as he tries to capture my hand once more. Again, I pull away, and when he tries to touch my cheek, I turn my face away as well.
“Don’t touch me,” I croak, barely able to make the words come out at all.
“Harlow, listen to me…” Matt pleads with me, but all I do is shake my head. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
“No,” I sob, realizing I’m already crying again. Tears roll down my cheeks, leaving cold tracks behind. “Leave…”
“I won’t leave you here,” Matt tells me as he places a hand on my stomach. My eyes fly open in shock, and a wave of all-consuming anger engulfs me. How dare he touch me there… how dare he touch me at all?
Like a wild fury, I start shoving at his arm, slapping, scratching, and hitting him wherever I can, letting out all the burning anger inside of me.
“I said, don’t fucking touch me! I hate you!”
Matt catches my flailing arms mid-air, wrapping his fingers around my already sore wrists and pinning them next to my body.
“Listen, Harlow!” Matt whisper yells. “Just listen! It didn’t happen, okay?”
It didn’t happen? What is that supposed to mean? Is he telling me to just forget about it? Forget what he and my father did to me?
“Do you feel any pain?” he asks next. “Any discomfort?”
Other than the suffocating ache in my chest, he means? “Yes, my whole damn body hurts.”
