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“Don’t pity me,” I bite out in frustration, shoving by her. I lift my hand and watch the tremble that takes over. My eyes burn as the view becomes blurry. I think back on that night.
“Mary! Where are you?” The words are slurred. My vision is distorted and twisted as I make my way down the hallway to our bedroom. The party was epic, and I know we’ll be in the newspapers again, but who the fuck cares? I’m a legend.
Chuckling as I make my way into the bedroom, I find it empty. My heart thuds against my ribs, and my ears zing from the loud music we were listening to at the club. I’m still buzzing, and life is fucking amazing.
“Mary?” I call to my fiancée as I pad over to the walk-in closet to find it filled with expensive clothes, jewelry, and shoes, but no woman. “Mary,” I sing-song her voice once more, hoping she’ll come out of hiding.
Turning the corner, I shove open the bathroom door, needing a piss. I halt in my tracks. My mind swirls once more as I blink a few times trying to make sense of the scene before me.
The floor is white marble, and yet there’s a blinding change from where there would normally be a throw rug.
In its place is Marisol.
In its place is a pill bottle.
And in the place of my heart is a drumbeat that’s far too fast for me to fathom.
My lungs struggle to pull in air. My hands shake, but it’s not from the drugs and alcohol I ingested. It’s not even from the high of the music and party. It’s because my fiancée is lying on our bathroom floor unconscious.
I race to her body, tugging and shaking her, but she doesn’t respond. Her eyes are watering, but her lashes merely flutter. It’s as if she’s dreaming and can’t be woken.
“Mary! Mary!” My voice sounds foreign to me, laced with fear and guilt. I pull out my cell phone and find Dom’s number. I know he went home with someone, and I know I’ll be interrupting his night, but I can’t not call him.
“What?” His voice comes through the line, the slur is obvious.
“I need you. It’s Mary,” is all I can manage.
“I’m on my way,” Dominic responds quickly. He doesn’t ask why; he doesn’t even make mention of the time. His tone is sober when he asks, “Where are you?”
“At the penthouse,” I croak, holding Mary’s limp body in my arms. She’s getting colder by the second.
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s not breathing, not moving, I don’t know.” The frustration is evident in my voice, the pain stealing every breath.
“Call the ambulance,” he tells me before hanging up, leaving me staring at the blacked-out screen. Forcing my fingers to work, I dial the number and tell them where I am. I explain what happened while the operator tells me that help is on the way.
And in all this time, I don’t fucking cry.
“Rome.” My name is a plea, but there’s no pity; there’s just raw emotion. Pain so fierce strikes me over and over again, like lightning coming down from the heavens to punish the earth. So the heartbreak of what I did attacks me.
“I lost her because of my stupidity. I blamed myself for so long, and at times, I still feel responsible.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t force the pills down her throat.” Perhaps not, but I should’ve seen the signs. I could’ve helped her. I shake my head. “Listen to me, I’ve seen people get killed. I’ve heard about what the men I grew up around have done. They’ve taken lives, but that wasn’t you. Yes, there are signs that you could’ve seen, but you never made her do it.”
“She was pregnant,” I blurt out suddenly. The pain in my chest worsens. As if it could bleed from me if I were to allow it. I want nothing more than to breathe it out, to exhale all the agony and inhale the smiles that Elisabet and I found over the time we’ve known each other. “I don’t expect you to stay, to be here with me after this, but you needed to know.”
I wait for the slap, for the cursing, for the words of anger toward me. I’m a monster. I killed my own unborn child. But none of that comes. There isn’t an utterance of negativity from Elisabet. Instead, she wraps her arms around my middle and presses her face against my chest.
Confusion settles in my mind. My brows furrow, and I glance down. My hands are hanging limply at my sides. I can’t feel anything but the warmth from the woman who’s captured my attention and hasn’t let go.
Her perfume invades my senses. A calming fragrance that makes me breathe deeply for the first time since I walked in and confessed. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t look at me, and I’m thankful for that. I don’t want to see her beautiful eyes shimmer with pain.
