Page 68 of Second Chance Ex
“I’m just going to go and get Doctor Munro.”Michelle stands, offering a somewhat tremulous smile, but then she waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Sometimes this happens… babies tend to get shy whenever the probe comes out.” With a reassuring squeeze of Prue’s shoulder, she turns and leaves the room.
“Oh my god, Joey,” Prue whispers, her voice shuddering and heartbreaking.“Something’s wrong.”
I reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. “It’s fine, baby. You heard what she said. This happens.” I know it’s all bullshit, but I need to be the strong one here. “And besides, if our baby is anything like you, she’s stubborn as all hell.”
Prue manages a soft laugh, wiping at the tear that’s spilled over onto her cheek. I lean in and press a kiss to that same cheek, tasting the residual salt left on her skin.
Minutes that feel like hours pass, and Michelle returns, closely followed by Doctor Munro, and I feel Prue’s tension ease some at the casual smile the man offers us.
“Hi Prue. JT.” He nods at me.
“Hey, Doc.”
The older man takes a seat on the swivel chair in front of the big machine and starts clicking a few buttons. While he doesn’t turn on the big screen on the far wall for us to watch what’s happening, he does grab the probe and starts moving it about Prue’s belly like a seasoned pro, reaching parts Michelle hasn’t scanned. He studies the screen, clicks a few more keys, probes a little more, and then that’s it. He switches off the device and the lights in the ceiling turn up a little brighter.
My gaze flits warily to Michelle standing over thedoctor’s shoulders, and the second I see the remorseful look in her eyes, I already know.
“Is something wrong, Doctor Munro?” Prue asks, her voice uncharacteristically smaller than I’ve ever heard it.
The doctor turns in his chair, facing us both, and his smile is still there, only now it’s no longer calm and casual, it’s edged with an obvious sympathy, tinged with resignation. His kind gaze skates to me before settling on Prue, and he clasps his hands together in front of him, exhaling heavily.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he begins, shaking his head. “There’s no heartbeat.”
Rain pelts against the windshield as I stare out at the night lights as they whiz by in a hazy, fluorescent blur. I’m numb. Hollow. Empty. Strangely, I feel nothing but also the weight of everything.
Joey places his hand on my thigh, and I know he just wants to show me that he’s here for me, that I’m not alone, and I love him, but right now all I want is for him to get his goddamn hand off me. I could scream. I just want to be left alone.Alone. I don’t need him touching me. I don’twanthim touching me. I don’t want anything. Just let me fucking be. How hard is that for someone to comprehend?
It’s been three days since discovering that the baby I’d already started to fall head over heels in love with was dead.Dead. Dead inside of me. And as if that’s not bad enough, my doctors discovered something more, something they can’t fix, something that won’t go away,and the likelihood that I’ll ever be able to carry a baby to term is less than two percent; at a risk to both the baby and myself.
Like a cruel joke, I can get pregnant, no problem, but carrying a baby to term? Sadly, that’s just not something I can do.
And because of that, I had to go into the hospital early this morning, be put under general anesthetic, and have my dead baby ripped out of me. So, not only do I now feel empty, but I also feel broken and ruined. I can’t help but feel as if I’m not a real woman anymore. The one thing I should be able to do in life, I’m never going to be able to do.
We stop in the driveway outside Joey’s townhouse, and I remain seated in the car, unable to move, just staring straight ahead at the rain hitting the windshield.
After a few moments, my door opens and Joey reaches in, gently grabbing my hand, but instinctively, I pull away, and when I meet his eyes, I don’t miss the flicker of hurt flash within them. But I ignore it.I’mthe one hurting, and how dare he? I push past him and manage myself.
Joey grabs my bag from the back seat and hurries ahead of me through the rain, keeping a watchful eye of me the entire time like at any moment I’m going to break. And, who knows? Maybe I might. I feel pretty fucking fragile right now, crumpled, like a flower that’s fallen onto the ground after a storm, wilted and trampled, left to rot and slowly disintegrate into nothing.
Unlocking the door, Joey stands to the side, allowing me to enter first, and as I brush past him, I feel his hand skate tentatively against mine, his fingers grazing myown, but again, just like when he had touched my thigh in the car, I ignore it, and I head straight for the stairs without a word. Because all I want right now is a blistering hot shower to wash away the guilt, and then bed, so I can at least live vicariously through my dreams and pretend like this nightmare never happened.
I don’t even know how long I’ve been in the shower, but the water is cold when I come to, surprised to see Joey step around the glass, fully clothed, lifting my limp body off the tile. And I want to push him off me, do it myself, but I have no fight left in me; my body feels boneless.
Wrapping a fluffy towel around me, Joey cradles me against his chest, holding me tight, preventing me from crumbling to the floor again. He carries me into his bedroom, and I fall onto the bed, hunched over, head buried in my hands as he moves about the room, returning seconds later and tugging a sweater over my head; it’s huge, and smells of him, and normally I would bask in its all-consuming warmth, but right now I feel nothing.I’m numb, from the inside out.
I lift my gaze to find Joey crouched down in front of me with a pair of my plain cotton underwear, pulling them up my legs like I’m some useless, pathetic child who can’t dress themselves. But again, all my fight is gone, and I just sit there and let him do it before crawling up the bed, burying myself beneath the thick duvet and closing my eyes.
I’m fully conscious, listening to Joey as he goes back into the bathroom probably to hang up the towel, then leaves the room momentarily, returning seconds later and starts quietly shuffling about in his closet.
Then silence.
After a moment, I open one eye to find him sitting in the armchair, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands, staring down at the floor, and the shards of my already broken heart shatter into irreparable pieces.
“Joey?” I croak, my voice weak and pathetic.
He lifts his chin, and I’m taken aback by the sheen of tears in his eyes. He tears his fingers through his hair as he seems to search for words.
“I’m trying to help you, Prue. I really am.” He sniffles. “I don’t know what I can do. But I really need you to stop pushing me away, baby.”
