Page 130 of Retribution

“A soda, I mean.” He lets out a dry laugh and pulls a few cans out of the fridge.

“Nah, c’mon man, that’s a clear time penalty, he overtook him him way off track!” I hear Everett shout from the lounge.

I roll my eyes and pull myself from the stool.

“Let’s see what all the fuss is about.” Devon says and slings his free arm over my shoulders as we stride towards the lounge, relief and hope swarming my mind.

Indie

I’ve been home from the hospital for a few days, Reed has made it so that I haven’t had to lift a finger since I’ve came home. I’ve appreciated the foot massages and the selection of chocolate he’s bought for me.

I’m wrapped in a fluffy blanket in the lounge with a hot water bottle and a mug of hot chocolate. The fire crackles in the corner of the room, the smell of it comforting me and making me feel like I’m in some sort of cabin in the woods.

I sip the hot chocolatey goodness and flick through the new releases on Netflix whilst Reed is at work.

Felicity came over the day I was home, she brought me a hamper of treats, face masks and two romance novels. I ran through the basics of how the studio works, the schedules, the routines and she genuinely looked like she understood, but I can’t tell if that was a delusion from the pain medication. Either way, I’ve been calling to check up on her every day and so far, it seems to be working. I knew she’d be the perfect fit.

I’m still struggling with the news. It’s been a difficult time, to grieve something that I didn’t know existed, something I had lost before I had the chance to find it. I went through a number of checks with the gynecology team, making sure that I was miscarrying ‘correctly’ as if there is even a way to do so. So far so good I suppose, I’ve finished bleeding as I should have, experiencing pain as I should be, crying as I should be.

I feel like the only thing missing is my outlook on the future. I’m not thinking about what if’s or trying again for another baby, I feel frozen. Stuck. Like I’m floating in space through light-years, but to me it feels I’m still in the same place.

Reed suggested we try again on my next cycle as long as the doctor gives me the green light.

I think he’s really struggling with it. Of course for him, he’s lost two children in such a short space of time I think it’s slowly breaking him.

But me? I’m not broken, I just think I’ve stopped. Like I’m a clock that needs oil for my gears to allow me to keep ticking.

Life at the minute seems inconclusive, uninhabitable, intermittent.

I’ve spent my days watching home design shows and reality TV and eating copious amounts of chocolate.

Reaching into the bag of M&M’s, I realize it’s now empty. I groan and slam my hand to my forehead, my cravings demanding more. Throwing the blanket from me, I decide it’s time for me to venture back out into the real world, climb out of my slum and face reality. I don’t know why it surprises me that a bag of M&M’s is the motivation for me to do it.

I quickly get changed out of my pajamas and throw on a pair of sweats, along with one of Reed’s hoodies, the size of it swamping me but the smell of it comforting me.

Making sure I have the essentials, my phone, keys and credit card, I leave the house for the first time since I returned home.

The outside air smells of moisture, it’s been raining?

The ground is damp and the leaves on the bonsai trees are dripping. A lot can happen when you’ve locked yourself inside away from everything. The sky is cloudy, and the sunshine is lost behind them, strangely coherent with my inner self.

I drive to the nearest grocery store, and park in the disabled bay at the front of it, not caring if I get a ticket. I just want to be in and out.

Grasping a basket, I walk around the store until I enter the candy aisle, the selection they have is fairly limited compared to the larger stores.

The ones I want are the peanut butter ones and the fudge brownie ones. I search along the rows and come across a salted caramel bag. It makes me smile with a fondness, remembering the girl’s night with my sisters that got me here. I wouldn’t have Reed if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have Willow either. Well, I suppose I still don’t.

Tightening my lips, I grab a bag of the salted caramel ones and continue my search.

“Indie, is that you?” A female voice calls from behind me.

“Charlotte, hey.” I am not in the mood for any sort of social conversation right now, and I look like I’ve crawled out of a crack dealer’s den.

“Call me Lottie, I insist.”

What is with this family and their nicknames?

I nod and stand there awkwardly, trying to figure out something to say.

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