Fulfillment (Book 3 in The Temptation Series) (21 page)

I shook my
head. “No”.

Bryce didn’t
remove his lips from my forehead when he responded. “I’m so sorry,
Hunny.”

“No. No. No,”
I cried. “Please, no.”

Mum placed her
hand on my leg. “Sweetheart, there was nothing they could do. When
you fell, your placenta detached.”

My heart was
pounding and my chest felt incredibly tight, strangling me from
within. I closed my eyes to stop the tears from over-flowing and to
try and return to the moment before I fell, desperate to reverse
the series of events that had led me here—bruised, battered, and
completely heartbroken. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

Bryce pulled
away from my head and placed his hands on either side of my face.
“You’re sorry? Alexis, what are you talking about? You have no
reason to be sorry.”

“I fell. It’s
my fault. Our baby is gone because I fell.”

“This is not
your fault. It was an accident.” He leaned forward and kissed my
head again.

Jen turned her
back to me and looked out the window, her shoulders vibrating as
she quietly reeled in her sadness.

Mum dragged a
seat to the side of my bed and placed my hand in hers. “Bryce is
right, Alexis. It was an accident, you cannot blame yourself.”

It didn’t
matter what they said, though. I fell. I didn’t protect my baby. If
I had been more careful my baby would still be alive and growing
inside me.
My baby is gone.
A wave of excruciating heartache
hit me again, and I cried like never before.

Mum, Jen and
Bryce tried desperately to reassure me that I wasn’t at fault, but
after their attempts failed, they stopped trying and just let me
cry. I cried on and off for hours, and I cried till there were no
more tears left to cry.

***

Day 2, after
surgery.

The next
morning I felt somewhat better, my tears having run dry and my
drowsy, sleepy state had lifted a little. I was also allowed to eat
a light breakfast of semolina and yogurt. Bryce had taken one look
at my first meal in over 24 hours and nearly left the hospital to
get me something that did not look like ‘vomit’—his words, not
mine. I had to insist he stay with me, which ended up being easy—
he didn’t argue, not one bit.
Weird.
To be honest, I didn’t
feel like eating all that much anyway, I still had a headache and
was slightly nauseated.

Apparently, my
head injury had only been minor, resulting in instant concussion,
subsequent soreness, nausea, and headaches. Apparently, I was
lucky.
Lucky?
That one particular word from the mouth of a
nurse who had just undergone a change of shift, threw me back into
a state of devastation. I had cursed at her and told her that if
the ‘definition of luck was falling down the stairs and killing
your unborn child then I was the fucking luckiest bitch alive’.

Bryce had
asked her to leave the room, while following her out—furious.
Needless to say, I did not see her again, but looking back at it
now, it really wasn’t her fault. She had just used a poor choice of
word, and at that time it had cut me like a knife.

Shortly after
my outburst, a hospital counsellor came by to have a chat to me and
Bryce. She spoke to us about what we may or may not feel in the
coming days and weeks, which I found slightly irritating. I hated
being told what I ‘may or may not feel’ by someone who did not know
me at all and could not possibly know how I would feel. She kind of
made me angry, but then again she said I ‘may or may not feel
angry’, so I guess she did sort of know what she was talking about.
Regardless, I was not sure I liked her, so I mainly just listened
on and off.

She went
through the various options that were available to us, for when we
were ready to farewell our baby. Options that I could not
comprehend, let alone make a clear decision about. I didn’t really
want to think about it; I didn’t want to think about anything. I
just wanted to sleep.

I didn’t have
much to say to her anyway, not being the type to talk to a stranger
about my inner most feelings— irrespective of her training and
university degree. Bryce appeared to feel the same way, but I
expected he would eventually talk to Dr. Toffee-Nosed-Carrot-Top
Jessica, which was fine. He could obviously confide in her and was
comfortable with her, and I was glad he would have someone to share
his grief with other than me.

She must be
one hell of a good psychologist despite her demeanour, because she
had helped Bryce in the past. And she dealt with Gareth and his
illness on a weekly basis. I sure as hell wasn’t going to confide
in her, though. There was no way I would be entrusting her to help
me heal—no way. She made it very clear when we first crossed paths
that she did not like me.

***

Later that
night when all was quiet, Bryce and I finally had a chance to talk.
We were lying next to each other in my rather large hospital bed,
in my rather nice hospital room that I’m thinking Bryce had a hand
in organising.

“You should go
home and get some proper rest,” I said softly, as he rested his
head on mine and gently stroked my arm with his thumb.

“No. I’m not
leaving you here alone. And anyway, I don’t want to be alone
either.”

I tilted my
head to look up at him, tears filling my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hunny, don’t.
Don’t do this to yourself again. It’s not your fault,” he said
sternly.

I tried
desperately to choke back my tears. “But it is.
I
fell.
I
was rushing to come and see
you, to help you. It is my fault. The thing is, I’m sure I put my
heels on properly...but maybe I didn’t...I can’t really remember,
my memories are all mixed.”

I couldn’t
help but keep thinking about it though, replaying it over and over
in my head, recalling things that I didn’t think happened but I
couldn’t be sure. The uncertainty scared me so I tightened my arm
which was lying across his chest.

“What do you
mean, your memories are all mixed?” he asked, curiously.

“Well, I keep
having these flashbacks or visions where I stop and look at my
shoes before I go down the stairs. They are secure on my feet. I
know they are, because I look at them the whole time I fall.”

I closed my
eyes momentarily in an attempt to get back the visions I had been
seeing over the course of the last couple of days. I reopened them
and looked sorrowfully up at Bryce. “I don’t know how I
slipped...”

I tore my eyes
away from his and dropped my head back down to his chest, feeling
stupid for saying it. “I know...it’s crazy. It’s probably just my
sub-conscious trying to help me feel less guilty. I don’t know...”
I sighed, “If that is the case, it really isn’t working.”

“Hunny, your
mind will play all kinds of tricks on you. It’s life’s cruel way of
getting you to sort through your grief, your guilt and your sadness
so that you can move on. It’s one of those fucked up lessons we
have to learn.”

I squeezed him
tighter, appreciative, but equally saddened by his knowledge of
despair. He, of all people, knew how to deal with grief and loss
and what steps to take in order to heal. He also knew how to bear
guilt.

“Thank you.
Thank you for not hating me, because God knows I hate myself.”

“Alexis, I
could never hate you. I love you so much, it’s unfathomable. Seeing
you lying lifeless at the bottom of the stairs scared the absolute
shit out of me.” He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. “I keep
fucking replaying it in my head, and each time it makes me ill. I
thought you were dead. Then I saw the blood on your dress and I
knew...well...I just knew.” He shook his head as if to shake away
the horrifying vision. “I don’t want to think about it. You’re
safe, and you’ll heal. We both will.”

He tightened
his grip on me without causing any pain. I was still tender and
bruised on the ribs and lower abdomen.

We fell asleep
that way, holding each other, comforting each other, supporting
each other, allowing one another to grieve in a manner that only we
knew how. A small part of both our hearts had been torn away and
would be lost forever.

I knew deep
down that time healed the wounded and heartbroken, and I was
confident that time would do just that for us. I knew this, because
at the end of this tragedy we had each other and that would never
change.

***

Day 3, after
surgery

Day three was
kind of a blur. Dr. Rainer came to the hospital to explain the
details of my miscarriage. She said the force of my pelvis hitting
the steps had detached the placenta and ruptured my cervix. She
also explained that while I was under anaesthesia for the surgery
on my ankle, a dilation and curettage was performed in order to
remove the baby and placenta from my uterus.

Dr. Rainer
also informed us that the hospital had a garden named
The Garden
of Angels.
She explained that we could have our baby cremated
and that we could sprinkle the ashes in the garden if we wanted. I
remembered the counsellor having mentioned this the day after my
surgery, but at that time I could not even consider the notion.
Now, I kind of liked the idea. It seemed sort of nice— a place
where other baby angels were, a place where our baby could rest in
peace.

***

Mum and Jen
visited again before heading home. When Bryce had stepped out to
take an important phone call, Mum explained that he had arranged
for Chelsea to fly to Shepparton to pick both her and Jen up not
long after the accident occurred. She also said that Chelsea was
flying them back later that afternoon—I didn’t know what to think
of that.

The kids were
still with Dad at the farm, and both Nate and Charli were none the
wiser about my fall. I wanted it to remain that way, at least for
the time being. I had no idea how I was going to explain to my
children that the baby we had just told them about—the baby they
were excited about, the baby that we had all grown to love—was now
gone. How was I going to explain that?

I spoke to
them briefly on the phone, telling them I missed them and loved
them and could not wait to see them both. I told them I was bored
but also busily working. I hated lying to my children, but I’d had
to. I’d had to pretend I was good and not in any case
hospitalised—Nate would have panicked.

***

My orthopaedic
surgeon also paid me a visit that day, explaining that he had fixed
two screws and a plate to my fibula and that the cast which reached
to me knee would more than likely be on for a couple of weeks then
eventually replaced with a moon boot cast. After that, I would be
required to undergo physiotherapy rehabilitation and walk around on
crutches for another five to seven weeks. Just the thought of it
had me depressed and worried. So much had happened to me and it was
all just a bit overwhelming.

***

Day 4, after
surgery

By the fourth
day, my brain and physical self were once again starting to work in
unison with each other. I was finally able to get out of bed to
have a shower, which I was relieved about but also silently
dreading. Bryce, being Bryce, helped me every step of the way.

“Here, take a
seat.” He guided me to the plastic chair where I sat down. I
watched him strip down, and like always, I admired the view. I was,
however, in no mood for anything intimate, nor would I be for some
time—I still admired the view though.

“Now, the
nurse gave me this cast protector to put over your leg so that you
don’t get it wet.”

He held out
the big plastic cover, bent down and started to put it over my leg.
He was so cautious and gentle, it really was adorable. I stood up
with his help, balancing on one leg.

“You okay?” he
asked as steadied me carefully.

“Yeah, I’ve
had worse pain.”

He brought my
hand to his lips. “I’m sure you have, but if you are in pain, you
need to say so. They can give you more medication for it.”

He reached
behind me and untied my backless hospital robe then gently pulled
it away.

“I know, but
really, I’m fine. The pain is sort of a welcome reminder.”

He placed his
hands on my shoulders and gazed into my eyes with a look of worry,
possibly searching for that slight bit of crazy my last response
kind of warranted. He must not have found it, because he
surrendered his search and turned to get the shower ready.

As I stood
there on one leg, braced against the wall while he adjusted the
water temperature, I looked down at my leg and snickered.

“Are you
laughing?” he asked, astonished.

I giggled this
time. “Yeah, I think I am.”

He stepped up
to me and wrapped one arm around my waist, pressing me to his bare
skin and lifting me only slightly with ease. Regardless of the
trauma I had just recently experienced, my body reacted to his just
like it always had. My nipples hardened and that electric tingle he
charged me with was also present.

He slowly
stepped backward with me still attached to his front, stepping us
over to the water and holding me tightly as it cascaded around
us.

“Why are you
laughing?” he asked softly.

“I have a
rather large leg condom on,” I replied.

He looked down
to inspect my cast cover then looked back up at me, a smirk on his
face. The smirk quickly turned into an outburst. “Yes, you do. But
fuck, you look hot in a leg condom.”

I laughed back
at him and it felt good. Good to be naked in his supporting arms
and laughing with him again. It gave me hope.

I dropped my
head to his chest and subdued my laugh to a soft giggle. He kissed
the top of my head. “We will get through this, you know. And if you
want to—and there is no pressure—we can try again.”