Epiphany (17 page)

The doctor trying to resuscitate me … flash.

“I love you,” Skylar yells … flash.

Being wheeled into an operating room … flash.

“Mira.
This is Doctor Sullivan. Do you know where you are?” … flash.

Terror fills my veins as the next memory attempts to shatter the shell of a woman
I am today. Is it happening now or just something from my past? Please don’t let
me be back at square one.

“Mira, I love you but we’re not in love, it was a dream,” Skylar says, eyes looking
in my direction but focused on something that isn’t where he needs to look. I need
him to look in my eyes, into my soul. If he does, then we’ll be fine. He’ll see it.
The frustration is taking a toll on my body and I know I’m going to lose it.

“Well then fuck this. If what I feel is not real, if everything was just a fucking
dream, call that nurse in here to give me something to put me back under. I don’t’
want to live in reality when my dream was so wonderful and I was happy. I’d never
been happier in my life. You make me happy and I want to be with you. If the only
way I can be with you is in a dream, push that fucking button. I want to go back to
fucking sleep.”
…. Flash.

Trying to wrestle myself awake, it’s proving to be a futile effort—my body is not
cooperating with my brain. “Wake up!” I scream to myself.

“Who are we kidding, Mira? You can’t be mine if you’re his, and that’s what you are.
His. I don’t know if I can do that to him. That kiss shook me to the core, but how
can I, we, hurt him like that? He is my best friend,” Skylar says, shaking his head.

“Skylar, do you believe dreams come true? Because my dream is true. More real than
anything I have ever known. All you have to do is trust that what I feel is just as
real as what you feel and we’re going to be fine. We’ll figure this out, together.
Please, just tell me you love me and know that I love you.”…
Flash.

Oh my sweet Skylar, always putting everyone ahead of himself.
How didn’t I see how amazing he was before? It’s true, everything does happen for
a reason and the reason for my accident was for me to see how much I loved Skylar.
And how much he loved me.

With our eyes locked, searing into my heart, Skylar responds. I know he’s answering
Danny’s question, but more importantly, he’s answering mine.

“I do,” Skylar says with a lone tear drop
sliding down his face …
Flash.

Fighting against everything holding me down in this haze, I force myself out of the
realm of darkness and thrust myself into the light.

“Ugh,” I moan.

“Mira?
Sweets, are you awake?” I can hear his voice. Is it another flash or am I back?

Fluttering my eyelids, I’m terrified to open them and be back where this all started
seven months ago. The only reprieve I have is thinking that maybe I
miscarried
the first baby and not the second. Maybe it’s all just a cruel joke played on me
by the fates.

Cracking one eye, then the other, it’s confirmed—I’m in the hospital and Skylar’s
standing next to my bed, staring down at me.

“Hey there,” he says, smiling.

“Hi,” I croak, needing to lubricate my throat. “What happened?”

“When the doc was looking you over, you blacked out. They had to rush you in for
emergency surgery.” So it’s wasn’t a dream. I
did
lose the baby.
Our
baby.
The most somber feeling comes over me, willing me to go back to sleep and try to
dream this all away.

“I’m sorry,” I muster, the tears beginning to well.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong. Mira, look at me,” he
begs, taking my hand in his. I risk a glance into his crystal blues only to see his
unreserved love staring back at me. “There’s nothing you could do. They said you
had a cyst rupture on your ovary. It was bad. You could have died. Thankfully,
they were able to remove the cyst and the ovary. You’re going to be just fine.”

“I love you,” I say, pushing down the feelings of worthlessness. What kind of man
wants to marry a woman who won’t be able to give him children? If you find out, give
him my number because I’m absolutely worthless as a woman.

“I love you more.” Resting his head on my shoulder, together we’re silent, mourning
the loss of life from within me. While he doesn’t know it, I’m also grieving over
the knowledge of knowing I’ll never be able to have children. To be a mother or feel
the little kicks of a baby inside me. Having one ovary doesn’t restrict me from getting
pregnant, but with my family history and multiple miscarriages I’ve had, it’s easy
to see I’m a lost cause.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mira

Three days later, I’m discharged, free to go home and resume living my life. I never
thought losing something I never really had could feel so terrible. I feel like my
heart’s being ripped from my chest. My bloodshot, puffy eyes haven’t had any rest
since the moment I realized that I did, in fact, lose the baby that I had been carrying.

There are thousands of women every day that miscarry and I can’t figure out how they
deal with this kind of tragedy. How the hell do they go on? When do you start to
feel human again? Why is the universe so fucking cruel?

Ignoring all of Skylar’s pleas to have something to eat with him, I walk straight
to the bedroom. Sitting on my nightstand, the beautiful picture frame Skylar got
for us drives the evil, malicious point home. Knees buckling, I hit the floor hard
with the cool metal clutched to my chest.

My baby.

My tear ducts, overused and worn out, refuse to let another drop fall. Instead, my
body wracks violently, loud cries coming from my mouth as I kneel on the floor, doubled
over at the waist.

“Mira, baby!”
Skylar screams, running to the side of the bed, pulling me into his arms. “Sweets,
I know. I know.” Holding me like a child, he rocks me softly as I scream and thrash
around.

“This isn’t fair!” I yell, looking at the ceiling as if there’s a magical being up
there playing puppet master and controlling all of us here on Earth.

“It’s not.” Skylar’s arms squeeze around me tighter, trying to hold me in place.

With every ounce of energy left in my spent body, I yank my arm from Skylar’s vice
grip. I throw the picture frame at the wall opposite me, flinching and howling louder
as the glass cracks and shatters everywhere. Immediately regretting my decision,
I wiggle free and jump across the bed, finding the first ultrasound picture amongst
the slivers.

Skylar stands, covering his mouth with one hand and tightening a fist with the other.
Leaning backward, I let my body free fall onto the mattress, cupping the only image
of my child against my
stomach, wishing him to be back in my womb. I don’t realize that Sky left the room
until he’s back with a broom and a dust pan, cleaning up the mess I’ve created.

Everything I create turns into a mess—unsalvageable.

“Your feet are bleeding,” Skylar says, going into the bathroom only to return with
a rag and tweezers. “Let me see?” he asks.

“No, leave it.” I pull my foot from his grasp, finally feeling the pain radiating
up my legs.

“I can’t. You’re gonna get it in there worse.” With a harsh grasp, he grips my ankle,
pulling it into his lap.

With nothing left in me to fight him, I give up, allowing him to attend to my wounds.
My external wounds anyway—there’s nothing he, or anyone, can do to fix everything
wrong with the internal damage.

Skylar gets the glass out of my feet, cleans the dried blood and bandages my cuts.
Resting my head on his chest as Skylar gently places me under the covers, I thank
him for being so attentive and understanding. Bringing back a pain pill the hospital
prescribed, he hands it to me along with a glass of water. I’d give anything to chase
the narcotic with a full rimmed glass of tequila, but I don’t think Skylar would go
for that.

As the medication makes its way through my body, the hazy fog takes over, pulling
me to sleep—and I let it.

Another week passes and I’ve barely left the boundaries of my bed, not wanting to
do much of anything other than stay asleep. I believe Kylee and my mom have been
by, but my company wasn’t worth a damn.

As depressed as I am, with sleeping being the only thing that I’m good at lately,
it’s getting harder and harder to do. I spend more time staring at the ceiling than
anything else. When I close my eyes, I’m tormented with visions of a little girl
or boy. It’s usually me singing some sort of lullaby to the baby, rocking in a chair
inside of the most beautiful nursery.

Skylar’s tried to drag me from bed, offering his unyielding support. He’s even gone
as far as scheduling an appointment for me with a therapist to talk out my problems.
I snapped on him that day, screaming about nobody being able to fix me.

He’s lost a part of him, too, but it’s obviously affecting me more than him. How
can he still want to be with me? He was so excited when we found out I was pregnant.
The idea of him being a father provided him with so much joy he couldn’t contain it.
Now, I’m not going to be able to give that to him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s
only sticking by my side out of guilt … or pity.

“Mira, you wanna get out of bed today?” Speaking of the devil, here he is, trying
once again to pull me out of the despair that I’m drowning in.

“No, not really,” I say, rolling over so I don’t have to look at him.

“Okay. It’s been a week. You have to get up.
Mira, please.”

“Skylar, just go.
I’m sure you’re needed somewhere else.”

“Stop it,” he whispers.

“How’s Maddie doing?” If I can piss him off, he’ll leave. We went through this a
few days ago and it worked like a charm. If I push hard enough, maybe he’ll get over
the pity he’s showing and move on to someone who can give him his deepest desires.

“She’s in the living room.”

“Why?” I ask, shocked that someone could be in my home and me not notice.

“She’s safe to go home. Prowler handled the problem. I told her what’s been going
on here and she wanted to talk to you, so I brought her,” he says, very matter of
fact.

“I don’t want to see anyone,” I murmur. The last thing I want to do is have someone
tell me they understand what I’m going through. How they know what it feels like.

“Well, that’s too damn bad,” Skylar says, throwing the blanket off me. Swiftly, he
picks me up as I fight against him.

“Put me down, Skylar!” I yell, slapping him across the chest.

“Nope.”
He continues carrying me until we’re in the bathroom and he deposits me in the shower.
Turning on the ice cold spray, he blocks my path from running away. “Knock it off.”
He struggles to pull my shirt over my head, but my arms are locked at my sides.

“Dammit, Skylar,
let me go.” I continue to wrestle as the water turns warm. To my surprise, Skylar
climbs in the tub with me, pulling me to his chest and puts me under the stream.

“Let it go!” he screams, pulling the collar of my shirt until it rips. The same happens
with my shorts; shreds of cotton lying soaking wet on the bottom of the shower.

I finally let go. Once again, letting my sobs tear through my body—I scream, cry
and slap the tiled walls with my anger and frustration.

“That’s it. Let it all go,” he mumbles in my hair, rubbing my back.

“Oh God,” I cry, wanting the water to wash away my sorrow. Skylar grabs a washrag,
soaps it up and immediately starts washing my body, all the while he’s fully dressed.

I take the cloth from him, scrubbing at my skin that hasn’t been washed in over a
week until it’s a bright pink. Skylar takes the shampoo and begins massaging my scalp.
The embarrassment of my extra oily and limp hair is taken over by the feeling of compassion
he’s showing me.

As I’m rinsing my hair, Skylar takes the opportunity to strip down naked and quickly
wash himself
. Switching places so he can be under the spray, I glance down at my stomach that
will never have a stretch mark, popped belly button or extra fat that comes with giving
birth. The only thing that will ever be visible is the small cut just above my pelvic
bone, signifying the surgery I had on the day my world flipped upside down.

Fighting back the slew of emotions ready to pull me back down, I climb out of the
shower and dry quickly, remembering that Maddie is probably sitting in my living room.
Wrapping the towel around my body, I walk back to the bedroom in search of something
to wear so I can meet the infamous Maddie Fletcher.

Dressed to the nines in a pair of ratty sweat pants with matching tank top, I make
my way into the living room, and my assumption’s correct. A beautiful blonde with
an impeccable body is sitting on my sofa, scrolling on her phone. Clearing my throat
to announce my presence, I casually walk over to the love seat.

“You must be Mira,” she says, sympathy clouding her honey colored eyes.

“I am, and you’re Maddie, right?” I ask, already knowing who she is.

“Yes. I’m so happy you agreed to talk to me. Axe has told me how upset you’ve been
lately and I was hoping to share something with you. Maybe what I’ve been through
can help you heal.” This is exactly why I didn’t want to see her. I knew exactly
what she was going to say before I even saw her face.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m not up for hearing another woman’s story.”

“I understand, but I think it will help. You don’t have to
listen,
I’m just going to tell it anyway.
If you take something away from it, great.
If not, no harm no
foul
.” The more she
speaks, the more of Prowler I see in her.