Read Online UNFORGETTABLE (Able Series Book 3) by Gigi Aceves - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gigi Aceves
Tags: Unforgettable
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reaction—stiff body, worried face, and a stillness that doesn’t bring comfort but rather dread, because even I know something is really wrong. Without uttering a single word, he carries me and takes off running to his car. I can’t see Roxy or Cody, but I can hear their voices and heavy footsteps behind us. Everything happens in a blur, and the next thing I know, we’re at the hospital with Brian yelling for someone to help us.
“Go, Brian; we’ll call everyone,” Cody’s calm voice brings a certain amount of peace, but Roxy’s loud cries bring me back to my reality—my very painful reality.
In two very long painful hours, we mourn the loss of our child. Tears of grief cover our faces. Both physical and emotional pain sucks on me like a vacuum, gripping sadness coats my heart, and Brian’s distraught face adds to my already broken heart. He hasn’t released my hand and hasn’t moved a muscle. The intensity of his pain increases as time goes by while overpowering misery overtakes him.
Pain—it’s intense.
How can I describe it other than I feel as if I’m being ripped in half. But, the most unforgettable feeling is when the doctor sucked my angel out of me. How I wish I could see a glimpse of my baby, but I refuse to see my angel in that state. I couldn’t even look when the doctor asked if I would like to see. Instead, Brian gives him the death glare.
The smell of blood—I hate it.
It represents death, at least for us. The end of a life that should’ve been. The end of our joy, and the start of our pain. The pain feels as though we’re climbing a mountain so steep and treacherous, it’ll take a strong and solid heart to get to the top.
Words—there are none.
What can one say? Nothing. There are no words in the English dictionary that could ease the burden. Not even my mother’s favorite saying, ‘this too shall pass’ makes me feel better. What fits I think is silence, because right now, there’s silence everywhere, especially inside my womb. Though, the silver lining is in Heaven, a little angel is probably making a whole lot of noise.
Feelings—there are a lot.
A gigantic ball of ache, misery, disappointment, the will to fight, the determination to forge forward, strength, weakness, belief, doubt, and consuming anger for whom I don’t know. . . . what a tragedy—but it’s our tragedy.
We remain this way until I’m discharged. Even driving home he never talks, never looks my way while I field calls from Roxy, Trish, and my mom. I take two more Advil to minimize the pain. He carries me again, this time to our bedroom, laying me gently on the bed. His pain and misery are a dark cloud looming over the horizon before the storm hits, before something triggers it.
“Brian?”
One nod is all I get, not even a glance my way, or a hug for comfort. Just a nod—simple, indifferent, cold. Carefully, I stagger my way in front of him to say something that may enlighten him. A tactic I’ve used one too many times to calm his raging mind and ease his aching heart.
I lift his head up so his eyes meet mine. “Today is not the end, even if it didn’t turn out to be the beginning we wanted. It’s not the period, in ‘the story of us,’ but rather a different page in our story. It’s not a closed door, but rather a door leading to another. It’s not a dead end, but rather a detour. Do you understand me? I need more than a nod.”
I wait as he stares into my eyes. Without uttering a single word, he gives me his answer in his kiss. There’s two parts to his kiss, one part I like, the other not so much. The first part—confident. I feel his love for me in every swipe, every flick of his tongue against mine. It’s full of power and strength. It’s like a vacuum sucking all my heartaches so he can shoulder them for us. In this kiss, he’s devoid of fear. The other part—self-deprecating, in every intake and exhale of his breath, the way his brows are scrunched up, his body language is
“Go, Brian; we’ll call everyone,” Cody’s calm voice brings a certain amount of peace, but Roxy’s loud cries bring me back to my reality—my very painful reality.
In two very long painful hours, we mourn the loss of our child. Tears of grief cover our faces. Both physical and emotional pain sucks on me like a vacuum, gripping sadness coats my heart, and Brian’s distraught face adds to my already broken heart. He hasn’t released my hand and hasn’t moved a muscle. The intensity of his pain increases as time goes by while overpowering misery overtakes him.
Pain—it’s intense.
How can I describe it other than I feel as if I’m being ripped in half. But, the most unforgettable feeling is when the doctor sucked my angel out of me. How I wish I could see a glimpse of my baby, but I refuse to see my angel in that state. I couldn’t even look when the doctor asked if I would like to see. Instead, Brian gives him the death glare.
The smell of blood—I hate it.
It represents death, at least for us. The end of a life that should’ve been. The end of our joy, and the start of our pain. The pain feels as though we’re climbing a mountain so steep and treacherous, it’ll take a strong and solid heart to get to the top.
Words—there are none.
What can one say? Nothing. There are no words in the English dictionary that could ease the burden. Not even my mother’s favorite saying, ‘this too shall pass’ makes me feel better. What fits I think is silence, because right now, there’s silence everywhere, especially inside my womb. Though, the silver lining is in Heaven, a little angel is probably making a whole lot of noise.
Feelings—there are a lot.
A gigantic ball of ache, misery, disappointment, the will to fight, the determination to forge forward, strength, weakness, belief, doubt, and consuming anger for whom I don’t know. . . . what a tragedy—but it’s our tragedy.
We remain this way until I’m discharged. Even driving home he never talks, never looks my way while I field calls from Roxy, Trish, and my mom. I take two more Advil to minimize the pain. He carries me again, this time to our bedroom, laying me gently on the bed. His pain and misery are a dark cloud looming over the horizon before the storm hits, before something triggers it.
“Brian?”
One nod is all I get, not even a glance my way, or a hug for comfort. Just a nod—simple, indifferent, cold. Carefully, I stagger my way in front of him to say something that may enlighten him. A tactic I’ve used one too many times to calm his raging mind and ease his aching heart.
I lift his head up so his eyes meet mine. “Today is not the end, even if it didn’t turn out to be the beginning we wanted. It’s not the period, in ‘the story of us,’ but rather a different page in our story. It’s not a closed door, but rather a door leading to another. It’s not a dead end, but rather a detour. Do you understand me? I need more than a nod.”
I wait as he stares into my eyes. Without uttering a single word, he gives me his answer in his kiss. There’s two parts to his kiss, one part I like, the other not so much. The first part—confident. I feel his love for me in every swipe, every flick of his tongue against mine. It’s full of power and strength. It’s like a vacuum sucking all my heartaches so he can shoulder them for us. In this kiss, he’s devoid of fear. The other part—self-deprecating, in every intake and exhale of his breath, the way his brows are scrunched up, his body language is
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