Falling - Tom Holland imagine

Chapter 26

TW - MH issues and mentions of miscarriage.

I slowly turned my key in the slightly stiff lock, walking into the mustiness of a place not often used, dropping my rucksack and toeing off my trainers. I was 'home'. The only one I had now, alone. I wearily dragged myself to the small empty grey sofa, dropping onto its solid surface and just sat. 

I had nothing. No energy, no thoughts, no feelings, nothing. Just bleak numbness. I sat there as it slowly grew dark outside, ignoring the discomfort of a full bladder, an empty stomach and a dry mouth. I disassociated from everything. It hadn't been this bad in years. I floated along untethered to the world.

It was late at night, very late when I finally found enough in me to move, using the toilet, getting a glass of water and lying on the bed, curtains still open, on top of the deep blue duvet, but at least I had moved. My thoughts were sluggish, chasing each other round as if through glue - the look of anger on Toms usually happy face, how he'd snapped at me and the constant echo of "Your Problem Not Mine" and how he had walked away from me, back turned, running over and over. I turned onto my side pulling the cool side of the pillow against my numb cheek as I faced the wall, seeing every little bump and imperfection in the paint work. 

Worst fear realised - I wasn't worth it, we weren't worth it; he clearly had never loved me or meant any of the words he'd said, I was just an inconvenience for him. As the darkness slowly began to lighten and the first chirps of the birds began to infiltrate my room, I still lay there, eyes unfocused on the cream wall, cracks now memorised, slurs running through my head - all true now. Useless. Worthless. Stupid. Pointless. Unloved. Unwanted. Alone.

It grew even lighter and the sounds of people began to join that of the birds; cars, people slamming doors to go to work, the beep of a reversing builders van, shouts of children headed into the primary school by the main road. I wanted it all to stop, when I felt the familiar growing nausea and my stomach twisted. I sprinted for the toilet, offloading little more than bile and water, not having eaten for 24 hours. I sat there, tangled hair in my face, fallen from its ponytail, tears falling down from the violence of the regurgitation, the burning sour taste in my throat and mouth, the gray bobbled bathmat under my legs cushioning me slightly from the harsh tile, as I leaned back against the side of the bath to take in gasping breaths. A reminder to me that I was still pregnant. It was a wake up call, a needed shock to the system. I levered myself off the floor using the side of the bath, pausing for my head to stop spinning, and running my hand along the wall for support, walked to the kitchen to draw myself a cold glass of water, and grab a breakfast bar to try to appease the aching hunger. I sat at my lonely white wooden chair by the window yellow blind raised high enough to allow a view, looking out at the streets and knowing I had a big decision to make about this pregnancy.

All day I vacillated back and forth over what to do, trying to write lists of pros and cons for keeping/not keeping the baby, I sat, I stood and I paced back and forth. I wasn't sure what I should do, there were just so many factors to take into account and I had no idea, this was supposed to be a joint decision with the father, until he abdicated his position. I grabbed my phone out of my bag and switched it on, to the sound of several social media notifications, I immediately silenced all my notifications without even looking at them, and opened an internet browser to find advice sites to try and get some impartial advice - which was much harder to find than it sounded. After hours I was headblind and couldn't focus anymore. I'd managed to make a small bowl of plain pasta for dinner, but knew I'd have to go shopping soon, my few longlife staples of dried and frozen goods were not going to sustain me, not now I was back for good. Tomorrow, I promised myself as I headed back to bed where, still tearless I fell into a troubled, restless sleep, curled into a lonely ball.