Beginning of the end

Part 10 [July 18 '21]

Terrible, awful, no good, failure of a mother. No, a person. She was the worst of the worst. She was irredeemable. She was worthless and should just cease living. It was her fault her baby died. Her second baby. The second one to die. The third one conceived. No, you have Zelda, its okay. It wasn't okay. It was incredibly far from okay. There was no facet of this situation that was okay. The worst... no, not the worst. One of the many absolutely horrible things about the situation was that the only potential positive was also the worst part. Second worst part. The worst part was losing a pregnancy. The second worst part was not having a baby. That was alright under normal circumstances, but adding it in with the first part only multiplied them together and a neutral times a negative always came out into a negative. Not that a negative and a negative made a positive... not in real life. Real life was a bitch.

Blake wasn't even sure that she was living in real life every day anymore. You did this. You didn't want a child. Yes I did. I wanted a child. No, you didn't, you were afraid. Kiefer would be mad. You killed your baby because of him. You monster. You were afraid and you manifested it into reality. Its all your fault. Surely she knew that these thoughts were wrong, and yet the still heard them. Like an IV of poison to her brain, Blake heard a constant stream of disastrously negative thoughts. It was harder to argue that she should take care of herself when there was no longer another life inside of her to consider. There was nothing worthwhile inside of her to consider, the nagging said.

Kiefer needed something from Body Image. Some paperwork. He would have gotten it himself, but Blake offered instead. She would come and get the folder for him because she was taking Zelda to see Myla. Zelda was seeing Myla right now because Blake could not be around her daughter. Her rainbow baby. A rainbow baby signified a birth after a miscarriage. A rainbow after the storm. If Blake had a child ever again, it too would be a rainbow baby. Would any child she had be a rainbow baby? Was she doomed to lose pregnancies between each one? Would Kiefer even stay with her if he knew the depth of her brokenness? The folder was on a shelf near Blake in a storage room. For her part, Blake had at least gotten the folder. She just hadn't made it out to her car yet. Instead she was sitting with her head down against her knees. The hormones, the pain, the bleeding, and the guilt were too much, and she couldn't tell anyone. She had her hood pulled over her head as she sobbed as quietly as possible.

Normal people got bored, or got busy, or just enjoyed the peace of things going along smoothly. Blake, instead, was unable to enjoy the normal days, appreciate the good days, or endure the bad days. She was a paper doll taped to a popsicle stick on the roof during a storm. She could only stand so much rain before she just deteriorated, and she felt like that had long since happened. She was just tatters left clinging to the stick, only able to dry and plaster itself together during the dry periods, but never really heal and grow back to what she'd been. She was wrong, of course, but she didn't listen. An unspoken fear did not simply disappear because it was irrational. An unaddressed concern was not ignored. An unspoken apology was no better than an untended wound. Everything festered within her, where it seemed obvious to her that only bad things grew. Bad things, and sad songs.

There were people in the shop, as per usual. Blake knew her way around like an old home. She felt comfortable finding the nooks and crannies and knew the least occupied places to sit. Despite this knowledge, nothing with an unlocked door was guaranteed. It would be worse to lock a door. Having to say "just a minute," and try to clean her face before opening the door and acting normal. Or answering the question as for why she was in that state. She just hunkered down and hoped to be ignored, but she heard people walking around from time to time. She'd gotten used to this, but when the door actually opened, she realized that someone was going to finally notice her.

This was entirely unmotivating to Blake. Unless she heard Kiefer talking to her, Blake was hard pressed to care. A pirate black hoodie, and jeans with the knees cut open were hardly a deeply Blake outfit, but she could still be identified. She wasn't dressed to the nines, but she didn't care to bother. She was tired, and she hurt, and she hated herself. The newly appeared person stopped talking, but she could feel them getting closer. She tried to stop crying, but it only caused her to choke on her breath, struggling to get in the air and unable to stop the shaking.

He was speaking to her now. She registered male but she was lost on more details. Male and not Kiefer. He said her name and asked if she was okay. She continued to attempt to breath normally, but it only came out in chokes and sobs, and the feeling that she was drowning. She was starting to force her shaking down as he touched her shoulder, but it took a lot. She was tired.

"What's going on, sweetheart?"

He was trying to be nice. She identified Eli finally, without looking up. She probably looked disastrous. She let her hood and hair keep her concealed. What was going on? What was wrong? Why was she here? "Can't... I can't." She managed to get the words out before going back to fighting back the concept of hyperventilating.

He tried. The poor man tried.

Was it fair to say that he had failed? Or maybe Blake failed. It would not be the first time. Authors needed a tough skin. What did musicians need? A bleeding heart for display and a chunk of coal for practical purposes? Blake had nothing left. Everyone said that she was more than just Blake G. More than just Pink Slip. So what? A mother, a fiancé? She was failing at those. Eli tried to talk to her, but the violence of her thoughts prevented his effectiveness. It was so angry. It was so bloody. How dare she? How dare she breathe, or exist, or do anything?

Eli tried.

The words soaked into her soul. It was okay, he said. She did not need to do anything, he said. Could he help, he asked. No, no, no, no, no. No. The thud as each word registered in her chest. No. Like a closed door. No.Like a slammed window. No. Like glass shattering. No. Permanent. Violent. Shattering. No.

A whisper.

No.

please stop

I am begging you

What was the matter? What was wrong? Was she okay? Could he help? Blake surrendered to the sympathy and after some time she finally latched onto him. She gripped him like the buoy at sea. He was safe only so long as she could cling to him. Holding on for dear life. The claws of self-loathing threatened to rip her right off of her hold. She clutched him closer. Her fingers tight, nails dug in. Alone. Alone. He was here.

She shouldn't lean on him. He wasn't Kiefer. He wasn't Rosie, or Carla, or even a friend. A barely known friendly acquaintance. An employee of her future husband. She should have professionalism. The world was full of sharks. People were users, and users used. Blake had heard it all before. Scolding, compassion, a head shake, a handshake, a frown, a sympathetic smile. Blake dug her nails into his shoulders, firm and safe and physically there.

"I am so sorry," she spoke between the broken sobs. It wasn't for Elias Novak. "I'm so sorry," her white knuckles felt paralyzed in place.

"Lo siento. No soy nada."

Elias tried to argue. The language was irrelevant. He was trying. He tried to hold onto the rain in the downpour. He touched the water each second, but never caught on. Never held firm. Never had anything besides fleeting contact.

Emotions gave way to fatigue. Gasps of air give way to suffocation. He pushed life into her as he shook her shoulders. She was awake. She was alive. There could have been better outcomes. It would have been so nice to deteriorate like ash in the wind. He pulled her back to see her face. Firm words assured her that things would improve. She would be okay. Blake disagreed. Fractionally small muscles on her face persisted into a semblance of a smile.

Okay.

Like a resignation. Blake would be okay. She was resigned to this. She would be okay, because everyone else deserved better. The glossy vision of his face was impending comatose, but she tried to push her lids up further. Blake watched the faint light peaking in under the door until her surroundings disappeared.

Please don't. He wouldn't. Blake detached her honest limbs and refused the magnetism. She was not alright. She would be alright, for better or for worse.