Open Your Arms

Chapter 48

May 21, 2004

There was no point in waking up this morning. Everything in my world had changed in a matter of seconds. 

I keep replaying the car accident in my head over and over again. I keep thinking about what I should've done differently and how I could've prevented this, how all of this is my fault.

I didn't sleep last night. I couldn't, not after getting the news that the baby died. 

I had a miscarriage in the car accident. The trauma impacted the baby too much and he ended up dying. 

After hearing that from the doctor at the hospital, I wanted to die. I wanted to die right then and there, but instead I screamed into the pillow while wailing. Those five words are what broke me. 

The baby didn't make it. 

The doctors tried to save it, but it was too late. He was only 22 weeks old, which is far too young for them to even try to help, but they did and it failed. 

The accident was not my fault. That motherfucker was running a red light while I was making a left turn and I crashed into them. 

I want to kill him. I want to make him feel what I am feeling right now. He apologized profusely and told us he didn't mean to, but it meant nothing. I don't even know what he looks like--I couldn't bring myself to look at him--and he ruined my life. 

Ville and I haven't spoken a word to each other since that happened. We've both been crying nonstop. My car was so wrecked that we had to call my parents to come and pick us up to take us home. 

My parents stayed the night at the apartment and they too were crying. It's funny how something that I never had has upset me so much. I never even knew what he looked like or anything like that, yet I miss him so much. 

I'll never be able to set up a nursery room with Ville like we were planning on doing. We were going to turn the guest bedroom into the bedroom for the baby, but now there's no point. 

I'll never be able to rush to the hospital because I'm in labor with Ville because there's no baby to rush to the hospital. I'll never be able to come home and record me walking through the door with Ville holding our baby boy because it's his first time coming home because there's no baby to do that with. 

I never even wanted the baby in the first place. I didn't want to get pregnant--Ville didn't want me to either. How are we so upset over something that we never even wanted?

"Larissa, come on," My mother kneels down beside me. "Let's go take a shower."

I look over to see if Ville's in the bed and I nod as I realize he is. He's just sleeping--something that I need to do, but I can't. 

My mom helps me stand up and we walk into the bathroom. She lifts my shirt up over my head and unclasps my bra. She then pulls my pants and underwear off and turns on the shower. 

I look at myself in the mirror, disgusted with what I'm seeing: myself. I hate myself for what I did. If only I didn't leave at that time. If only we left as soon as we did and didn't sit around outside the car talking about the baby. 

"Larissa, come here," My mother softly says. 

I don't know how to move. My feet are glued to the floor and I can't move. My mother rips them off and drags me backwards into the shower, almost causing me to fall. 

"Honey, I need you to work with me," She tells me. 

The hot water meets my skin, but I don't protest. I don't tell her that it's too hot for my comfort. I just let the water sting me because that's what I deserve. 

She lathers my hair in shampoo and I let her move my head around in all different directions while I just stand there like her little puppet. 

"Mom, I want to die," I tell her very calmly. 

She stops putting shampoo in my hair and looks at me sternly. "Do not say that, Larissa, don't you dare say that, do you understand me?!"

I don't acknowledge her. I don't even know why I told her that. I guess I just wanted to feel something and maybe I thought that her reaction would give me that satisfaction. 

It did nothing. 

Instead, I cry thinking about my baby dying. I cry as I think about all the times that I cherished with my baby and I alone. When I would be laying down in bed and be upset about everything, but then I would feel him kick. 

My baby, that had no name. My baby, that was the perfect baby. He would've been so loved and spoiled by everyone around him. But his life was taken from him all because of that motherfucker who just had to run a red light. 

I collapse to the ground on the floor in the shower, not even caring that I'm in pain because the pain I'm feeling inside is so much worse. It feels like my soul is being ripped out of me again and again and again but I can't do anything about it. 

All the life is being drained from my body and I just have to sit here and let it happen. 

I put my hands over my face and scream, trying to let out everything that I'm feeling. I continue to wail and scream while my mother sits down on the ground and begins to cry, too. 

Why him? Of all the people on the road, why did that man have to hit us? Why did he have to take my fucking baby from me?

I pull the lever all the way to the right, turning off the shower. I don't want to wash my body. I don't want to wash my hair. I want to feel filthy because I deserve it. 

I walk out of the shower and drape a towel over me, continuing to cry. I go into the closet and get out a sweatshirt I have, then pants, and I walk out into the bathroom again to find my mother still crying on the floor. 

I open up the bathroom door and see Ville is still asleep. I want him to sleep forever. I don't want him to wake up and realize the horrors that have come true and are our lives now. 

We won't be able to get that house with our baby like he wanted. There's no baby to have that house with. 

My father comes into the room and I can see that his eyes are puffy and red. This is one of the rare times that I've ever seen him cry. He never cries. 

The bathroom door opens and my mother emerges from it, still crying. She collapses into my father's arms and I'm left standing there and being forced to watch them. 

I don't know what else to do. 

My parents leave the room, shutting the door and I slowly climb into bed, scooting over to Ville and wrapping my arms around his body, pulling him into me. It's then that I realize that he's not asleep; he's been crying. 

"I'm so sorry," I whisper to him while sobbing. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Ville. I'm so fucking sorry."

He just continues to cry. He doesn't move. He doesn't acknowledge what I say. How can he? He's broken, just like me. 

I remove my arms from around him and turn the other way, curling into a ball and closing my eyes. Not to sleep, but to try and imagine all of the things that should've been, but never will be.