I Do I Did

Forty Eight

Pete stared down at Meagan's still body. He could admit that she was still beautiful, even on the potential brink of death. Everything from her hair to her chin was perfect. But those eye brows were missing their usual nefarious arch. Her eyelids were hiding her malicious glares. And her lips could no longer wear that vindictive smirk.

Meagan was a beautiful tragedy that Pete still couldn't wrap his head around. He'd known her for a long time. He knew she might not always have the most pure motives. No one was perfect. But how do you jump from a little mean to full blown killer?

Was it his fault? People always said that hell had no fury like a woman scorned. And he'd scorned her twice. Both times he'd ended up with Patrick. Maybe that's what it was. Maybe that's what sent this beautiful woman off the deep end.

He reached over to stroke her face. Ripping his hand away from the cool skin. Not cold enough to be dead. Not warm enough to be alive. Just the right temperature to make Pete's heart cry out for her.

His hand hesitantly reached towards her body again. This time touching her stomach area. Still big, but not as big. Still hard but not as hard. If she were awake right now, Meagan would be standing up trying to do some of her cardio routines to melt this extra fat. Meagan didn't do fat.

Pete laughed sadly. She was empty now. Just like she was forced to fight for survival for her body alone, so was their little child.

Cut from the body of it's mother in the most unnatural way. The surgery itself was two hours ago. Meagan was supposed to be in recovery. But how could a body that refused to work recover?

And their baby was at the hands of every doctor on staff. Pete had no idea how it was going. What they were doing. If something was wrong with it. If it'd live. They kept telling him they'd 'try their best'. But was always sure to add the heart twisting 'but the chances aren't high.' To make sure he had hope but not too much hope. How sick was that? And others kept telling him to pray. But he wasn't even going to go there. What had that ever done for him?

And while the doctor's words were sick, they were no where near as sick as the sense of déjà vu his mind was circling around. For the second time in his life he was standing at the head of a hospital bed. Watching someone he cared about barely hold onto life. And for the second time, it was it was his fault.

He should have never allowed her to even enter that place. He should have made her stay in the car while he barged in. He should have called the fucking police. He should have done anything besides what he did. Smart at business, dumb at life. Could he get that on a shirt please? If he'd had the patience to wait for the sirens none of this would be happening. If he'd had the brain to have someone watching their car at the wedding none of this would be happening. If he'd never put Patrick in that car period, none of this would be happening.

It was his fault and it would always be.
The man he loved lost two years of his life because of him. And now the woman he might have loved might be doing the same thing. Their baby could be losing it's life as he stood here. And he was to blame.

We the jury of this conscience, find the defendant Peter Wentz, guilty of all the above entitled actions. Sentence him to a life of hell in his head.

Pete clapped his hand over his mouth and ran for the bathroom straight across from Meagan's bed. His body wasted no time in spilling the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.