I woke up to no one on my side. He must not be home at all. I felt the bottom half of me wet. I sat up and saw that I was in a blood. I hurried up and got up and went into the bathroom. I started a shower. I knew it wasn't my period. That would explain why I have felt ill this whole month I thought maybe I was coming down with a sickness and then it went away. It was just another miscarriage. My third one in the last two years.
I began to cry and I yelled. I took the covers off the bed and went downstairs and washed them. I came back upstairs and got in the shower. I felt my eyes release waterfalls of tears. I just wanted someone to hold me. My baby was gone and I didn't even think into it. I've been stressed and I was harming it. This would've been no life my babyboy or babygirl would've wanted to be in.
"Chiquitita, tell me what's wrong
You're enchained by your own sorrow
In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow
How I hate to see you like this
There is no way you can deny it
I can see that you're oh so sad, so quiet..." I said quietly and in a shaky voice. I was trying to make myself feel better, but as I sang I cried even more.
I turned the shower off and put a towel around me. I went and put on some sweat pants. I had put on a crop top and went and brushed my teeth. I went to the center table and grabbed a cigarette and my lighter and I lit it. I went to my back deck and sat down. I grabbed an empty canvas and put some paint on my palette and began to paint the out line of a pregnant woman as red veins run through the belly. I felt a tear escape my eyes and I felt like I was getting weaker by the second.
I did a black background and a brown outline of the pregnant woman. In the corner I wrote in cursive in a white paint with a thin paintbrush.
Each time it hurts and each time I want to go with them. I'm drifting...
I felt an arm wrap around me and kiss my cheek. I closed my eyes and I saw roses appear in front of my face. I grabbed them and I smelled them.
"It's beautiful, what's the story behind this one?" I sighed and took a drag of my cigarette and felt my eyes dry as if they knew this wasn't the time to cry.
"The miscarriage I had this morning and you weren't here." I got up and walked back inside. I went into the kitchen and poured myself a shot of tequila straight. I took the shot.
"Nicole I'm sorry I just..." I gripped the counter and looked at him. I stared right at him.
"I know. You needed to get your mind off things and you woke up really early to get me the roses because in your own sick and twisted way that's you saying sorry." He rolled his eyes and I saw his hands go in his pocket
"Nicole... You know with these women it's just sex and Nicole it's really not the meaning behind the roses." I leave the kitchen and I stand across the room from him with the roses still in my hand and me smoking my cigarette.
"Well guess what Geoffrey?" He sighed and looked at me.
"What Nicole?" I stand straight and look steady at him
"TAKE BACK THE FUCKING ROSES CAUSE I DON'T WANT 'EM." I yelled as I threw the roses at him and begin to walk away. I storm into our room and shut the door and lock it.
I stand against the door as he bangs against the door. I feel tears run down my face.
"Nicole open the door." I do nothing and keep the door closed. I want him to get angry with every passing second. I don't care anymore.
"Nicole open the door." Again I don't touch the door as he keeps trying to open it and banging on it. What ever is happening between us it's becoming toxic. He still bangs on the door and I just stand against.
"NICOLE OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR." I turn around and press my hand to the door and feel my face flood with tears. It's like crying has become a routine.
"I would do anything for you Geoffrey, even put up with your SHIT, but I didn't think it would ever be this bad. You won't even talk to me, but that's fine I don't care anymore." I hear his body slide down the door and sit. I hear him sigh and I run my hand through my hair.
"Don't say that Nicole. Don't say you don't care." I open the door and step over him and squat down.
"And am I supposed to put all my fucking energy into you and care when you don't even acknowledge it." He grabs my wrist and pulls me down to the point I straddle him. He kisses me and makes his way to my neck. I put my head back and hold on to his hair. I push him down and lean over him kissing every inch of him.
We rip each other's clothes off and I know this how every argument of ours ends. Why has it become this way? Why have I allowed it to become this way? We eat, drink, smoke, paint, and we suffer silently. I seem to think this every time we fuck. That's what it has become just a fuck between a husband and wife.
As I lay here towards the end of our session I know we'll be back to the tears and absences. I'm down a completely deep abyss and I don't know how to crawl out. I love him and he loves me, but I know he feels trapped. I haven't slept peacefully in a year especially with the same dream of the ocean and Geoffrey. The same damn thing every night. It just haunts me. I've never really taken the insomnia pills I was prescribed.
We lay next to each other and he gets up and begins to get dressed to leave. I ask no questions and I sit up and smoke a cigarette. I hear the front door open and shut.
