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The next few days following my discharge from the hospital, I didn't talk much.
It wasn't that I didn't want to speak, or pour my feelings out to Terror, or anyone for that matter, but it was the mere fact that I couldn't, mainly because I wasn't sure how to feel.
Initially, I was sad, then for a while, emotionless.
I didn't eat, barely slept and even though I knew it wasn't my fault, I couldn't help but to feel guilty.
Thinking; had I been more careful, more stress free, in 9 months, I would've been holding my child for the first time. I knew that as bad as I wanted to say Bick was at fault once again, this time around, no one was to blame.
But me.
"You aight?" I averted my gaze to the door when I heard Terror's voice. He appeared to have been handling the situation well; unlike me.
I was a wreck.
The long hand on the analog clock seemed to have constantly kept ticking as he continued to watch me. I didn't say a word, instead I watched as more time passed me by.
"Hennessy, you been in bed for three days, you ain't eat, and I know you ain't shower. Come on now ma, we both dealing with the same shit here." He took a step closer to where I laid, before occupying the vacant spot on the bed next to me.
I could feel his dark orbs piercing into my skin, but I didn't even spare a glance.
"Baby--talk to me."
For a moment we just sat there; in silence, as he watched me lay motionless.
I knew Terror didn't feel the way I did. He was incapable of feeling this pain, especially since he'd already experienced the joy of seeing his first born being brought into the world.
The second Terror got up to leave, I mustered up the courage to speak.
