she wonders how many tiles make up the ceiling above her. the bright fluorescent lights no longer caused a perpetual ache behind her eyes. she still hates being here. even if her stupid eyes have adjusted to the stupid lights. she hates the bright white walls, the sterile smell of the office. she wishes she wasn't here. he squeezes her hand.
her head rolls forward to look at him. there's a magazine spread out in his lap, his legs stretched out as he leans back in his seat, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. she doesn't understand how he can look so happy. "hey," he says, when she moves to turn her head away from him. her eyes meet his. david smiles, bringing his hand up to brush a hair out of her eyes. "love you."
she hums incoherently, tilting her head back up to look at the ceiling. her legs feel numb. her arms are crossed over her stomach, her eyes staring up into the bright lights. maybe if she stares for long enough, they'll dry up the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks. david's fingers tap lightly on her left arm, along to the tune of whatever stupid song is playing down the hall in the waiting room.she listens to the soft, tick, tick, tick-ing of the clock on the wall. she tries to time her breathing to match each tap of david's fingers.
the door swings open, soft footsteps. "you can bring your legs down," the doctor tells her. she's relieved. she swings her legs down from where they'd been up, sock-covered feet hitting the floor as she shifts to sit up properly. "how have you been feeling?"
she shrugs. david slips his hand into hers, squeezes softly. this is painful for both of them. she tries to remind herself of that whenever she's feeling particularly selfish. "okay," she answers. she's doing this for david. she tries to remind herself of that now. "tired." she pauses, clears her throat and then opens her mouth to speak. "nauseous. all the time."
"grumpy," david adds, his grin widening when her nails dig into the palm of his hand. "'s the doctor, hun. can't lie to the doc." doctor anders smiles at this, nodding her head. "so, any news?"
she tries to more or less tune out the conversation. most of it is pointless. doctor anders offering pointless solutions to their infertility. her infertility. no wonder david can keep a smile on his face. it's not him that's the problem. it's her. at least, that's how she sees it. "what do you think?" david squeezes her hand, gathering her attention. she blinks once, twice, clears her throat.
"i don't know," she says, pulling her hand out of david's. "i just feel like..if none of this is working, what's the point?"
the appointment ends not long after that. they leave together, walking back to the car with their hands intertwined. she feels defeated. she always does after these appointments. there's never any good news. just the same. ivf isn't working--at least, not fast enough for her. not fast enough for them. it's been a year. two years since they decided they wanted a baby. since they started trying. a year since they started treatments. "don't do this," david's voice brings her back to reality.
she can't bring herself to lift her head from where it's rested against the window. david rests his hand on her thigh, squeezes softly. she's always so quiet after. he doesn't blame her. "don't do what?" she asks, eyes focused on the passing treeline. she just wants to be home. to sleep. tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
"distance yourself. i love you. we're a team. this isn't just your problem, honey." david's fingers brush over her thigh. easy for him to say, she thinks. he could have a baby if he wanted--just not with her. "talk to me."
she clears her throat, brings a hand up to wipe the stray tears from her cheeks. "it's fine, david. let's just go home. i'm tired." david sighs but doesn't press anymore. instead, he catches her hand with his, fingers intertwining.
"we need to pick up something for dinner. target okay? it'll only be a few minutes." she shrugs her shoulders, nods her head.
"yeah, that's fine."
he asks if she wants to stay in the car while he goes in. she says no, follows him through the parking lot, pushes the cart as they move through the store. they browse for awhile, neither of them too sure about what they want for dinner. it doesn't help that the entire store seems to be chock-full of people pushing around babies. she feels her heart in her throat every time they see a chubby infant in a cart or being carried by a new mother. neither of them mention it.
they decide on spaghetti. she picks up the ingredients for sauce while david searches for spaghetti noodles. they meet up at the self checkout, david grabbing a chocolate bar for her. the ride home is just as silent as the ride to target. they make dinner in relative silence, the only sound being the low volume of a podcast playing--one that neither of them is too invested in. she feels like crying as she chops up garlic cloves.
she excuses herself as soon as they finish eating, leaving david to do the dishes. she sits in the bathroom for awhile, staring in the mirror. she doesn't have the energy to shower. her fingers dip into the waistband of her sweatpants, tugging them down just enough to look at her lower abdomen and hips in the mirror. the skin around her stomach is bruised all the way down to her hips from the injections. the tips of her fingers dance over the tender skin. she winces.
she wonders how it got to this. it's not fair. she can hear david moving about downstairs. she should go help him. he's been nothing but supportive throughout this whole process. holding his head up high even when it got hard. promising that he'd be there for her, even if she didn't want to go through with ivf.
it's not fair. she's too lost in thought to notice the silence that has settled throughout the house. david's knuckles rap against the bathroom door. he waits a second before opening the door, eyes meeting hers in the mirror. "our time will come," he says as he moves to stand behind her, arms wrapping around her waist. she twists the ring on her finger, shakes her head. it's hard to think that way. "we just have to be patient." his lips brush over her jaw, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there.
"it's not fair," she says. he nods his head, lets his hands come to rest on her stomach. "you're such a good person, david. you deserve a baby. you want one so bad. and i can't give that to you." his eyes flicker up to meet hers in the mirror. her face is pale, eyes red and watery. he wishes he could take away all her pain. he'd do it gladly.
"it's not your fault, lovey. just a little bump in the road, yeah? and if this doesn't work, we'll try something else. whatever you want." he squeezes her hand. she smiles, chokes out a quiet laugh through her tears. she doesn't know what to say. "'s not fair, it isn't. but we'll figure it out, honey."
a/n
god i love harry styles
