pieces. That wasn’t Liv. She wouldn’t let herself stoop so very low and crumble like ash. How did this happen?
I snapped. Slamming my hand on the power buttons, ripping cords out of amps and wall sockets with a ferocious fury. Tossing my guitar on the bed as I untangled myself from the mess of cords, I stomped off to the bathroom and took a good look at my face in the mirror.
This had to stop. This deconstruction of Liz. I could tolerate a lot of things but not this. I couldn’t disintegrate so easily. I wouldn’t let it own me regardless of how dysfunctional I could be. I turned the sink on and splashed my blotchy face with cold water. After drying off, I smeared make up on, rubbing it in until it was smooth and immaculate. Finishing up, I smiled at the composed face I’d created—every line in its place. Then, I raked the brush through the nest of hair I’d let go awry. Finally smoothing it into a manageable mane, I pulled it through a headband and tucked some of my hair into it, allowing most of it to fall out for a half swept up look.
Finally, slipping large hoop earrings onto my ears and swiping a bright fire engine red lipstick onto my lips, I stepped back and sat on the edge of the tub, studying the reflection of a very vibrant and confidant young woman staring back.
It was time to get back to reality. Damned be anyone who stood in my fucking way.
Chapter Four
Audrey
“I’m sorry to tell you this…but…I couldn’t detect a heartbeat.”
The doctor gripped onto the manila folder in her tiny, pale hands. I didn’t really hear her speaking, for I knew what the words would be. I stopped listening before she was done, my eyes drifting out the small window near the compact sink and counter across from me.
The sky was so blue. Not just the normal blue, but a vivid azure that taunted me with a happy vibe. I didn’t want the happy right now. I wanted to scream, grab the stupid metal table that held all the gynecologist’s instruments on its brushed nickel surface and fling it at that stomach twisting happy blue to shatter it into a thousand little pieces.
“Miss Westing?” I blinked back toward the doctor, feeling the tears still stinging behind my eyes but willing them to hold behind the fierce dam of anger building inside. “Are you alright?”
I gave her a weak nod and forced a dim smile onto my face.
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Doctor. Can I get dressed now?”
Dr. Lanister watched me pensively, eyes full of sympathy. I wanted to tell her to shove it down her petite throat. I wanted none of it.
“Yes, you may get dressed. Just check out at the desk when you’re finished.” She threw me a quick, practiced smile, full of grace and gentile. I focused on her stethoscope and brilliant white lab coat as she made her way out the door and then clicked it softly shut behind her.
She didn’t know the pit of despair sucking me into its bottomless abyss inside my stomach. How could she? I’d seen her desk when I’d first come here. The pictures of wide smiles and laughing blonde children that graced the shiny frames arranged at the corners of her desk told me everything I needed to know about her sympathy. I wanted none of it.
I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I would need another procedure if I didn’t begin to bleed soon and expel any material left in my womb. That’s what they called it. Material. Not dead baby, not fetus, embryo or fertilized egg. Material. Like it was an unwanted ream of linen waiting to be cut away from my insides. How callus. How absolutely blind she truly was to what I felt inside. She knew nothing of empathy for a person like me.
I ripped off the paper gown before shoving it into the trash can. Dressing as fast as possible, my hair flew up with static as I tugged my head through the collar of my sweater. I hated this place. I hated being here. I hoped I wouldn’t ever have to return. Finally slipping my shoes on, I tore the door open and hurried to
I snapped. Slamming my hand on the power buttons, ripping cords out of amps and wall sockets with a ferocious fury. Tossing my guitar on the bed as I untangled myself from the mess of cords, I stomped off to the bathroom and took a good look at my face in the mirror.
This had to stop. This deconstruction of Liz. I could tolerate a lot of things but not this. I couldn’t disintegrate so easily. I wouldn’t let it own me regardless of how dysfunctional I could be. I turned the sink on and splashed my blotchy face with cold water. After drying off, I smeared make up on, rubbing it in until it was smooth and immaculate. Finishing up, I smiled at the composed face I’d created—every line in its place. Then, I raked the brush through the nest of hair I’d let go awry. Finally smoothing it into a manageable mane, I pulled it through a headband and tucked some of my hair into it, allowing most of it to fall out for a half swept up look.
Finally, slipping large hoop earrings onto my ears and swiping a bright fire engine red lipstick onto my lips, I stepped back and sat on the edge of the tub, studying the reflection of a very vibrant and confidant young woman staring back.
It was time to get back to reality. Damned be anyone who stood in my fucking way.
Chapter Four
Audrey
“I’m sorry to tell you this…but…I couldn’t detect a heartbeat.”
The doctor gripped onto the manila folder in her tiny, pale hands. I didn’t really hear her speaking, for I knew what the words would be. I stopped listening before she was done, my eyes drifting out the small window near the compact sink and counter across from me.
The sky was so blue. Not just the normal blue, but a vivid azure that taunted me with a happy vibe. I didn’t want the happy right now. I wanted to scream, grab the stupid metal table that held all the gynecologist’s instruments on its brushed nickel surface and fling it at that stomach twisting happy blue to shatter it into a thousand little pieces.
“Miss Westing?” I blinked back toward the doctor, feeling the tears still stinging behind my eyes but willing them to hold behind the fierce dam of anger building inside. “Are you alright?”
I gave her a weak nod and forced a dim smile onto my face.
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Doctor. Can I get dressed now?”
Dr. Lanister watched me pensively, eyes full of sympathy. I wanted to tell her to shove it down her petite throat. I wanted none of it.
“Yes, you may get dressed. Just check out at the desk when you’re finished.” She threw me a quick, practiced smile, full of grace and gentile. I focused on her stethoscope and brilliant white lab coat as she made her way out the door and then clicked it softly shut behind her.
She didn’t know the pit of despair sucking me into its bottomless abyss inside my stomach. How could she? I’d seen her desk when I’d first come here. The pictures of wide smiles and laughing blonde children that graced the shiny frames arranged at the corners of her desk told me everything I needed to know about her sympathy. I wanted none of it.
I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I would need another procedure if I didn’t begin to bleed soon and expel any material left in my womb. That’s what they called it. Material. Not dead baby, not fetus, embryo or fertilized egg. Material. Like it was an unwanted ream of linen waiting to be cut away from my insides. How callus. How absolutely blind she truly was to what I felt inside. She knew nothing of empathy for a person like me.
I ripped off the paper gown before shoving it into the trash can. Dressing as fast as possible, my hair flew up with static as I tugged my head through the collar of my sweater. I hated this place. I hated being here. I hoped I wouldn’t ever have to return. Finally slipping my shoes on, I tore the door open and hurried to
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