All My Pain
Up until three days ago, all my pain was self-inflicted. My own hand caused the bruises marking their way across my belly. I was in a panic, ready to do anything to make the whole situation just not be real. I was so careful not to let Dom know. I couldn't...he just wouldn't understand. And I couldn't bear it if he looked at me with an ounce of regret in his eyes. So, whenever I was alone, I would punch myself in the stomach over and over again, as hard as I could. Or I would purposely walk into things – the corner of a table, the edge of a tool box, every doorknob I passed – anything that was the right height to catch me right there in what I thought was the perfect spot. By the time of the accident, I'd been punishing my body for nearly two weeks, determined that if I could just hit myself hard enough, I would start to bleed. Once, I even threw a hammer at myself. It hurt like hell, but it didn't work. Nothing did.
I hadn't bled for nearly eight weeks, and I didn't really want to think about what that meant. One more week, I swore to myself, and if I hadn't started by then, I'd go to the clinic. And then, a semi truck did me the favor of running my car off the road, and suddenly all my wishes for blood came true. I'm still not sure what exactly did the trick. Maybe it was the steering column slamming against me as the car flipped three times. Maybe it was the glass I cut myself on as I climbed out of the broken window. Sometimes, late at night, I even think it might have been the sound of Dom's voice screaming my name.
They say be careful what you wish for, and it sounds like the biggest crock of shit in the world, but they're right. I bled so much I thought it would never stop. So much, I thought I might be dying. At first, it was no big deal. At first, it was everything I wanted. Lying in the backseat of Leon's car, I felt the bleeding start and my only worry was figuring out what to tell Leon when he asked what the fuck I was smiling about. But then, right before we got to San Diego, the pain started. I felt like someone was shoving hot pokers under my skin, a million times worse than any cramps I'd ever had. And then the floodgates opened. I could feel the blood pouring out of me. I remember the look of frustration on Leon's face when I told him I needed to stop at the 7-11 to get some pads – he wanted to get into Tijuana as soon as possible. And I remember the look of horror when he realized I expected him to go inside and buy them. Men can be so predictable, sometimes.
I don't really remember the rest of the drive. Leon managed to find some Tylenol 3 somewhere, and I will always love him for that. Knocked me out cold until we pulled up to the smarmy little hotel where we were supposed to wait for Dom. I don't remember much of the rest of that night, either, just vague sensations of Leon pacing around the bed muttering to himself how much he wished Dom would just hurry the fuck up and get there already.
The next morning I woke up in a hospital bed, Dom's hand resting on my stomach as though he could keep me there.
"Hey baby," he whispered, noticing I was awake.
"Hey," I sighed, luxuriating in just looking at him.
"How you feeling?" he asked, rubbing his hand against my face.
"I...I'm okay," I said, almost surprised. My stomach didn't hurt anymore, and I felt clean, not like I had a river of blood pooling between my thighs. "So what am I doing in here?"
"God, Letty," Dom said, almost wincing. "You scared the hell out of me, you know that? I got to the hotel, and Leon was freaking out... There was so much blood, and you wouldn't wake up..."
"So...what'd they say?" I asked, hesitantly. "Am I...Am I going to be okay?"
A million questions were rushing through my head, questions that I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answers to. Had I really been pregnant? Was I still? Did Dom know?
"Yeah baby," Dom said softly, a slight smile pulling at his mouth. "You'll be fine. Takes more than just a little car wreck to hurt my girl. Made me worry about you, though. But..." he trailed off, no longer smiling at all.
"What, Dom?"
"You were... They said you were pregnant," he said, pulling my hand into his lap.
"I... I thought, maybe... I wasn't sure, though..." I stammered.
"God, baby... Why didn't you tell me?" he muttered, reaching up to rub his forehead. "It all would've been so different... None of this would've happened..."
"You said 'was', Dom," I sighed, questioningly. "Was? As in..."
"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, not looking at me. "They just couldn't stop the bleeding...
Up until three days ago, all my pain was self-inflicted. My own hand caused the bruises marking their way across my belly. I was in a panic, ready to do anything to make the whole situation just not be real. I was so careful not to let Dom know. I couldn't...he just wouldn't understand. And I couldn't bear it if he looked at me with an ounce of regret in his eyes. So, whenever I was alone, I would punch myself in the stomach over and over again, as hard as I could. Or I would purposely walk into things – the corner of a table, the edge of a tool box, every doorknob I passed – anything that was the right height to catch me right there in what I thought was the perfect spot. By the time of the accident, I'd been punishing my body for nearly two weeks, determined that if I could just hit myself hard enough, I would start to bleed. Once, I even threw a hammer at myself. It hurt like hell, but it didn't work. Nothing did.
I hadn't bled for nearly eight weeks, and I didn't really want to think about what that meant. One more week, I swore to myself, and if I hadn't started by then, I'd go to the clinic. And then, a semi truck did me the favor of running my car off the road, and suddenly all my wishes for blood came true. I'm still not sure what exactly did the trick. Maybe it was the steering column slamming against me as the car flipped three times. Maybe it was the glass I cut myself on as I climbed out of the broken window. Sometimes, late at night, I even think it might have been the sound of Dom's voice screaming my name.
They say be careful what you wish for, and it sounds like the biggest crock of shit in the world, but they're right. I bled so much I thought it would never stop. So much, I thought I might be dying. At first, it was no big deal. At first, it was everything I wanted. Lying in the backseat of Leon's car, I felt the bleeding start and my only worry was figuring out what to tell Leon when he asked what the fuck I was smiling about. But then, right before we got to San Diego, the pain started. I felt like someone was shoving hot pokers under my skin, a million times worse than any cramps I'd ever had. And then the floodgates opened. I could feel the blood pouring out of me. I remember the look of frustration on Leon's face when I told him I needed to stop at the 7-11 to get some pads – he wanted to get into Tijuana as soon as possible. And I remember the look of horror when he realized I expected him to go inside and buy them. Men can be so predictable, sometimes.
I don't really remember the rest of the drive. Leon managed to find some Tylenol 3 somewhere, and I will always love him for that. Knocked me out cold until we pulled up to the smarmy little hotel where we were supposed to wait for Dom. I don't remember much of the rest of that night, either, just vague sensations of Leon pacing around the bed muttering to himself how much he wished Dom would just hurry the fuck up and get there already.
The next morning I woke up in a hospital bed, Dom's hand resting on my stomach as though he could keep me there.
"Hey baby," he whispered, noticing I was awake.
"Hey," I sighed, luxuriating in just looking at him.
"How you feeling?" he asked, rubbing his hand against my face.
"I...I'm okay," I said, almost surprised. My stomach didn't hurt anymore, and I felt clean, not like I had a river of blood pooling between my thighs. "So what am I doing in here?"
"God, Letty," Dom said, almost wincing. "You scared the hell out of me, you know that? I got to the hotel, and Leon was freaking out... There was so much blood, and you wouldn't wake up..."
"So...what'd they say?" I asked, hesitantly. "Am I...Am I going to be okay?"
A million questions were rushing through my head, questions that I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answers to. Had I really been pregnant? Was I still? Did Dom know?
"Yeah baby," Dom said softly, a slight smile pulling at his mouth. "You'll be fine. Takes more than just a little car wreck to hurt my girl. Made me worry about you, though. But..." he trailed off, no longer smiling at all.
"What, Dom?"
"You were... They said you were pregnant," he said, pulling my hand into his lap.
"I... I thought, maybe... I wasn't sure, though..." I stammered.
"God, baby... Why didn't you tell me?" he muttered, reaching up to rub his forehead. "It all would've been so different... None of this would've happened..."
"You said 'was', Dom," I sighed, questioningly. "Was? As in..."
"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, not looking at me. "They just couldn't stop the bleeding...