Anniversaries have a funny way of evoking powerful memories. Read and Review, this is a topic a little closer to home than usual.

"Real loss only occurs when you lose something you love more than yourself."

--Anonymous

Lost

"Oh my God," Catherine whispered hoarsely. She clutched her heaving, swollen stomach. Her breath quickened. There was something terribly wrong. Pain shot through her entire body. It was absolutely excruciating. Her legs buckled, and she tumbled onto the cold linoleum floor of the bathroom. A choked sob erupted from her throat, as she lay quaking on the white tiles. Tears stained her cheeks, dripped on to her lips and splashed onto the floor. She could not stop them. They would snake out of her eyes. They just kept coming. Catherine wondered how many tears it would take for her to finally drown in them. However many tears fell, it could not even begin to amount to the blood.

There was blood everywhere. It seemed to pour out of her—gush even. Her hands were slick with it. It stained the toilet seat; it dripped from the bowl of the sink. There was a long trail on the once pristinely white shower curtain, where she had attempted to catch herself as she fell. A wave of pain ran through her, pervading her entire body—like waves of electricity. Catherine made no attempt to aim for the toilet bowl. She retched violently onto the floor beside her head. Her brown hair was plastered against her scalp and neck. It was soaked with blood, sweat tears, and now bile. And suddenly, amongst all the pain… In the midst of her bodily chaos, there was a very pronounced and debilitating emptiness. It started small, growing and growing exponentially. As it grew, the pain died, her insides decayed. The gory scene before her disappeared. It was suddenly trivial.

"She's gone," Catherine whispered tearfully. A sob forced its way out of her body. The connection she had once felt, the light that glowed within her was gone. There was no sign of warmth, no sign of the tiny life. Catherine descended into frantic hysteria. Why was this happening? What did she do? Thousands of questions ran rampant in her mind, but it all of them boiled down into one, two-worded phrase. In her mind it answered everything, even though it didn't answer anything it all. It was simply the only thing that mattered.

"She's gone, she's gone, she's gone!" Her body rocked back and forth. Her porcelain skin was pale from horror and blood loss. Catherine's despairing mantra became nothing more than unintelligible sobbing. She let it all out. There was no one nearby to hear her. No one to come to her and coddle her, to hold her hair as she retched. No one to whisper sweet nothings to; no promises of impending better times. There were no devotions of love, and life to come. There was no comfort, no warmth. Just cold floors, covered in blood. Just cold, dark, emptiness.

"She's really gone…" She breathed, despairing. It was her last coherent thought before her vision swam with spots and faded to darkness.

Catherine awoke several hours later in a daze. Her vision was blurred, and her limbs felt weak. Slowly, she sat up. The pain in her swollen belly had decreased, but the oppressive emptiness was still there. Several moments passed before she felt the strength o stand. Catherine turned on the faucet, and began to wash away the blood. Peripherally, her eyes caught the shape of a very dark, deep red mass. The blood around it was thick and clotted. Not bothering to turn off the water, she turned towards the mass. She blinked her vision clear, and leaned closer. Her mind confirmed her horrifying suspicion. There was an outline of a painfully tiny child. No bigger than the size of her palm. Catherine shrieked. Sobs viciously racked her body. She could not bear to look at her. She grabbed the dark blue towel from the silver rack behind her, and tossed it over the bloody figure. Catherin wrapped her up, and gently placed her on the windowsill. She began cleaning once more, still sobbing quietly. Once the bathroom was clean, she turned on the shower. For a long time she just stood there, letting the hot water pummel her skin. It felt good, as dollops of warmth cascaded down her shoulders. Her hair hung in her face, but she didn't mind. The hot water coursed down her face like tears. The tears began again. She slid down to the floor of the tub, watching the pink water course towards the drain.

"Ama," Catherine whispered, stroking her stained stomach. The name fell sadly from her lips. She stood carefully, and held the still visible swell.

Someone knocked at the door. She turned off the shower, and wrapped herself in the extra towel. Catherine opened the door, holding the rolled up towel under her arm. It was Trowa. His quiet green eyes always evoked sadness in her. They reminded her of her lost little brother, Triton. However, this time, they brought comfort. She smiled slightly.

"Shouldn't you be dressed already?" He questioned, looking down at his watch. It was fifteen minutes till eight. They had a show to do. Catherine gasped, still clutching her makeshift winding sheet.

"Five minutes." She said quietly. Catherine pushed passed him to her dressing room. Did he notice the blood seeping through the towel? She hoped not.

Trowa nodded and headed towards the circus tent. He had noted something different about Catherine, but could not place it. There was something missing. However, Trowa was not sure what it was in the first place. Perhaps it was the look in her eyes, or the half-hearted attempt at a smile. Of course, he did not say anything. He never said anything.

And for a very long time, neither did she.

…….

Forgive me for any OOC-ness. I am considering continuing this—perhaps because the chapter in my life has not yet closed. Why should hers? That said—take it or leave it for what it is. Review though; I'm interested in what you think.