Will Be Yours Ch. 07

I shook my head. "I've hurt her. I'm sure everybody will come to know... the neighbours, the church, the people at her office. Mom had a standing in society. I've ruined it all for her."

My throat tightened again. "Everybody hates me," I whimpered. "Everybody."

"I don't." Scott hugged me again. I put my arms around him, weeping softly.

"I brought it upon myself," I croaked, "I ruined my life with a stupid mistake."

"We don't learn if we don't make mistakes," he said, gently stroking my head. "And you're so young. In the long life ahead, this will be just a speck."

He cupped my face. "You can live on your own," he smiled. "You have a new job. I'll find you a place to stay and—"

"That's not all," I interjected.

"What do you mean?"

I pulled away and looked at my reflection on the glass-top table. "I think I'm pregnant."

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, "Since when?"

"I'm not sure. I'd been sick for a week. So I decided to take a home test this morning." I shivered when I thought of the strips in my bag, showing two red lines. "It came out positive."

"But didn't you use protection?" The look on Scott's face was incredulous, as though I wasn't capable of something so stupid.

"We did, but not always."

He sighed exasperatedly and sank back in the chair. "This just makes the whole thing a lot more complicated," he said. "Have you seen a doctor?"

I shook my head. "Have you told him?" he asked. I shook my head again.

"Do you intend to?"

"I don't know."

"For god's sake, this is his child!" he screeched, rising from the chair. "He must know and support you."

"What if he thinks I'm trying to trap him with a baby?"

"Trap him?! What the fuck does that mean? I thought you guys love each other."

"Loved. Past tense."

"Cynthia." He brought his face down to mine. "You aren't thinking."

"You weren't listening." I blew my nose in the towel. "He broke up with me. There's no going back."

"Do you support his decision?" he frowned at me. "Do you think he did the right thing by withdrawing the petition?"

"It doesn't matter now," I shook my head. "I'll always be the bad guy. The one in the middle."

"But he was leaving his wife, wasn't he?"

"I told you why he thinks he cannot do it. And at the end of the day, even if he chose me, I'd be responsible for the divorce."

"But in that case, at least you'd have his support."

"He thinks this is the best for me too."

"He thinks he's doing you a favour by leaving you alone and helpless? And pregnant, for god's sake! Just give me his number. I'll show that motherfuc—"

"Scott."

He became silent and leaned against the table, his brow furrowed. I reclined in the chair, closing my eyes. The trembling had stopped. The anxiety had faded a lot. I was sure the fear would go away in a few more days and I'd be able to resume life. Alone.

"I think you need to see a doctor," Scott announced, reaching for his phone. "I'll make an appointment."

"No." My eyes were still closed as I shook my head. "I don't need a doctor."

"You're pregnant, Cynthia. And you were visibly unwell this evening. You need to get a check-up done. "

"First, I need a place to stay."

"You can stay here while I'm in town."

I opened my eyes to look at him. He was smiling down at me.

"Are you sure?" I couldn't believe he was willing to let me stay. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"I know what I'm saying. If you feel uncomfortable, I can get you another room here. It's on me."

"Scott...." my eyes welled up again.

"No more crying." He flicked an errant tear from my cheek with his index finger and smiled. "I'll find you a good, safe place and make sure you are settled before I go."

I stared at him through the tears. Scott and I had always got along like a house on fire. I was privy to a lot of his secrets, including his steamy one night stands before he met his wife, and he had always made me laugh and sheltered me on rainy days. Never in my wildest imaginings had I thought that he'd be the only one to protect me when my family had turned me away.

Suddenly, mom's words from a distant past came back to my mind.

"I've always believed that you don't need to have tonnes of friends. I mean, what's the point of having five thousand friends when none of them are around in bad weather? If you have even one real, unconditional friend, you're lucky, because not many people have that."

"Do you remember the very first assurance you ever gave me?" I smiled brokenly, even as my vision blurred.

"I'm a chatter box," he laughed. "I don't remember most of the things I say."

That was untrue. He always remembered everything.

"You had told me, 'Whenever you need a shoulder to lean on, you know where you can find the widest.'" I looked into his eyes. "You've lived up to it and so much more."

"Ooh, I feel like god!"

His full-bodied laughter echoed through the room as he wrapped me in a secure embrace. I hid my face in the crook of his neck and sobbed quietly.

"You'll be alright," he assured me gently, "I'll talk to your mom once her anger subsides. I'm sure she'll understand."

I didn't want to dwell on it. Sam was going away. My mom would never look at me the same way again. But I'd still have to live. This too would pass.

---

The hallowed halls of the college library seemed haunting to me as I waited at the librarian's desk to return the books I had borrowed before my exams. The man had gone out for a few minutes to talk to somebody and those minutes seemed agonizing for me. It reminded me of Sam, of our favourite table, our favourite books, and the conversations. I still remembered where it all began. The first meeting, the first handshake, the first laugh shared. My puffy eyes surveyed the ceiling high shelves, my vision turning cloudy. I had been staying at the hotel for the last five days. Scott had made the best of arrangements for me, and also intimated Carrie so she could help me with advice if I had any physical difficulty. He had got me fresh clothes, made sure I had proper meals, and kept a strict vigil on me so that I didn't end up doing anything stupid. For the first time in days, I felt safe and cared for.

The librarian returned, apologising for the delay. I held out the books and the membership card, and he went through each title, making sure they were in shape. He then took the card, made a note in the register, and asked me to sign. I put my signature where required and thanked the man, zipping up my bag and leaving my seat. As I walked out of the library for the final time, I kept my eyes fixed on the floor. It was all over. Now I only had one way to look— forward.

I still hadn't decided what I'd do about the baby. Scott had asked me a few times to inform Sam about it but I had been unable to reach him on the phone. Maybe he had already left and changed his number. Something clicked inside me as I approached the stairs. I decided to take a last chance.

Fishing out my phone, I pressed his number again. Hope returned to my heart when it rang. But after a few rings, I was transferred to his voicemail. Not ready to lose it, I started to speak, forgetting to mind my steps in the process.

"Sam, I needed to reach you. I wanted to say that—"

The phone flew out of my hand as I slipped and fell, tumbling down the steep concrete staircase. Before I knew it, I was lying at the foot of the stairs, blood streaming down my face, excruciating pain beginning in my abdomen and spreading through my body. With unclear vision, I saw my phone and my broken spectacles a few feet away. I could not scream for help. The pain was blinding. I tried to rise but found no strength. I raked my nails on the floor, hoping somebody would see me and help me and my baby. It was all that was left of Sam with me. I didn't want to lose that at any cost.

I wasn't sure how fast or how late I received help. Flitting in and out of consciousness, I vaguely saw some medics attending to me. The pain was still searing, leaving me incapacitated. I could see no blood anymore, although the smell of it was still strong.

"She's awake!" somebody spoke, and I saw a face hovering over mine. It was a woman.

"You're in the ambulance," she tried to assure me. "Is there anybody you want us to call? We've recovered your phone and your glasses..."

"Mum..." I groaned as the word left my lips. It hurt to even open my mouth.

But then I remembered that mom didn't want me. Nobody wanted me. I passed out again while watching one of the medics searching for my mother's number on my phone. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a better position. It looked like a hospital. My head injury had been nursed but the pain was still searing. It hurt to even breathe.

My eyes scanned the small, neat room. Where was mom? Hadn't they called her?

The door opened and two women walked in. One was a doctor, the other looked like the medic in the ambulance.

"We couldn't reach your mother," the medic told me. "No one picked up."

I should have known, I thought. If she still cared about me, she would at least have tried to find out where I had been for the past five days.

"Is there anybody else we can call?" she offered with a smile.

"Scott." I gulped slowly. "Scott Wilson."

She picked up my phone from the bedside table and noted Scott's number.

"We're giving him a call. What's your name?"

"Cynthia." My response was feeble.

She gave me a reassuring nod and left the room. Once she was gone, the doctor came forward.

"You needed fifteen stitches," she told me. "It was a bad fall."

I listened quietly, my eyes at the ceiling.

"You also have a fractured rib," she added. "But the most important thing..."

She came closer and held my hand. "Did you know you were pregnant?"

Tears trickled down my temples when I heard the words. I knew the worst had happened.

"Yes." I answered.

"How long had you known?"

"Five days."

"Had you seen a doctor?"

"No."

"Well, you were into your seventh week."

Were?

When I looked at her with questions burning in my eyes, her face turned compassionate.

"I'm sorry, Cynthia," she softly squeezed my hand. "You had a miscarriage."

The words hit me in the middle of my chest. I had lost my baby? Sam's baby. The fruit of our love. I broke into soft sobs when the words registered. The last thread that connected me to the man I'd loved was gone. Forever.

The doctor clasped my hand in her palms and tried to comfort me. "How old are you, Cynthia?" she asked, her voice soothing.

"Twenty-one."

"Are you married?"

I shook my head.

"Did the child have a father?"

I shook my head again.

"Okay." She paused. "We need to clean out your womb since you had an incomplete miscarriage. Don't be afraid. It will take about half an hour. We are going to use general anaesthesia since you're not in a state to be awake. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I nodded. "Tell Scott everything when he arrives," I told her. "He knows me. He's like an older brother."

She offered me a nod and a smile. "We will."

---

When I regained consciousness for the third time that day, I felt the pain return. I tried to open my eyes but even the little light in the room hurt. Through the pain and the fog, I could decipher the ceiling of the room and the lights. The haze cleared slowly, offering me a clearer view, and a little more agony. My head hurt, my body hurt, everything hurt. If I had to choose what was worse, a broken heart or a broken body, I knew I wouldn't be able to take a pick.

"Cynthia..." a familiar voice spoke close to my ear. I tried to turn my head but was unable to. Scott's face appeared above me, smiling nervously, as he held my hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Bad." There was no other word to describe the feeling. I had lost everything. My family, my love, and my baby.

"You'll be fine," he said, "They told me everything."

"My baby...." Tears formed in my eyes and streamed down my temples, soaking in the bandage around my face and head. Scott sighed softly, having no answer to that. Just then I heard a soft creak of the door, and the doctor, who had earlier spoken to me, came in. She gave Scott a smile and focused on me.

"I know you're in pain," she said sympathetically. "But it's going to be okay once the painkillers start working."

She paused, as if filling her lungs with air. It didn't seem good to me. But I was unafraid. I had nothing more to lose.

"Cynthia," she began, and I realised that Scott already knew what she was about to tell me. "This might be hard for you, but... it was a bad fall. And you had a uterine damage."

I had no idea what that was. And I didn't care. I was alive, wasn't I?

"We call it Obstetrical Haemorrhage," she continued. "You will recover with the help of medications, but you may have to deal with infertility issues."

That was a polite way of saying I may never be able to become a mother again. But it didn't matter. I'd make a terrible mother anyway.

"You'll also need to be on complete rest for at least three weeks," she informed me. "Your rib needs to heal, so does your head."

My heart too.

I closed my eyes, absorbing her words. "I understand," I finally said, and got a smile in return.

"You'll be alright," she gave me a nod and lightly tapped my hand. "We'll make sure of that. Oh, my name is Sandra. Dr. Sandra Wells. Call for me if you need anything, okay?"

"Thank you, Dr. Wells," I murmured feebly before she left the room.

Scott came forward, wearing a pensive expression. "I'm sorry," he said sadly. "About everything. I wish—"

"Will you give mom a call?" I asked him. "The doctors couldn't reach her."

"Let me try." He fished out his phone from his pocket and dialled the number I said. I counted the seconds while he waited for her to pick up. Mom knew Scott. I was hoping she'd understand.

"Mrs Adamson?" he spoke when the call connected. "I am Scott Wilson. Cynthia's friend."

A pause of one second. "I'm calling to tell you that Cynthia's had an accident and—"

I opened my eyes to gauge his expression when he was interrupted. He looked surprised. "You don't believe me?" his voice rose a little. "You think I'm calling you to tell a lie?"

Another pause. The shattered pieces of my heart broke further into tiny fragments as he continued his attempt at having the conversation.

"Mrs Adamson, I'm not trying to trick you into taking her back," he looked frustrated. "Your daughter needs you. She's in hospital and in bad shape."

I held out my hand, silently asking for the phone. Scott handed it to me, and I managed to hold it against my ear.

"Mum..." I whimpered, "I need you."

"I'm not your mother anymore," she shot back. "You're no daughter of mine. If you were my daughter, you couldn't have slept with a married man. Your cousin's husband, for Christ's sake!"

"Mum, I—"

"You have no idea of the humiliation you've caused me," she continued. "You've disgraced me. Do you know the things they're saying about you in the neighbourhood? It's getting impossible to leave the house. And you think you can crawl your way back by faking an accident?"

I was at a loss of words. All I could do in reply was shed silent tears. Scott took the phone from me and put it to his ear. It had been disconnected.

"Don't cry," he told me, "You need rest."

"Take me along, please," I sobbed. "Don't leave me alone here. I cannot live like this."

"Your job?"

"I'll give it up."

"Cynthia, you have time," he soothed. "Don't rush, please."

"Take me..." I murmured again.

Scott sighed. "Is that what you want? To come to Velmont Town?"

I nodded. I'd go anywhere he took me. I couldn't stay in Birmingham anymore.

"Alright," he kissed my hand. "I'll call Carrie and ask her to make arrangements. Once you're discharged, you can gather your things from home, and we'll be off. Sounds good?"

I nodded again. Those were the most reassuring words ever spoken to me.

---

I stared at the lawn through the half-open window of the car, while Scott put my luggage in the bonnet. The roses, the lilies, the dahlias, the morning glory. My flowers. My babies. In my hand, I held an Oxeye daisy that grew in hoards in our lawn. It would always remind me of my flowers.

"There now," Scott said as he helped me put on my seat belt. It was nine days after my fall, the sutures had been removed from my head, and I'd been given a jacket that I needed to wear for my rib to heal. I still felt the pain whenever the painkillers lost their effect and even slight movements hurt.

I had later learned that a couple of students at college had seen me lying at the foot of the stairs in a pool of blood, and called the ambulance. I didn't know who they were, but I had thanked them in my mind. I wondered if there was any reason for me to be alive anymore, but I was glad about being rescued anyway.

Scott had helped me gather my clothes, some of my books, CDs and other important things in a travel bag that morning, when the house was empty. Mom didn't want to see me. I had tried to reach her on the phone a lot of times but she hadn't answered. When Scott had come to the house to meet her, she had turned him away. So I found it best to collect my things when she wouldn't be home.

I had left her a note, nevertheless. She needed to know I was sorry for what I'd done to her and that I was going away to spare her any further humiliation.

I'd also called up my office and told them I wouldn't be joining. Obviously surprised, Mr Bridges had tried to change my mind, and had been disappointed when I didn't relent.

I leaned in the back seat and winced slightly. "Try not to move," Scott instructed me, before taking his place behind the wheel. "I'll try to drive slow."

I closed my eyes, trying to erase the image of my beloved lawn from my mind. That was my favourite place. And I was leaving it forever.

"It seems hard, I know," Scott told me from the front seat, looking at my image in the rear view mirror. "But it'll be okay. Tomorrow is always another day."

Yeah, it was. Maybe I'd move on. Maybe I'd grow a new heart. And with any luck, this one would be made of stone.