“I know, and, Darcey, I will never, ever do that again. I will never run out on you again, never leave your side. I am here, forever. For you and our little bean.” I sat anxiously, waiting for her to answer me, but she didn’t. She just sat back on the bed, pulling the duvet over her and shutting me out.
I deserved it, I really did. I leant across, kissing her on her forehead, then moved down to her flat stomach.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to our unborn child before walking out of the bedroom and leaving her to hate me. I knew I had fucked up, but I really thought she was going to forgive me.
I walked into the large dressing room that was in the house, pulling out the jewellery drawer and placing her ring back into its ring box, letting out a deep sigh as I closed it. I peeled off my suit from work, the evening was stuffy, and I needed to wash the shit-show of today off of me. Well, at least try to.
I left my clothes in a pile on the floor. I’ll pick them up later. I walked into the fully tiled bathroom, stepping under the levelled shower, turning it on and letting the hot water burn my skin.
How could I have been so fucking stupid? I should have never reacted in that way. Not to her.
I wanted to go back in there, scoop her up in an embrace and kiss the pain away. But I knew I had to leave her, I said what I needed to say.
Once out the shower, I dried myself off, rough-drying my hair and running my fingers through it, the waves starting to show already. I walked back into the dressing room and grabbed a pair of loose, cotton shorts. I pulled them on, then hung the towel back up on the towel rail before putting my clothes in the laundry basket.
I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror, the sight sickened me. I was embarrassed by my behaviour.
My eyes moved down to the tattoo of her on my stomach. I still remember when I had this done. She still hated me. Fuck, I still hated her when I had it done, but the hate was only lacing the love I felt for her.
I ran my hand over it, my lips pulling into a smile. My smile soon faded when the guilt crashed through me, reminding me of what I had done to her tonight. I padded downstairs, trying to be quiet as I walked into the kitchen, then walked down the stairs that were in the large pantry cupboard and down to the basement where Carter had every alcoholic beverage you could want.
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey before walking back upstairs to the kitchen, placing the bottle on the worktop before reaching up and grabbing a crystal tumbler out of the cupboard. I opened the whiskey, bringing it to my nose and sniffing it, wincing and pulling away. It burned my nostrils, that’s how strong it was. I hadn’t drunk whiskey since before I left for the army. Part of me didn’t want to drink it, knowing I would probably spiral down into a dark place, but the other part of me felt like I needed it, just to numb the hurt that I was feeling.
I poured myself a small amount, bringing it to my lips and taking a sip, the brown poison burning my throat on its way down, the smoothness making it slide down like silk. I winced slightly before taking another sip, this time it was more like a mouthful. I grabbed the neck of the bottle and walked through to the lounge. I sat myself on the sofa, in the dark with complete silence round me.
I didn’t want noise.
I wanted my thoughts to haunt me, to make me feel like absolute dog-shit for what I had done.
DARCEY
I laid in bed, still hurt from the events of the night before. I know I should have forgiven him when he came home last night, but I was still reeling and angry from dinner. A hint of a smile graced my face at the yellow roses that were still laying on the bed, and the big bar of galaxy.
I looked beside me and realised that Conor hadn’t come to bed last night. I mean, why would he when I ignored his apology? I threw the heavy duvet back before climbing out of bed and walking towards the door. I checked the three spare rooms, my heart dropping a little more each time I didn’t see him lying in the beds.
I ran downstairs, my hand sliding down the oak bannister as I did. I walked straight into the kitchen, seeing the pantry door open. I knew he had been into the basement for alcohol which scared me to death as he hasn’t drunk properly since before the army.
I ran down to the basement, now frantic to find him, but he wasn’t there either.
Fuck.
I ran back up the stairs, tripping up and landing on my belly, the edge of the stair pushing into my stomach. A small cry left me, but I couldn’t stop, I needed to make sure he was okay. I pushed off the stairs and climbed up them, walking out the pantry and into the kitchen again. I moved down the marble hallway, stopping in the lounge next. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw him on the sofa, curled up and asleep.
I noticed the crystal tumbler in his hand, his thumb still holding onto it, my eyes then moved to the whiskey bottle, my lips curling when I saw that it had hardly been drunk. I was grateful that he had fallen asleep.
I walked over, bending down to take the glass from his grip, placing it on the coffee table. When I stood up, an almighty pain shot through my stomach, causing me to cry out. Conor jumped in his sleep, his eyes wide as he saw me. My hand was over my stomach, and another cramp shot through me, making my scream.
I don’t know why, but I moved my hand in-between my legs to make sure I was okay. I paled, my eyes frantic with worry. Conor hopped up, wrapping his arms around me and ushering me to the front door.
“I’ll be two seconds, I need a T-shirt.” His face was etched in worry.
I saw him run up the stairs, taking three steps in each stride. I could hear the wardrobe doors banging before he was at the top of the stairs and jumping them as quick as he could. He grabbed me one of his hoody’s as I was only in a vest and shorts. I pulled it over my head before he ushered me slowly down the steps and out to my car that was parked out front.
He opened the passenger door and helped me in, closing the door behind me. He ran round the other side, starting the car and pushing it into gear as we drove towards the hospital. He took my hand in his, squeezing it before bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of my hand, his lips lingering.
His scared eyes came over to mine, there was so much I wanted to say but I couldn’t talk, I was petrified. I knew if I opened my mouth to say something to him, I would burst into tears, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop.
“It’s going to be okay, baby, I promise,” he said softly, his eyes now back on the road. The radio was playing softly in the back ground, when Lewis Capaldi, “Before You Go,” started echoing round the car.
My bottom lip was trembling, my throat constricted and tight from the lump that was growing by the second.
It needed to be okay, it had to be okay.
We made it to the hospital in good time, the traffic was light for a Saturday morning. Conor abandoned the car outside the front of accident and emergency, opening the door and running to my side, helping me out before walking slowly with me into the waiting room.
“Go take a seat, baby,” he said before he walked to the check-in desk. I was conscious that people were looking at me. I didn’t want to be here, I wanted to home with Conor, wrapped in his arms.
He was next to me within minutes, his arm wrapping around me and pulling me close, his kisses on the top of my head. This is what I wanted, just not in a hospital waiting room. It felt like we were waiting hours before I was finally called in to be assessed.