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You are surprised at how natural it feels being beside him. No longer are you too shy to look at him for fear of melting underneath that stare, flushed with enough hormones to drive even a god mad, so new to the idea of men and their affections that even a smile used just right swayed you in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Maybe it is because you had spent so much time around him lately that it couldn’t take you by surprise anymore, or maybe the little life growing inside of you had sucked up all your desire to be wooed. A sideways glance is cast towards him, your eyes tracing from the thick lines of his legs to the broadness of his chest, the muscles coiling and releasing tantalizingly slowly as the two of you meandered along in the breaking light; finally reaching the crest of his neck to the subtle lines of his large face. It is when your eyes meet his that you pause in your inspection, a smile tugging playfully at the corners of your lips. It is in this simple once-around that you determine it must be the latter, that or maybe he had given up on you in the state you found yourself in all together. You nearly laugh then, the thought of him suddenly losing interest all too amusing, shaking your head just enough to send stray curls tumbling across your face in disagreement with your silent argument. It is as your lips part to provoke some sort of banter that you all but freeze in your tracks, a sharp pain shooting through your gut forcing a moan instead of words. For a moment you do nothing, staring blankly ahead, fear draining the color from your face as a second wave of pain hits you hard. Your thoughts instantly turn to the child you had harbored for what seemed like ever, questions of if such a sudden onset was normal, or if you had ignored the signs long enough for it to progress to such a point. You shoot a scattered look to the man that no doubt had kept walking, unaware of your predicament, mumbling his name along with something along the vague lines of oh fuck it might be time, unsure of whether he would hear you or not. Months of knowing still had not prepared you for the eventuality of bringing a child into the world. Your mind hadn’t rested from the what ifs and how tos, and, despite of normally thinking of yourself as mature at your age, being half a child yourself still. You couldn’t have known how you would be as a mother, and having the entire existence of something depend solely on you had, and does, terrify you. A part of you relishes it, a part that cannot wait to teach and show and learn, to love, to watch as they grow and become something better than what you had ever been, had ever hoped for them. But a part of you, however small, has dreaded the responsibility of raising something and all of the things that could go wrong. There is no more time for trying to prepare now, no more time for your what ifs and doubt as you relinquish your relative control and let your body continue on auto-pilot. Slowly your mind begins to pull from the world of dreams that you had retreated to, away from the burning pain that had engulfed the back end of your body, the pressure that occupied the rest of it. You do not know how long you have been lost, only that the sun that had been but a breath against the blooming dawn is now blinding within a blue sky. “Rohan,” It is him that you remember first, your voice quiet and strained, the effort of simply speaking nearly too much. Your eyes search for his masculine frame, clouded by a pink mist that you can only assume is blood. Panic swells within you as you become more coherent, the pieces clicking neatly into place as your head snaps upwards and you are greeted with dizziness, the simple motion alerting you to just how tired you are, how drained. But it does not matter. All that matters is her. Your heart bursts as your eyes settle on a tiny frame, so reminiscent of the man that had given her to you, black against the fresh life of spring. You cannot refuse the smile that comes to you then, the way your heart beats solely for her suddenly, the way everything else fades and the weight of your world shifts to center around her. Your joy is tempered only by the shadow of a doubt, of a fear as black as she is, one that you reject as instantly as it comes to you, your instinct telling you something is wrong but your heart is too stubborn to give in. But as the moments pass, your eyes never wandering from that little rib cage, waiting with your own breath caught in your throat for it to move, it becomes more and more apparent that something had gone wrong. Instinct dictates that she should have been trying to move, trying to stand, that you wouldn’t have slept because she would have woken you, needing you so because she is so frail and new. “Nn-no,” You stammer, lurching gracelessly to your feet which nearly give way to your weight as soon as you stand, stumbling as you bring your face to her neck, nudging it with a tenderness as if you are afraid to hurt her, hoping to provoke a response. When nothing happens you suck in a shaky breath, your eyes growing hot with tears that you try to blink away, your heavy heart sinking to the very pit of your stomach. Despite the exhaustion of your body, the limitations that you know are there, you will your magic to spark to life, the electricity of it reaching out for anything but the emptiness of death that emanates from her, the lump in your throat getting harder to swallow as it fails once, then twice, before receding back into you, healing torn flesh out of instinct before fading into nothing. You sob then, a sound that is not altogether natural, filled with a pain that you are too small to process, your whole body shaking from your breaking heart as you press your lips to the small curve of her dark cheek, the wetness of your tears staining it darker. With nothing left to save her, you sway, collapsing once more beside the tangled mess of a body, brows furrowing as your eyes trace over every little detail that was to be your daughter, your very first love; gone before she ever even took a breath, before her heart ever beat, before she could know and feel the way she is so very much loved. It is only then that you look to him, to the man that had been your strength this whole time, wordlessly pleading for him to do something, anything, despite knowing that he cannot. “I ... I don't understand.” |
@Rohan @Misael
eeeee <3 excited~
