The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

“Merci, Doctor. Rousea. I will take care of her.” Janetta ushers the man out of my bedroom and I stay where I am, laid on the bed, numb and lifeless with no feelings or thoughts in my head. Like an empty shelf of nothingness as time ticks slowly by.

It all happened so fast that it seems like a dream to me now. I don’t even remember how I even got here… I remember only the basics like some long lost almost forgotten memory and then here he was, this man examining me, and she was wiping my tears and holding my hand through the pain. There was so much pain.

I saw it. I knew before he had his hands on me. I knew before Janetta turned to me with a white pallor and pained expression because I saw it all. The little thing he lifted from the bathroom floor, so small it was barely real and scooped into a little plastic tub like it was some god damn fucking leftovers at a buffet. I wanted to fight him for it.

I saw them try to hide it under a dish towel and take it away, like it was a sinful thing and not a piece of me, but it was too late. I saw every single little detail because it was me that left it lying on the bathroom floor all alone, because I was too scared to keep staring at my loss. It was me that felt it let go, left it there when it slid from me amid pain and convulsions, touched it, held it, and broke to pieces in every single way before I somehow found myself in her arms on my own bed.

The bed is blood smeared, but I don’t care. I don’t want to move or feel anything. I just want Arrick. I want him right here, right now, to make this better. To make it all go away. To take the heavy weighted lead from my heart that is crushing me down and help me breathe freely once more.

My little mini Sophie inside of me decided I wasn’t going to be a great mom after all, and I know it’s because I kept telling it that I didn’t want to be.

I didn’t mean it.

I can’t cry anymore; that part of me that runs into hiding when the pain is too much, it’s there numbing it out with every minute that I blankly blink at the ceiling, staring ahead as I realize I need to call Arrick and tell him to come home. Sick at the thought of telling him I ruined everything.

He doesn’t know

He’s in New York

This will crush him.

“You rest, mademoiselle. I will make you soup and some fresh bread, non?” Janetta is fluffing around me, fixing the bed clothes, trying to pull the soaked comforter from under me and I give her minimal help. She manages to side it away, lifting my legs and patting my naked skin and I stare at her in complete zombie state. She somehow managed to get underwear on me and a pad to catch the evidence of my carnage, all while I laid here like some shell who has no sense of time or space.

I miscarried my child, before it even begun… because I blamed it for its daddy going away.

I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to have a baby…

Then why do I feel like I’ve had my heart ripped through my chest and nothing is better at all? Why do I feel so empty?

“I need to call him.” I say quietly, voice low and even I can hear how lifeless and robotic I sound. I’m so detached from reality right now and only the aching left over cramps in my abdomen remind me of what happened. What I’ve lost.

up my cell from the bedside and hands it to me, patting me on the hand gently and I stare at her some more.

yet somehow, I know that I am not okay. That when this wears off this is going to be a hell of a lot worse and I am not even beginning to understand how I feel. My head

he’s at work already. I have no clue how long he has been gone or if he’s even still on his flight. I have lost hours of time, maybe days and I have no idea what

sort of reaction to that. I know her voice, the pangs of jealousy she ignites in me normally, do not even register at

line, he is in a meeting can I take a message.” Amanda sounds bright and perky and I sigh heavily, closing my

I don’t care if he is in a meeting. He will want to know. He won’t care if I disrupt it; he’s Arry, my Arry and this will be as important to him as it is to

Sophie? As of this morning you

my throat and breathe through the prickly tears that hit

cling on while crouching on the bathroom floor. I begged it to stay. I told it if it just

and I cannot interrupt.” She says a tad more haughtily and my temper rises.

Go fucking get my Fiancée like I fucking told you to.” I bite at

thinks she can stand between

to tell him I am calling. I bet she hopes he tells her to dismiss me, so she can have some pleasure at snubbing me,

she is deliberating taking an age just to piss me off as I stare blankly at our bedroom wall. I hate that he is so far away, but I need to get this over and done with. Saying it aloud, saying the words might make it more real and I might feel something more than this aching gap that is robbing me

my eyes at the almost normal tone of his voice. He still has a voice that makes everything feel better. Like coming home to a warm hug. Whether he knows it or not, right

too calm, unemotional and sort of strange. Like I’m not really here at

okay…I’m glad you called. I hate when we argue, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I’m sorry, baby, I know I left mid fight. I feel shitty as hell for it.” He’s trying for upbeat, apologetic, and sincere, but I can hear people behind him and Amanda’s nagging voice reminding him he has people waiting. She clearly thinks it’s a lover’s tiff being put to bed and doesn’t know the importance of this

fuck up and

it’s just gone.” It comes out, like a meaningless nothing announcement but I don’t know how else to say it. I have no words.

me, it doesn’t even irritate me. This weird numbness spreading further, and

so innocent of the words I am about to strike him with. Concern and confusion mixed in that husky

I’m sorry, Arry.

is like a stabbing hot poker to my heart and my eyes fill with full tears, unable to

a deathly silence on the line as though everything drops into nothing, and for a long

Neither do I.

the way it should be hitting me, yet I’m too calm. The silence is agony however and I have the urge to fill it with words. I can’t stand silent Arrick; it

memory of