#and we'd grow food and eat dinners and have movie nights

[mostlikelyshutup]

and if i said i wanted to own a couple acres and build houses for each of my friends and own chickens together, would you judge me for that?

[jedi-bird]

Got very little sleep last night and decided a nap was necessary to get through today. Didn't expect to have weird dreams about my family and remembering just how many times I was expected to accommodate everyone else but made fun every time I needed something.

One of my cousins was terrified of balloons after one popped in his face when he was two (understandable and completely legitimate). My grandma always made sure I put any toys away that even remotely resembled balloons (balls included); it was hard for me to understand at first because I was three but she patiently explained about being scared and how things looked similar and I got it enough to agree and go along with it.

I was terrified of the board game Operation. Even as an adult, everything about that game is designed to put me on edge. I hated the sounds, the hated the image, I hated the thought of taking things out of even a fake person. One of my cousins loved the game and always played it when we were at their house. So I used to go and sit with my grandma and the other adults (quietly, because I had been taught to not interrupt or bother them) and just wait until it was time to eat or leave. My aunt used to get so annoyed by this and would try to make me go back. I told her why I didn't want to and my grandma would insist I could sit with her. Until one day when my cousin said we'd play dolls and then pulled out the game. Before I could leave her room my aunt came in and set it in the doorway knowing I wouldn't step over it. My grandma found me an hour later crying all alone because I couldn't go near that game no matter what. I know they had a fight over that but don't remember it too well. After that, whenever we were at their house, my grandma made me stay with her to help her.

Different cousin destroyed a toy that my best friend had given to me at her birthday party. I never saw her again after that because she moved and then there was a major earthquake that killed people and I never could find her after. I loved that stupid little toy. It was a cake topper and she had specifically picked it out and given it to me. My cousin took it to play with at dinner and got mad at her dad about something and ripped it to pieces right then and there. I was devastated but got yelled at by that uncle to just grow up, it was only a stupid toy. That same cousin ripped up all my coloring books while staying with us once because she wanted to watch a movie and my grandma told her no.

I spent years making sure everyone else in my family was comfortable (locking my cats up in a side room when they came over because my aunt was allergic; specifically getting them their favorite drinks and foods even if it meant I had to skip lunches until my next paycheck; making sure my grandpa sent them Christmas and birthday gifts and cards and often using my own money to buy the stuff if he didn't have enough). And yet, anything that they knew would upset me that made sure to do. I guess they enjoyed my discomfort. They stole my stuff and destroyed it and tried to hurt my animals and always told my I was overreacting when I'd get upset.

I don't know why I'm remembering all of this today. I've moved on. I've gone very low contact. I'm in a better place. Maybe it's the insomnia catching up finally. Whatever it is, at least I can laugh about it now.

[fluffybutt-7]

Whats your vision of a perfect night with your future partner? I can take a guess though, perhaps starting off smoking and watching a movie. During the movie I'd be giving you snacks and telling you sweet nothings, like how you've been such a good boi by growing so fluffy and hot already but ill supplement that with how now that we're together you won't even have to do all the work anymore. I'll do it for you, letting you grow as big as your heart desires. After the movies I'd finishing preparing your dinner and help you eat the feast I prepared for you while giving you belly rubs and massages making sure you're comfortable the entire time. Afterwards we could have some in the bedroom, but if not we'd have the best cuddles as we talk until you passout from all the food you managed to pack in.

Sorry if this is too much 😅

-AS

Ohhh my god that’s not too much at all

That’s beautiful, fucking perfect. Every piece of it- that really would be a perfect night in. Or just a perfect night in general, I’m sure with that kind of care it wouldn’t be too long before I was too fat to waddle out the door. 🥺❤️ And the respect about what I’d wanna do in the bedroom?? Fucking fire 🥵❤️😩

These seriously make my heart melt. Thank you so much, my lovely lovely Anon.

[vanchlo]

The Partner / Chapter Eleven, "The Abyss"

Word Count: 5.4k /  Story Masterlist /  Read The Assistant /  Read on Wattpad / Song: / It's Not The Same Anymore by Rex Orange County (click to listen) / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death, grief, and miscarriage

"The day after my baby died what shocked me the most was the sun still rose, and the post still slipped through my mailbox, and I still got thirsty, and the birds still sang, and the traffic lights still changed colour . . but my world had stopped, my planet had stopped spinning."

- Zoe Clark-Coates

I tried to stay there, beside him and with him, but I couldn't. The stillness had returned and I was sucked into its world once again, watching time pass in front of me. Waking up was the hardest, knowing what I had come back to and not wanting to move, let alone leave the bed. It wasn't ours and I was glad for it, if it was the only thing that made me feel a hint of that. I couldn't imagine lying in ours and my recommended bed rest was welcomed.

I didn't try to fight it, the emptiness that swam around inside of me, silencing my ears to Harry's words. His questions and pleas for me to eat. Somehow, I sat there and I did, sometimes. I ate and laid on the couch, watching Friends with him. He didn't think I noticed, but I did. I saw how he skipped the episodes where Phoebe was pregnant as we watched the show through for what must be the third time. I wasn't asleep like he thought when he tearfully told my dad over the phone what had happened. His sister. My brother. I pretended again when Skye stopped over with food that Harry took quietly, and when Myles did too. I listened in the bedroom or on the couch, my eyes closed, as he cried to his mom and then his best friend. I was there listening, but I wasn't there feeling. I couldn't.

I'd lost count of how many times I'd blinked and Harry had been talking to me, going on to repeat himself for what- the fourth time? How was I supposed to know?, I think this time as he stares back at me, a not so secret sigh following his words.

"I'm sorry. What'd you say?"

"I said you need to eat," he repeats, nodding his head towards the plate of food I hadn't touched. I should've known. Despite it being our favorite tacos from Pedro's, I couldn't even stomach the idea of actually eating it. Sighing, he's shaking his head as he dumps another helping of their chips onto his plate. "I don't want to argue about this again. You need to eat, love."

"Neither do I, but I'm not hungry, Harry."

Snapping the lid back onto the nacho cheese sauce, his head is shaking back and forth. Watching his movements, he habitually bites at his bottom lip, seemingly coaxing the words back in.

"I didn't push when you weren't hungry at breakfast, but it's two in the afternoon, Becks. You-."

"I had a protein drink. I'm fine."

"How can you say that?!" his volume shocks me, hearing his words echo around the empty house. Gulping, I look away from his fiery eyes and to the food that makes my stomach turn. "You're not fine. All you've had to eat the last few days are a few bites at meals, and those stupid protein drinks. That can't be healthy. You need to eat because . . "

"Because why, Harry?" I speak up, bringing my eyes back to his. They avoid mine though as he stands across the island from me, rubbing his thumb along the tip of another finger. "You don't know, do you? You can't use the 'eating for two' excuse anymore, because I'm not . . eating for two, am I? I'm not . . not pregnant, so why should I need to eat? You don't have an answer, do you?"

"Because of you, Becks. You need to heal, your body needs the food and-," he begins to insist, but my sharp tongue can't be controlled.

"Trying to shove food down my throat and practically counting the number of bites I take is not going to heal my body, Harry," I retort, sliding off the barstool and stomping my way up the stairs.

Stopping at the landing, I'm not sure what led me up here, seeing as how we're sleeping downstairs now. Something about 'less exertion on my part and I haven't even stepped foot in our bedroom since then' being the reason for the move. The day we came home Harry had moved everything downstairs that we'd needed, and to the bathroom that we use now. It wasn't the same, but was anything anymore?

"Why can't you just talk to me?" he calls from the kitchen. Already, I'm shaking my head before he's finished. I take one step and then two, but I don't get any further when I see the door to the other guest bedroom. The room where they would have slept, and one that I most of all can't step foot in. My foot lifts but I place it back down, wishing I could but knowing that I can't. No, everything about the wound still felt too fresh and I know that I'm not ready to walk back into the nursery. But when could I ever be?

"I'm going to lie down," I mutter, passing the island where he stands, shoving the last of a taco past his lips.

Padding past the living room where the last of Beetlejuice plays with neither of us watching, I hope that he doesn't notice the gleam to my cheeks. I try to wipe it away quickly, and only when my face is buried into the pillow do I let my scream out. The one I'd been holding in all day as he watched me eat a few strawberries at breakfast, during the checkup at the doctor's, and zoning out watching the movie. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't stop the avalanche happening around my heart. It felt like the death of a loved one, because well, it was. There's the death and not even the funeral, and then what? Nobody ever talks about what comes after and how to deal with grief. Everything looked good at the doctor's visit and Harry asked a bajillion questions while I wasn't even sure what to say. I could tell he wanted to say something about how I'd been acting, but I silently thanked him for not doing so. Just like how I do the same now, knowing that he won't walk in as I cry myself to sleep for what, the fifth time in the last four days? No, it had been more than that.

I couldn't blame him, because even if he was here with his arms wrapped around me, I wouldn't know what to do. That feeling jumped off my tongue when I told him to go away yesterday when I lied about taking a nap. He'd only wanted to take one too perhaps, but I'd jumped down his throat. I didn't know what was happening to me, but there was hardly a small part of me that cared. I didn't even wish that I did.

Throat aching and eyes burning, I breathe in past the sniffles and stare out the window where light leaks in from. My baby. Our baby. I still couldn't believe that they were gone, our daughter. I'd never get to feel her kick or know what her smile looked like. I was sure it looked like his, lopsided with two dimples. That made my cheeks grow wetter, but it worsened when I thought of her name and the hollowness that came with it. I didn't stir when the door slowly creaked open, only staring at the new strip of light that interrupted the darkness.

"I'm going for a walk. Would you like to come?" Harry says, caution at the forefront of his voice. I couldn't find it in me to answer, not even when the next words came, making the line of yellow disappear entirely from my vision. "Alright, well I have my phone if you need anything . . I hope you sleep well, bug. I love you . . so much."

"Love you," I whispered, but it was too late. The yellow line had disappeared and so had he. It had only been four days since our baby had died and it felt like months, far too many. "Harry?" I call, sitting up to turn towards the door. Hastily wiping my hand under my eyes, I listen intently.

It's only moments before the wash of light returns, casting shadows along his face. His eyebrows fall into a questioning V and I try to ignore the extra tablespoon of sadness in his eyes.

"I love you too," I say tearfully, catching the tear before it falls from my eye.

A corner of his mouth itches upwards, but not quite, "I love you more, Becks." It sits on my tongue, impatient for its chance that I'm afraid doesn't come. "Were you gonna say something more?"

"No, just . . bundle up for your walk. It's cold."

"I will," he smiles, sending me a wink before closing the door quietly behind him. I remain in that pose, sitting up and watching the door, wishing he'd come back. I almost said it, but for some reason, I couldn't.

Why couldn't I just ask him to stay and to come and lie down with me? Because, he'd ask questions or want to talk about it, the thing that consumed us both, even if we tried to pretend otherwise. No, I was far past that. I never had the poker face that he did.

He didn't think that I heard him, but by now, we had gotten good at pretending in one way or another. Harry pretended like things were okay, and I pretended that I didn't hear him sobbing his eyes out in the bathroom as I laid in bed, faking being asleep yet another night. It tore at my heart but I didn't know how to tell my legs to move and cross the hallway to him. I acted as if I ate half of my plate at dinner, per our new deal, but I really only ate a quarter and threw the rest away. I pretended to not see the second glance he gave me when he walked in on me changing. I knew it but acted as if I didn't see the thinner reflection of myself, despite knowing how nutrition worked.

I ignored it a lot, but the next day when the doorbell rang yet again with a delivery man on the other side, it was enough. As I walked away from the door with another strong-smelling vase in hand, I couldn't fake it anymore. Seeing as how nothing was normal anymore, the kitchen table now overflowed with vases of flowers, us having not eaten there for weeks. My feet refused to move any closer to the hoard of a smell that now made my stomach turn.

I don't remember telling my body to do it, but suddenly, I'm watching in slow motion as the glass shatters at my feet. I couldn't tell you why I stood there, staring at the tendrils of water spreading on the floor. Neither could I explain away tossing the flowers into the garbage can with the note I never read. They all said the same thing. 'I'm sorry for your loss,' 'Thinking of you,' blah blah. Harry had been gone for a while, getting groceries at the market, and it was only a matter of time before he came back. I wasn't sure how I would explain this, and as I picked up the shards of glass, the guilt grew in my gut. The rumble of an engine outside made me jump, worrying it was Harry. Wincing, my palm suddenly burns and upon looking, scarlet soon seeps from a new cut.

I ignored his casual greeting ten minutes later, probably kicking the door closed behind him. He didn't say anything about the flowers, because for the first time in two weeks, I took out the trash after sweeping up the mess. I stuffed the blood-spotted rag in there too. When he pushed the bedroom door open with a long creak, I played pretend again, acting like I didn't hear his voice.

"You sleeping, bug?" his molasses voice mumbled, marked by the soft fall of his feet. I hadn't even heard them cross the room until they stopped behind me, and I felt his touch. "I hope you're having sweet dreams. I missed you, I do all of the time lately," he murmurs against my head.

I find it hard to not stir when his fingers drag against my temple with a lock of my hair. It had been something I'd gotten used to ignoring, but this time, as he pressed his lips to my temple, I wanted to reach out to him and grab hold, and never let go. The sensation only grew stronger as the sound of his footsteps disappeared, it all coming to a head. One that's only answered by a fitful of sobs racing past my lips, the first thing I'd felt in a while, next to the guilt at the flowers. Why couldn't I be okay? It stung, the words calling for him that I held back as I heard the sounds of cupboards opening and closing. I knew he would come. Did I really, after all I'd put him through? No, I didn't really know that. I wasn't sure of anything anymore, I realized, and it only made me sob harder.

Dinner was a doozy yet again. I'd come to dread meals. The stare-downs Harry would give me along with the protein drink he always shoved my way a good fifteen minutes after my last bite, if any. It was like clockwork yet again. This time, it was Strawberries and Cream, and as I grabbed for the bottle sitting in front of me, he stopped. No, this wasn't how it went. He usually took my plate and dumped it in the garbage, no longer sticking it in the fridge for later, because he knew that there wouldn't be one. Most of the time he only filled the plate half full, but today, I guess he'd gotten his hopes up and filled it high. Now, he didn't walk away and instead, stood there looking. At what I didn't notice until I followed his eyesight, immediately pulling the sleeve of my sweater over my hand.

"Hey, what happened to your hand?" Harry asks, nodding to the appendage that disappears like a frightened turtle into its shell. I didn't need him asking any more questions than before, or finding another reason to nag at me. "Love?"

"I-It's nothing, I just got a scratch."

"A scratch doesn't require gauze. Let me see," he insists, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. His touch is gentle but nonetheless, it feels foreign somehow, and I retract my hand from his. I catch his eye and look away, but it's too late, I've already seen how they look. How he looks at me, offended and scared all in one. "Buggie, did you . . did you do this to yourself?"

"What?" the word passes my lips in one breath, like a whoosh. Now, I'm looking at him and already, the regret has glazed over his eyes. His lips are parting with a save face, but it's too late now. "I didn't hurt myself, Harry. It's not like that. I-."

"Then what happened, Becks? Why can't you tell me, huh?" he huffs loudly, dropping his clean plate into a sink with a clash! It makes me jump and the sound of defeat from him makes him realize aloud. "I want you to talk to me, and . . I miss talking to you."

The cogs turn in my brain but the puzzle pieces with a few dozen missing ones refuse to lock together at the sound of his voice. What could I even say that would sound right? Nothing would, I know it. A quietness settles over the kitchen save for another trashy show on the tv behind us, my barstool squeaking underneath me. I could count the seconds that a word doesn't pass between us until my rebuttal is impossible to push down.

"Why won't you go to that session Dr. Baker set up for you?"

"I'm not hurting myself, Harry," I repeat, peeling my eyes from my naked fingers to look at the back of his head.

"Why won't you ever just give me an answer?" turning around, his lost green eyes fall on me. It felt like a long time ago, the way that very pair could pull words from my lips. Feelings. Kisses. Love. It digs past my own and deep into my chest, but it comes up empty-handed.

"I'm not going to a fucking shrink," I answer, remembering the bottle. Giving it a shake, I feel his eyes hot on the top of my head, waiting for me to give him something. That wasn't something I'd done for a long time, and not even the bare minimum.

"How come? You don't know that it won't help unless you try, Becks," I'm already shaking my head, sure to cause his eyes a roll or two at that. The sloshing of the liquid in my hand suffices my words, because they would have been a mess too. "I wish you'd at least give it a shot, you never know what will happen. It's sure to help to talk about . . her."

"I don't want to go, Harry. Please, just drop it."

Without looking at him, I can tell that he's not finished, even as I try to will the silence away with the glug of a drink.

"No, I'm not dropping it. This is important, Becks. You need to learn to talk about the baby. We need to."

Slamming the drink down onto the counter, the loud thud resonates with me, sounding louder than I'd intended. It reflects in his eyes when I meet them, wondering how they could still hold sunshine in them. I can't even remember what that feels like.

"Maybe I don't want to talk about her, Harry. Did you ever think about that? Maybe I don't want to go and talk to some stranger about how my baby died inside of me. A fucking stranger that probably has kids of her own or some man who's never even wanted children. They don't know and they can't know what I'm going through."

The artificial taste of the berries and cream had grown acrid on my tongue. Turning away from him with my feet leading, I could feel the one mouthful turning in my stomach.

"I can't do this any longer, buggie. I-I've lost our baby and now . . God, now I'm losing you and it's scaring the shit out of me," if my feet had continued, I wouldn't have kept walking. I'd known. I could feel the truth of his words ring in my bones, but hearing them spoken into the air was something else. "I don't know what to do anymore, Rebecca," the river had already begun to run in his voice. I was sure that if I stepped foot into it, I just might drown again too, and so I didn't. It tried to grab hold of me, but with every step taken away from him, its strength dwindled. The worsening ache in my chest at the sound I heard didn't lessen, not even when I threw myself under the covers and pillows. It filled my insides as a similar one poured from me.

It was as if last night had never happened. The entire thing almost, but not in the way I'd wished. No, I'd yearned for a lot of things in the last few weeks and not gotten them. When I awoke the next morning to the sounds of breakfast and the tv playing, it felt like some kind of joke when Harry walked into the bedroom soundlessly with a suit wrapped around him.

On his way back from what must have been finding his rings on the nightstand, he caught my eye as he slid them on. "Hey," he murmurs, a hollowness to his voice that felt deeper than last night. "I was hoping you'd wake up soon."

"Are you going to work?" the question came, piercing the taut air between us. We both already knew by the clothes he wore and the attempt he made to comb back his hair.

"Is that alright? It's just a partner meeting and some managing stuff. If you don't want me to-."

"No, it's fine. Drive safe," I mumble, turning to place my back to him. I could almost hear his nod, knowing it was there as the floor creaked underfoot.

"I will. Maybe I can grab some gnocchi soup on the way home for lunch. I shouldn't be more than a few hours."

My response didn't come and a further one from him didn't either. The sound of the bedroom door behind him did, as well as the front door and that of the garage. It had been next to never the first two weeks that the house was empty, save for me. Just in the last week, he had been leaving more for errands and grocery runs, no longer sufficing with deliveries to our front door. I'd only left the front door once, maybe twice, and that was for the checkup a few days after. A part of me wanted to just walk around the block, but the thought itself tired me out.

I couldn't remember how long he'd been gone by the time my stomach had rumbled. The last piece of cheesecake in the fridge and leftover pizza passed for lunch, if it was even that time. I couldn't do it anymore. Time. The light or lack of outside helped at times, but in our surrogate bedroom, the blackout shades didn't allude to night or day. I wasn't even sure of the time on the clock when he'd left, or even the calendar.

I hadn't turned the pages of one for a while now and upon seeing the date on my phone, it seemed foreign. Everything had at one point over the course of this all now, but the mysterious passing of it hadn't. I'd get the day of the week down and a few days later it would be a Monday again, unbeknownst to me how it could be. I grabbed another snack and was soon confused to find myself loading the dishwasher. Running it. Wiping down the counters. Washing blankets and fluffing pillows.

When I reached the top of the staircase, the blankets I needed just a few steps away, I didn't know how I had gotten here. As if in slow motion, I watched as the door swung open, the image slapping me in the face. I didn't have a clue how I had done it or how it had gotten past me to come up here to this room. The Room. Already, I saw the gift bags I knew to be filled with clothes and other gifts, the stuffed animals, small knitted blankets, and the picture frames with sonograms that once adorned the house. The image had already burned itself to the back of my eyes, only to be replaced by another moments later when the bed of my nightmares sat in front of me.

I didn't know why I'd gone to either place. The nursery and then our bedroom. It wasn't my refuge anymore because I wasn't sure if I still had one. Neither place was safe and my heart didn't feel it either when I pulled the covers over my head, an avalanche of tears making its way through my body. I didn't want to see any of that again. Being reminded of it all was something I couldn't handle, because I hadn't wanted it to be true.

The clock ticked and darkness remained in the room until it didn't. A new sound came, that of footsteps and with it was brought a light that I couldn't face. It built and grew, surmounting when I heard his voice and the crinkle of a bag.

"Hi, buggie. Are you awake? I brought home some lunch," I pushed it down again and again, but it was feeling next to impossible now.

"I'm not hungry."

"But I got your favorite muffin," he teases, crinkling of the bag following his words. The smell of the lemon cream hits my nose, but it doesn't phase me. No, the boiling underneath my skin is too different.

"I said I'm not hungry, Harry. What do you not get about that?!" I snap, pushing the bag away. "I can't believe you're already back to work. How can you just move on so quickly?" His loud sigh is unmistakable, as is the way he slams the bedroom door behind him.

The racing of my heart pounded in my ears as different sounds found their way to me. I laid there waiting and listening as he slammed doors and cursed, not immune to jumping when something shattered before a loud 'fuck!' of his came.

There hadn't been a sound for a while now when I pull back a blanket, at last not able to hear the pounding of my heart. I wasn't sure what I thought I was doing, knowing that there was no way around it. More like, him. Cautiously, I made my way past the tv playing a rerun of Saved By The Bell, and towards him. There weren't many things I'd memorized about Harry after knowing him for a few weeks, maybe shorter. I learned his cues early because I had to in order to work with him and to get somewhere, especially those alluding to his anger.

The broad back that faced me from where he sat at the island didn't tell me what I needed to know but the tension held in his shoulders did. So did the clicking of his tongue, the bouncing of his leg, and most of all, his shaking head and perturbed exhales.

"I saved you a muffin. It's in the fridge. I know that's how you like it . . Soup's in there too," the offer comes out slowly and off his forked tongue, one I know all too well. Perhaps it hadn't made an appearance yet, but it was right there, waiting. "No 'thank you, Harry' or 'how was work, my fiance?'"

"How was work, Harry? Who all asked about me? What lie did you tell them this time, my fiance?" I nearly retort, not afraid to show my horns. The lid to the jar of nuts gets stuck, but with a good twist, I get it. Pouring a handful into a plastic container, I let the next one fly before turning around. "What'd they say when you told them about our dead baby?"

The trained facade on his face washes away upon turning and quickly I realize what I've done. It's not enough though, because time has been against me for its entirety.

"You don't get to act like this. It's not okay to say that kind of shit, Becks," he tuts, wiping a napkin across his lips before standing with bowl in hand.

"But it's okay for you to go back to work already, Harry?!" the question explodes on my lips, but the volcano isn't quite done. "Our baby hasn't even been gone a month."

"You think I don't know that?!" his voice echoes off the walls around us, hitting my ears with an intensity that surprises me. If that hadn't, the expression on his face does. The anger that melts into something else. "Do you think I don't know how long our daughter's been gone, Rebecca? I wake up every morning with a new number in my head, no matter how hard I try not to. I know, okay? Twenty-three days our baby's been gone, Becks. You think I'm not having the same thoughts- feelings just because I don't show them . . And I'm not pulling a 'who has it worse' like our parents always have with us, but- but I lost a baby too, Becks! I also lost a child and you seem to forget that. I was supposed to become a dad in August to a little girl, but I never will now. I'll never meet our Phoebe Anne either."

His cheeks had long ago come to glisten as did his eyes that overflowed with them. I didn't remember mine becoming the same. Was it when something fell apart in my chest, or when the anger melted away into utter guilt? Maybe it was in between the missing puzzles piece falling into the picture and being unaware to dropping the bowl back onto the counter.

"We named her and we've never even called her that and- . . for lack of better words, it kills me. All of this fucking kills me, Becks, and I know how it's doing the same to you. It's taking you away from me and it's almost worse than the night I thought you were going to die, because I'm supposed to be able to control this. I'm the dad, almost the husband- I'm supposed to be able to fix all of this, but I can't. For once, I can't fucking make it all better and it terrifies me . . ," he trails off, crying quietly into his hands that he presses to his face. A weakness overwhelms me and I back up into the counter, afraid I can't hold myself up, but I already hadn't been able to. "Phoebe's gone and- I can hardly bear it. I know you didn't mean what you said just now, because I told Myles before I came that . . that I couldn't talk about it to anybody, Becks. If somebody had I know I would've started crying, because I did the fucking second I saw the sonogram on my desk. I went in to grab something and forgot it was there," he stops, holding onto the countertop as his adam's apple bobs after his words. Red like wild cherries, his lips press together tightly while tears run races over them and down his chin, as he stares at the floor, whimpering.

"I don't want this to break us, Becks- I already know it has and I can't . . I can't lose you. I have so many times and I couldn't handle it if it happened again, for real," his voice frays at the edges from the weight it sits under. The pounds of it feel dropped onto my shoulders when his eyes carry over to me, dripping with unspent words. "We lost our baby and I can't lose my best friend and love too, Becks. Please come back to me."

"I wish I knew how," the reply is a mere whisper but I know he hears. Even without words, he always does.

"You have to try, bug. We have to talk about her, I don't want her to be forgotten."

Bottom lip wobbling, my response is immediate, "Neither do I, Harry, but I don't- I don't know how to talk about her. It hurts so much. I still don't want any of this to be real."

Wiping the back of his hand against his nose, I hear his agreement in his eyes as he takes a step forward, "I wish every day that I could wake up and she's there and not . . not gone, but she's not coming back, Becks. And I'm so sorry," weeping, his voice is taken under by the current of the river flowing down his face. "We have to face it . . to talk about her and what happened. Or else, I don't see us getting through this."

When I realize what I'm doing, the look on his face tells all. Something sparks inside of me and I wish that I could stop shaking my head. That I could stop pulling away from him. "I can't, Harry. I'm not . . I'm not ready," I murmur, wishing I could say that I don't know when I will be. I don't because that would be a lie and although I'd broken so many rules already, I didn't want to lie to him.

Placing my back to him, I make my escape and drown out his sobs with the running water of the tub. I don't know if I'll ever be able to talk about her, and I know he's right. If we can't get past this, we may never make it back from it.