#yup that fuckery is canon in this universe adfhldsf

[sweetnestor]

On Days Like This | Chapter 3

teamiplier + oc, romantic/angst/platonic

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The doctors and nurses were so sympathetic, it was kind of sickening. Obviously, they didn’t know our situation, most of them assumed we were newlyweds grieving the loss of our baby. That was probably because I was crying uncontrollably once I was conscious again. It was an anxiety thing, Ethan had to make that known the nurses.

I wasn’t really sure what happened once I was put in the ambulance. Maybe I passed out. Maybe I panicked so hard that I blocked it out of my memory. All I knew was that it was still the same day, except now the sun was going down. The show would start soon, and it made me cry more. One nurse deemed that I was “in hysterics” and that if I didn’t calm down after a certain amount of hours, I’d be admitted to the psych ward.

“She has generalized anxiety disorder,” Ethan explained. “She’s just overwhelmed.”

“Does she take any medication?” the nurse asked.

“No.”

“Alright. The doctor will be in shortly to go over more things with you.”

How many more times was I going to be in the hospital before it finally kills me? If it wasn’t for a suicide attempt, it was a goddamn miscarriage. Not only that, this was the second time in the same year that I’ve gotten pregnant. I didn’t even think that was possible. How could I have been so stupid?

“Bella,” Ethan tried again once we were alone in my hospital room. He had shed his own tears earlier, now he just wanted me to talk to him. He scooted his chair closer to my bedside and placed his hand on mine. “Did, did you know you were pregnant? Is that why you’re not saying anything? I won’t be mad…”

I kept my head turned away from him. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell him anything.

He rubbed my fingers with his thumb. Then he moved my hair out of my face, which only made me tear up more. I heard him sigh, and then,

“Skin… heat…”

Fuck.

“Hair in your mouth…” he softly sang, “feet touching feet, oh you… and I…”

Ethan let go of my hand so he could get on the bed with me. I was crying a little bit more now, so I curled into his chest as he continued singing.

“Safe, from the world, though the world will try…”

It was comforting and cathartic. Ethan rarely sang around me, but when he did, it was when I really needed to hear it. I felt small and safe in his arms, I just wanted to stay like that and forget everything else. It didn’t fix anything, but it was soothing and it helped get the worst of it out of my system.

I was finally calm enough when a blonde woman in a white lab coat entered the room. She was vaguely familiar, her perky face wasn’t something I was used to, given all the serious expressions I had been receiving since being here. Her voice was familiar too.

“Remember me?” she asked. “I’m Dr. Stevens, I performed your surgery. I just want to go over everything we did, and where to go from here. Is that okay?”

I nodded, and Ethan kept his arm around me.

“You were twelve weeks along, so we had to perform a dilation and curettage, or a D&C,” Dr. Stevens explained. “What that means, is that you had an incomplete miscarriage and we had to expel the tissue from your uterus. Everything went smoothly, you should have a very quick recovery. You might even be out of here by tomorrow.”

That was relieving to hear. I couldn’t bear to miss any more of the tour. I didn’t want to be stopped by this little setback.

“Will she be able to get on a plane by tomorrow?” Ethan asked, much to my surprise. “We’re not from here, we came from California.”

“And why would I go back?” I asked a little too defensively. Yup, that was the first thing I said to him after hours of tearful silence, and after that lovely serenade.

“You just had a miscarriage,” he responded, gesturing towards the bed we were sitting on.

“Recovery time from a D&C is only a couple of days,” said Dr. Stevens, who seemed a little taken aback by our moods. “You’ll be free to go tomorrow, Ms. Santiago, but don’t strain yourself too much.”

“So I can go back to what I was doing before?” I asked. “I can travel, and I can sing?”

She nodded. “You should be just fine. Just don’t put too much stress on yourself. I understand you have an anxiety disorder. Were you under a lot of stress prior to this?”

That was when I hesitated. It’s one thing to have a miscarriage, it’s another thing for me to unknowingly and inadvertently cause it from my inability to relax.

“She gets travel anxiety, and we’re doing a stage show all over the country for the next two weeks,” Ethan spoke for me. “She gets panic attacks, and she’s always tense.”

Well, damn.

“I see,” the doctor said. “Well, it’s as I said, you should be fine by tomorrow. Just take it easy, get some rest, and do what you have to do to calm your anxiety.” She offered us a smile. “Alright?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

With that, Dr. Stevens left the room. That only prompted the upcoming snap from my boyfriend.

“You can't keep doing this,” he said seriously.

I looked at him, taken aback. I wasn't sure why I was defensive. “What, like a miscarriage is gonna stop me?”

“I just don't think you should get right back into tour,” he told me.

“It's only the first day! And speaking of tour, what time is it? You could probably still make the first show!” I insisted.

Ethan chuckled, but I could tell he was annoyed. He got off the bed and sat down in his chair. “Yeah, like I'm gonna leave you here alone. I already tweeted out that I was gonna miss it.”

My heart pounded. “What did you say exactly?”

“That you were sick and I needed to stay with you. No one seemed to ask any questions, they only sent well wishes.”

It still made me nervous. I wanted to see what was being said online, but I had left my phone on the bus at the venue. I wanted to know what the crew were thinking. I had to know if Kathryn told them what had happened since she was the only person I had told, and Ethan hadn't found out until we were here. The thought of returning to the tour with all of them knowing I bled out a fetus was almost unbearable. On top of that, I did not want to go back to Los Angeles either.

“We still have tour in January,” Ethan said, sounding less annoyed. “You could go to that one instead. I'm sure everyone will understand.”

Those words coming out of his mouth just made my blood boil. Why would he suggest something like that? I scoffed, unable to form words for a moment.

“And go back home alone?” I asked rhetorically. “And be miserable and lonely like I was last time?”

“I can go with you, if that's what you want.” His tone was gentle, but it only made me angrier.

“I want to stay here! I want you to stay here! Do you think a silly little miscarriage is going to make me go insane? Is that what you think of me?”

Ethan sat back in his chair, now fuming. He scrolled on his phone to avoid talking to me anymore, while I graciously flipped through the TV channels. I was able to find a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy, which only made Ethan leave to the cafeteria. He might as well have gone back to the venue.

~

The next morning, I was discharged. I only had some cramping, which was perfectly normal (at least that’s what I told myself to ease the anxiety.) I could handle some cramping. Dr. Stevens reminded me to take it easy and not to strain myself too much. Just one day, and then I was free to go back to my usual involuntary clenching.

One of the show producers had called Ethan earlier that morning to tell us which bus line to take because for some reason (arrows pointed at me) they couldn’t get a personal driver. Yes, a charter bus full of strangers would be a much better fit. Can’t pick and choose my anxieties all the time, I suppose. It was still better than flying home by myself. That morning, Ethan and I got on a bus to Akron, Ohio.

This particular venue had two shows, one of which was in the early afternoon. Ethan would be missing that show, and I would miss my acoustic set. We were five hours away and on public transportation. He missed two shows because of me. Why did this have to happen?

I didn’t have my phone or my sleeping pills, so you could imagine the fun I had on the bus ride. Ethan told me every so often that I could still get on a plane to LA if I wanted to, and that wasn’t helpful in the slightest. Why replace one anxiety with an anxiety that was accompanied with crippling loneliness? I also noticed him Googling everything he could about recovery time from a miscarriage, despite everything Dr. Stevens had told us. I was perfectly capable of carrying on with the tour, and Ethan was starting to make me feel like I wasn’t.

“Hey,” he said after a while.

I had been staring out the window, trying to cling to my sanity as the bus moved. I took a deep breath and turned to him.

“Did you know you were pregnant?”

“I would have told you if I knew,” I grumbled like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What would you have done this time if you knew?” he asked.

Growing more agitated, I shrugged. “Same thing as last time. What else?”

Ethan didn’t say anything, but he kept looking at me. He leaned in closer to me, lowering his voice. “You were twelve weeks along.”

“I know. So?”

“That means you got pregnant in July,” he continued, keeping his voice lowered. “We didn’t have sex in July.”

It took a moment for my brain to process what he just implied. I chuckled in disbelief and annoyance as I looked at him. “Yes we did.”

Ethan shifted in his seat like he was about to mansplain me. “No we didn’t. July was when… I wasn’t feeling okay, so we didn’t have sex, remember?”

“It was for half the month,” I argued, getting infuriated but keeping my voice at a harsh whisper. “I remember because we had an anniversary - which you forgot - and we didn’t even celebrate it. It was the last two weeks of July.”

For some reason, that wasn’t convincing him. He sat back, deep in thought. He didn’t even hear me.

“Did you notice any symptoms? You weren’t throwing up? Your period was normal?”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have to explain myself-”

“Yes you do,” Ethan deadpanned. “You got pregnant at a time where we weren’t doing anything. What am I supposed to think?”

My hands clenched into fists. Lord please help me not yell at my boyfriend on a crowded bus.

“I’m on the pill,” I told him, not sounding any less angry. “Maybe I missed a couple of days - I do that. And we were traveling all over the place! D23, Indy PopCon, Vegas, PAX West, Maine, Orlando… Of course I was gonna get nausea from the anxiety of traveling! Of course I was gonna be so stressed that it messed with my period! What are you trying to say?”

He sat back with no response. Yeah, that’s what I thought.

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