Through Glass (The Glass Series Book 1) (15 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

What can I do to make you stay?

“A chocolate latte, please,” an older gentleman, seated at a table close to the window, requests. “Sure is a lot of snow out there, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” I nod. “It hasn’t stopped coming down in two days. It’s crazy. I guess it’s here to stay this time.”

I glance out the window. I can see the tiny little flakes of snow fall from the sky, dance in the air, and hit the ground. It’s so beautiful. I imagine myself outside, dancing in the middle of the street and catching snowflakes on my tongue. Nostalgia. I wish my grandma were still alive. She’d call me up and ask if I wanted to go skating. Even though I’m not a child anymore, I’d let her take me to the local rink back home and she’d watch me skate laps. I’d wave each time I glided by her. Afterwards, she’d take me home and make hot chocolate with those tiny little colored marshmallows. She’d put a candy cane in it—I hate the flavor of candy canes, but I never told her I didn’t like them. I just smiled, swirling it around my mug for a couple seconds, pulling it out before it had the chance to leave its flavor in my drink. I’d lick it off and then discreetly throw it into the trash some time later without her noticing.

“I’ll get your latte.” I nod at the customer, smiling warmly.

I slip behind the counter and begin to make his drink but seconds later, I feel a tiny trickle on my leg so I drop what I’m doing and duck into the washroom.

I pull my pants down and immediately confirm that I have started my period. I didn’t expect it to happen anytime soon, and I don’t have a tampon with me. Panicking, I pull a bunch of toilet paper from the roll and wipe myself clean. It proves to be a daunting task; I am absolutely soaked with blood. I hop out to the sink and wet a paper towel with warm water, then proceed to scrub furiously between my legs. Back in the stall, I bunch up a good amount of toilet paper and place it into my underwear, pulling my pants up carefully and hoping that it stays in place until I get home. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hits me and I expel my innards violently in the direction of the toilet. I bend down to wipe up the vomit that didn’t quite make it into the bowl, and the cramping begins. My heart pounds as I throw up again. I gather myself and splash cold water onto my face. I walk out of the bathroom, and into the café. Without saying a word, I am out on the street, without my jacket, running.

I feel like I’ve been running for an hour, but it only takes me three minutes to get home. I live in a different building now, just a few more blocks away from my old place. My apartment is empty, except for my bed. Without anyone to help me move, I’ve left mostly everything behind. Frederick did help me bring my bed over with a promise that I’d give him a call to get together sometime soon.

I curl up in my bed. I feel as though I’m coming down with the flu, but I’m not sure if that’s just a side effect of getting my period after so long without it.

I need to sleep now.

Chapter Thirty-Six

But for you, that’s quite an accomplishment,

I must say

Go ahead, now; let me slip away

“How are you feeling?” Oliver asks.

“Not very good,” Lauren replies. She’s still in bed. She hasn’t moved other than to use the washroom since the day before.

“I’m sorry, Lauren. Hopefully this is all over soon.”

“I can’t take much more of this,” Lauren says.

Oliver can tell that she’s feeling weak. She’s obviously thrown up recently. It smells like vomit but he can’t see any in the room. The nurses must’ve cleaned it up.

“You’re going to be okay. Once you’re feeling up to it, I can take you outside for some air. Sound good?” Oliver asks. He gently touches Lauren’s shoulder, and she nods. He’s lying, though. He can’t take her outside. He can’t be seen with her, at all—

“Oliver?” Shay asks. She stops and glares at him as she walks into Lauren’s room.

“Hey, Shay. I was just checking up on Lauren. Are you here with her medication? She’s in a really bad state today.”

“I thought Doctor Christiansen asked you not to come back and speak with her,” Shay says, ignoring his question.

“He advised me against it, Shay, but please don’t forget that we are both medically licensed professionals and we are both able to make our own decisions. I thought it best to make sure Lauren was adjusting well to life at Malartin. Please keep in mind I have been her attending psychiatrist for as long as she’s been receiving care up until now. I felt it would be too hard for her to just get transferred to a new place, without any familiarity,” Oliver explains.

“Right. Which is why I’m here. She’s used to me. You need to leave,” Shay whispers harshly. “You’re defying protocol and breaking the law. You aren’t allowed access here.”

“I understand that, Shay. I appreciate your concern. Thank you for having our patient’s best interest at heart.” He smiles.

“She’s not your patient, Doctor.”

“I realize that.”

“Please leave,” Shay says sternly.

“Actually, Shay, I will leave in just a second. I just need a moment with her so I can explain that I won’t be coming back.”

Shay looks at Lauren, who is lying in bed with her head buried into her pillow, and nods. “Make it quick, Doctor.”

She leaves the room.

“Lauren?” Oliver says, gently.

“What?”

“I need to leave. I’m not allowed to be here anymore right now. I shouldn’t have come to see you today.”

“Don’t go,” Lauren begs without lifting her head from the pillow. Her voice is muffled.

“I’m going to come back and visit, but it won’t be very soon. I have to wait a while. I can’t let anyone find out about us, Lauren. I will get into a lot of trouble, and they’ll move you even further away from me. Do you understand? You don’t want that, do you?” Oliver asks.

“No, of course not.”

“Then this is how it has to be. I promise everything will work out. Do you trust me?” Oliver asks. His voice is so soft and deep. Of course she trusts him. How could she not?

“I trust you.” She is crying again. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I have to, Lauren. But first, I need a favor from you, okay?”

“What is it?” she asks, through her sobs.

“I have one more pill for you to take.”

He hands her the second dose of Mifeprex and watches her swallow it down.

He sits her up on the edge of the bed.

“Lauren?”

“Yeah?”

“One last thing.” He glances towards the door to make sure no one has walked in on them, and when his eyes confirm that they are indeed alone, he punches her once in the stomach, as hard as he possibly can—with absolutely every ounce of strength he has.

Lauren cries out in pain and doubles over.

“I’m so sorry, Lauren,” Oliver whispers. He doubts she can hear him. She is buckled over, vomiting on the floor and clutching her belly while she screams.

Shay rushes into the room, as Oliver is leaving.

“What happened?” Shay asks frantically as she runs to Lauren’s side.

“Nothing,” Oliver replies. “I told her I couldn’t come back to visit her anymore and that she would never see me again. She isn’t taking it very well. Administer a dose of Lorazepam immediately. It will sedate her and she won’t remember the conversation we just had. I apologize, Shay. I was only trying to do what was best for her. I will stay out of it now, I promise. Thanks for all of your help.”

“Okay, Doctor.” Shay complies and sticks a needle into Lauren’s arm, who is still screaming while she rocks back and forth on the bed.

Lauren is out almost immediately and the room is eerily quiet.

“Oh, Shay? One more thing,” Oliver says as he’s almost out the door.

“Yes, Doctor?” Shay asks.

“Lauren started her period,” he says, calmly pointing to the blood on the white bed sheet. “Please get her a pad.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I ran away and this was the price

I need to go to the hospital.

That was the text I sent Oliver when I woke up to a blood-soaked mattress on my bed.

He texted back, almost immediately.

What’s wrong?

I don’t know. I just need to go in

That was a lie. I did know. Or, at least I had a good idea. My stomach was cramping and I was passing clots. I felt light headed and nauseous. Could this have been why I’ve felt so sick lately?

Within a couple minutes, Oliver is at my door. He barely says a word as he ushers me into the car and drives me in to the hospital. Neither of us speak on the way there. He doesn’t want to ask and I don’t want to tell.

After a series of blood tests and an ultrasound, we wait patiently in a tiny little hospital room. There’s a small bed—barely big enough for me to lie down on, for fear that I might roll off the edge if I were to fall asleep for even a second. The lighting in the room is so bright and intimidating. I almost want to get up and turn the lights off, but I don’t want to move. I’d ask Oliver to do it, but he seems far more shaken than I am. He’s sitting on a wooden chair at the side of my bed. He offers me a glass of water and I decline. He offers me Kleenex—I also decline. He offers me a blanket, and I shake my head so he folds it neatly and puts it back at the foot of my bed. Seemingly giving up on trying to make me feel better, he returns to his own little world of thoughts. We continue to wait.

It feels as though we have been waiting forever, but it has only been two hours. Every time someone walks down the hallway and passes by the closed door to the room we’re in, I hear them and hope that they’re coming for us. At this point, I just want to go home and go back to sleep.

Finally, I hear someone grab the door handle. The door opens. A young man, no older than Oliver, stands in the doorway and stares at us. I’m wondering if he’s going to speak.

“Lauren?” he manages, after glancing at the chart.

“Yeah,” I reply.

He steps into the room and closes the door softly behind him. Oliver stands up and leans on the side of the hospital bed where I’m sitting. He has his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m a doctor here. I was reviewing your test results.” He pauses. Silence. Silence that seems to last for ages.

Just tell us.

I’m staring at him. I can feel my face turning red and I’m about to start crying.

“It seems you’re having a miscarriage, Lauren.” He says these words so casually that I don’t think he even understands how much they hurt.

“I’m pregnant?” I ask. I am shaking violently now.

“You were pregnant. You are no longer pregnant. I’m sorry. You need to go home and rest now. It will pass on its own.”

Are you really sorry? Have you ever felt this? Do you know what it’s like to feel as though your body is betraying you by rejecting something that is part of you, and so important to you? You’re not sorry.

“Do you have any questions?” the doctor asks.

Sure, I do. I have tons of questions. Why is my body doing this? Can we stop it? Can we save the baby?

“No.”

“Okay. Please, take all the time you need. If you need to speak with me again, please ask a nurse in the lobby to page me,” he says, still calm and collected. He makes me want to scream. This whole situation makes me want to scream. I keep my mouth shut and the doctor leaves the room.

I look at Oliver. He isn’t looking at me.

Oh, god. He’s angry.

“Are you mad at me, Oliver?” I ask quietly.

“No. Absolutely not.” He still won’t look at me.

If you’re not mad, why won’t you look at me?

“I’m sorry,” I squeak. I don’t know what else to say. I feel as though this is my fault. My body has done this to us.

“Don’t be sorry, Lauren,” he whispers. He looks at me, and he is crying.

I did not expect to see him cry. He’s always come across as such a strong man, and now I’m watching him break down. I am literally witnessing his world fall apart before him. A piece of him has died, and his heart has shattered. I can see pain in his eyes. His lips are trembling.

“Was it mine?” he asks. The way he says these words—it’s as though he doesn’t want to ask, but he needs to know the answer. It is clear that he fears he will upset me by asking this, but he feels that if he doesn’t ask, a part of him will always wonder. I can’t blame him. We never made things official, so I understand why he is asking.

“Yes. It was yours,” I reply quietly.

He turns away from me again. I wish I could hop down from the bed, pick up the pieces of his heart that have fallen to the floor, and place them back into his chest so that they may begin beating once again.

I’m so consumed by the hurt that I feel for Oliver that I barely notice how my own heart has broken. Suddenly, I hate my body. I want to yell and scream at it. How dare it reject this piece of me?

I stand. My knees are weak and I feel as though I’m going to pass out, but I don’t care. I need to get out of here. I need to go home. I need to get Oliver out of here so that his heart can mend.

“Let’s go,” I whisper. I touch his hand and give it a gentle pull.

He nods and follows.

The walk to the car seems never ending, as does the rest of this entire day. Again, we do not speak. Once we’re back at my place, he walks me in and lies down on the bed beside me. His arms are around me, and he is silent. I can’t tell if he’s still crying or not, because I have my back to him—but I’m comfortable like this, and in a way I feel as though I need to give him his space. I can still feel him shaking, though. I hold both of his hands in mine, and we fall asleep like that.

Perhaps when we wake up, we will find this has all been a dream.