What would it take? - A Kissing Booth Fan Fiction

Thirty

A/N: Trigger warning. All the trigger warnings. If pregnancy loss is a sensitive issue for you, please skip this chapter or read with an abundance of caution. If you choose to read, please keep the comments respectful, bearing in mind that others might find this distressing in a way you don't. You might wonder why I'm writing miscarriage into what is essentially a romance story, but the truth is, this happens to more women (and girls) than we as a society are prepared to admit and I believe we should normalise talking about it more. It shouldn't be some taboo, off-limits topic that's spoken about in hushed tones behind closed doors. That's my opinion, and you're more than welcome to share yours in the comments, just remember to lead with kindness. It's not my intent to upset anyone, ever, but if this brings up issues for you, please reach out to someone you love, or seek professional help. Love always, Jo xx

Elle

Something wakes me from what feels like the deepest sleep I've ever had, and I sit bolt upright in the bed. I feel instantly unwell, sweaty and nauseous, disturbingly so. Noah slips back in through my bedroom door at that moment, gripping the handles of two coffee mugs in one hand, but stops cold as he takes in the look on my face. He strides across to my bed, setting both the mugs down on my nightstand and putting the back of his hand against my forehead with a frown.

"Elle, you're burning up."

"I don't feel good," I croak, my throat like razor blades.

"Maybe you're coming down with something?" he suggests.

"I don't know," I shake my head. "Maybe."

A wave of nausea hits, stronger than before, and I clamp a hand to my mouth, dashing towards the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before puking my guts up, and most of it misses the bowl anyway. It's everywhere, all over the floor and me and in my hair. I'm too miserable to care, but I'm vaguely aware of Noah stepping behind me to turn the water on in the shower, of him waiting until I'm done being sick to strip my pajamas off me, then guiding me under the warm spray.

Leaning back against the wall for support, I curl forward when my stomach suddenly cramps, pain shooting through me. With my arms crossed over my abdomen, I'm staring at the water swirling towards the drain, unable to make sense of the sight in front of me. Why is there red ink in the water? No, not ink, my mind realizes. Blood.

First it's just a few drops, easily washed away by the volume of water pouring down. But as I continue to watch, there's more. So much more. The part of my brain that's still trying to protect itself from what I already instinctively know tries to say that it's just my period, that it's finally come after all. But when I look up and see the fear written all over Noah's face, there's no hiding from the truth.

I'm losing the baby. Our baby.

The one I convinced myself I shouldn't have. I know that was the right choice, for everyone, but right now, that doesn't matter. For some stupid reason, I feel devastated that the choice is being taken away from me so brutally. My face scrunches in pain and anguish at the cruel joke the universe is playing on me.

Another cramp grips me, worse than before, almost buckling my knees. Noah's hands wrap around my upper arms, holding me upright. He's in the shower with me now, still dressed in his t-shirt and pajama bottoms, his bare feet partially obscured in the crimson-tainted water. I try to push him out, but he resists me easily, refusing to budge.

"Elle, stop," he says hoarsely, jaw clenched. "I'm not leaving you."

His words crumble whatever defenses I have left, and I sag against him, crying again, whether from the physical pain or the inexplicably crushing sense of loss that I tell myself I have no right to feel, I can't be sure. I don't know how long we stand there like that, but eventually, I start to shiver. The water's still warm, I can feel that. But I'm cold anyway.