𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 [t.s, t.k]

FOURTEEN | TAYLOR (tw)

FOURTEEN | TAYLOR

(tw: miscarriage)
____

I'm skipping down the steps, both giddy and in pain. I searched for Travis in every other room of the home, but when he wasn't upstairs, I figured I'd check the ground floor. Travis has been quiet today--he was everyday, but especially today.

Likewise, a long, broad man is sprawled out on the couch. I rise to my tiptoes, creeping up to him. He's lying face down, motionless, and the TV is blaring penalties through the room. I thought he was engulfed in a deep thought again, or maybe even passed-out drunk at the rate he's going, but I was proven wrong. I stride one more step to him before yelling, "Boo!" Travis shoots up, frantically looking around.

Part of me felt bad, because he was for once asleep. The other, the inner child immaturity couldn't contain my laughter. His body relaxes when he sees its just me, but he doesn't look happy. His eyes are puffy and pink again, and his skin is tight. I stop laughing, delivering him a leer of sympathy and apology. "What happened?"

"What?" He croaks, groggily.

"I asked you what's wrong," I repeat. "You've been crying. Your face is all red and puffy. Did something happen?"

He shifts, using his elbow as support to hold him up. "No," he assures, yawning. "I'm okay, Tay. I'm just tired is all, really tired. I think my allergies are acting up, too."

I didn't believe him, but should I keep pushing it? "Oh," I say, picking at the last little bit of nail polish on my fingers. "Okay."

He looks me up and down, and notices my one arm clutching my lower abdomen, leaning over. "And you?" He interrogates, raising an eyebrow of concern.

"Huh?" I giggle, trying to cover you my groan of agony. I can't help but wince, and he catches on quick.

He traces his finger on top of my situation, but from a distance. "Is everything alright with you? You're crouching over like you're hurting."

"Oh," I gasp, dumbfounded. "That," I laugh. "Would you happen to have any Advil or Tylenol by chance?"

"I have Tylenol--"

"Great," I shout, spinning on my heel. "Thanks!"

He steadies to his feet quick, then spins me around on my shoulder. I'm facing him, eye-level. I've made it up two steps, and Travis is still on the ground floor. His eyes are squinted together, worried, as he continues to search my body. Then, he points to my thigh. "Taylor, you're bleeding."

"What?" I yelp. "No, I'm not. Don't do that."

"You are, Taylor," he urges, reaching out to my thigh. "I wouldn't fuckin' lie about this."

If there's blood, that's not normal. But, if there is blood, that's a more logical explanation behind the contracts of vaginal and lower back pain I'd been feeling all day. And, considering I currently am unable to carry my period, that is likely left with one scenario.

I swallow hard. My eyes fall to the area Travis was pointing at. He's kneeling on the floor, looking up at me, but I don't dare look at him. Travis was not lying, there is, in fact, a line of dark blood dripping down my thigh. I heave, slamming my palms over my mouth to prevent a horrific scream from taking over all of the United States. Then, I cry. I break into full, sad, scary sobs, collapsing into Travis.

He holds me for a moment, but as the bleeding and pain intensifies, he picks me up. "C'mon," he huffs. "I'm taking you to the hospital."