Say you love me

Part 26

After the miscarriage, everything was gone for Christine. She felt helpless, empty. John, the sweetie he was, did everything he could to try and help her, but she pushed him away. Looking back, she'd regret it til the very day she died, as that started the end for John, too, as well as the start of the end of their marriage.

Chris was being discharged from the hospital, two whole days later. The nurse who assisted, Ruth, was motherly and kind, and Chris liked her best because she sneaked in chocolate in her purse. She helped Chris into the mandatory wheelchair all discharged patients had to sit in, pushing her down the hall and speeding up when they passed the babies in the large window.

John was waiting outside for Chris. He and Ruth guided Chris to the car and buckled her in, as if she couldn't do it for herself. As if she was some sort of invalid. The ride home was long and quiet, neither of them knowing what to say to break the heavy silence.

John helped Christine into the house, carrying her up the steps even though she insisted she could walk up them fine. He carried her into the living room, then set her down awkwardly. "Do you want me to do anything?" He asked.
"No, I just want to lay down," Chris said as she walked down the hall to their bedroom, but stopped halfway as she peered into one of the rooms.

The room they had been making into a nursery wasn't really much, they'd been still working on it and intended to have it ready for when the baby was due, in November. The walls were painted green, the one color Chris and John could both agree on. Chris wanted yellow, John wanted blue as he insisted it was perfectly unisex, and why sleep in a room that's so bright it just wakes you up?
There was also a crib, a small white crib with bars that resembled a prison cell.
A rocking chair in the corner, where Chris loved to sit and rock as she watched John paint.
"John, you missed a spot." Chris pointed out as John stood on a stepping stool trying to paint the ceiling. "Jesus Christ, woman, do you want to come up and do this? It's not as easy as it looks!"
"Oh, no no! I'm fine right here." Chris smiled up at him from her seat. She rubbed her stomach as she said, "Daddy and me are painting your room, Baby. I hope you like green, because Daddy didn't like yellow."

Seeing the room made Chris feel a mix of emotions at once; sadness, anger, regret.
I tried. I tried so hard.
They rose up in her chest like a volcano and nearly brought her to her knees. She sat down on the rocking chair to avoid falling on the hard wooden floor, using her feet to push the chair back and forth. Back and forth. I tried to keep you safe. Back and forth. She didn't stop rocking until she fell asleep in the chair.

************************************
2 months later:
"John, it's late. You should probably go home." Danny paused in the doorway of the studio, letting snow drift in. "Yeah, I guess I should." John found his coat on the rack and putting it on, followed Danny outside. "Don't you think Chris will be wondering where you are? Especially with the storm tonight, they say we're supposed to get eight or nine inches." The snow was already falling, as it had since the afternoon. John lit a cigarette, admiring how the smoke mixed with the frosty air. Chris had been smoking more lately, that was her choice of poisen, but never the booze. That was John's.

"Frankly mate, I don't think she'd notice if I came home or not." Danny held out his hand and John gave him a cigarette. They leaned against the side of the building, smoking and talking. "What do you mean by that?" Danny said as he exhaled.
"She's depressed. Worse than depressed, it's like living with a zombie."
"Well, I'd be too, considering."

Christine hadn't showed to rehearsal since, staying home instead. The guys in Chicken Shack called her everyday, they missed her. She wasn't just their keyboard player, she was like a sister.
"I love Christine, god knows I do, I'll always love her, but I don't know how to help her." Everyday was worse than the last, Christine smiled and kissed John and sent him off to rehearsal, trying to act like she was okay, but he saw how she really felt on the inside, it was in her eyes that didn't light up anymore.

"Look, man," Danny finished his cigarette and ground it out with the heel of his shoe. "I don't know much, fuck, I'm only going on nineteen years old, but I do know this much: She loves you, and she needs you right now. You think she's not fucking traumatized by what happened back there?" He gestured to the rehearsal studio behind him. "If you do," he continued. "Then you're a fucking idiot. Maybe you don't know what to do, or what to say, but you can just be there for her. Listen to her, hold her, just be there."
"I'm trying but--"
"Try harder then. I'd love to have a woman like Christine with me, or just any woman at all. What you've got with her is precious, and you can't lose it for nothing."
************************************
The house was warm, a relief since the temperature had dropped tremendously since the afternoon. Chris was in the living room, sitting on the couch with an afghan her mother had knitted. She was freezing, and worried. John was supposed to be home two hours ago.

He'd been coming home later and later, and Chris wouldn't have been surprised if he was seeing another woman, as even she had to admit she wasn't giving him much of anything, how could she? Everyday it was harder and harder to get out of bed, nothing felt good anymore. She'd even stopped playing the piano, letting it go dusty.

The sound of a key turning in the door filled the hallway, and a cold gust of air filled the house. John was home.
"Christine? Are you home?" John called as he beat his boots on the rug in the hall to get off the excess snow.
"You know I am," she answered. He came into the living room, holding a bouquet of red roses. They were a bit icy and damp from the snow, but it was still a sweet gesture.

"Oh, darling, that's so sweet of you!" Chris kissed John. She sniffed the ruby red flowers delicately, inhaling their fragrant scent.
"I love you so much, Christine," John held her by the waist gently. "I want you to be happy again."

"Who's to say I'm not happy?" Chris asked, her spine stiffening.
"I see the look on your face everyday and I just want to help you--" he stopped. Chris was glaring at him, shooting daggers from her face as her mood rapidly shifted to Pissed Off. She turned away, threw the flowers on the coffee table. They landed with a wet plop. So much for romance.

"The reason I'm not happy," Chris mocked. "The reason I'm not happy is because we lost our child, is because I had a stillborn delivery, John! You act like it's not bothering you in the slightest, like you didn't even care!" She slapped her hands on John's chest, making him stagger back.

"When the hell did I say I didn't care, Christine? When?" John threw up his hands in exasperation.
"You don't have to say it, it's how you're acting! You're coming home late, you hardly even talk to me anymore." Chris stalked over to the couch and sat down on it, wrapping the afghan around herself.

"Well, you're not making much of an effort either," John snapped.
"You think it's so fucking easy to fix, like it can be done with just like that, but it's not John! You don't understand how I feel at all." Chris got up and stalked out of the room, afghan around her shoulders like a cape, leaving him standing there.

Slam. Down the hall, Chris slammed the door. John stood in the living room for a minute longer before sitting on the couch, putting his head in his hands.

He loved Christine with everything he had, he just didn't know how to help her feel better. Danny's words rang in his head, just be there for her.
How can I be there for her when I'm slipping myself?

John got up, went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and inspected the contents, glancing around until he finally found what he wanted.
The bottle of Jack Daniel's.