We approached my flat, sighing as we came to a stop. Silence lingered in the air, my attention turning to Ella who hadn't spoken or made a sound since we left the hospital. She simply gazed out the window, her fingers occasionally brushing against the window to clear the condensation off the glass. Rain continually thrummed outside.
"Did you want to get something - "
"It's my fault," she interrupted.
I shook my head. "Don't you dare blame yourself for what he did to you."
She disregarded me, focus still out the window. I rested my hand on her thigh, squeezing it gently. "Please look at me."
She slowly turned to glance at me, eyes glazed over with tears.
"None of this is your fault." I put emphasis on each word, urging her to understand.
A lone tear rolled down her cheek, and I swore I heard my heart rip in two.
"I never even felt her move, Harry," she spoke softly, voice cracking.
A prominent tingling burned through my throat. I had experienced death before, but for some reason this situation held more pain. I wondered if it was because of Ella, or the loss of our unborn child. Either way, there was an ache in my heart that I know will stay with me.
I was snapped out of my thoughts due to the sound of the car door opening. Ella stepped out into the rain, somberly shuffling up the stairs to my door.
I hurriedly ran after her. "Ella, wait," I called.
She stopped before whipping around to stare at me, now dampened hair twirling around her.
"For once, Harry, I don't need you to coddle me, or say something to make me feel better. I need you to not say anything, and just...be there. Please."
My curls stuck to my forehead, water dripping down my face as I nodded. She turned away, advancing up the steps to enter the apartment. I trailed behind her, closing the door behind me as I saw her hop up the stairs.
As I heard a door shut and a bathroom faucet run, I knew then that I would just "be there" for God knows how long.
___________________
Weeks pass by and I still feel numb in every sense of the word. I buried myself in blankets in bed, and I barely spoke to Harry, or anyone, for that matter. I would just mumble things when he asked me questions, or give a simple nod or shake of the head. I wasn't ready to talk, nor did I want to.
Not only did it make me upset that I lost the baby, our baby, that we were so excited to have, although unexpected, it made me upset that our growing little girl is no longer growing or existing because of me. If I hadn't had so much pride, if I was quiet, Jake most likely would've said what he had to and left. The more I thought about the situation, the more I regretted opening my mouth, and the more I loathed myself.
Piling onto the self-hatred and penitence, my panic attacks had returned a few days after coming home from the hospital. I agreed to stay with Harry for a little while, as he wanted to "keep an eye on me," but it was becoming a bit overbearing.
I had managed to leave earlier on this morning while he was in the shower, quietly sneaking out of his bedroom. I wasn't sure what was going through my mind while I paced down the streets; all I knew was I needed to get home.
After about twenty five minutes of walking, I reached the entrance of my apartment building. I opened the door, scurrying up the steps. I searched under the mat for my key. I had left my house keys inside the apartment, which probably wasn't the best idea. I fumbled with the lock until the door opened, my trembling hands not proving beneficial in doing so.
