When We Were Young

Broken

Skylar let me help her for a couple of days but once she was feeling more like herself, she refused, however politely, and started getting back into some routine. We hadn't talked about what had happened, and I was afraid to ask how she was feeling, or tell her how I was feeling, although I wasn't sure I could answer if she asked.

It was a nightmare not worth recalling, but I knew the only way to get through it was to talk it through. Frankly, I didn't want to have the conversation, and I didn't know if she would fall to pieces. Although she was feeling better, I had barely kissed her, and when I went to touch her, not necessarily to initiate sex, although I was more than ready, she pulled away just enough to know that it was off-limits and she wasn't ready.

By the following Monday, I was back at work and back at class. I checked on her constantly for the next week, and by Saturday, almost two weeks later, I asked if she wanted to get out of the house. She had been cooped up inside, having left only once for a visit to Dr. Stein.

A visit she refused to let me join.

That was two days earlier and since then, she barely said a word to me other than 'yes' or 'no'. Mostly 'no'.

When December arrived unceremoniously, the weather chilled the air but it was still decent enough out that you didn't shiver out of your skin. The air was refreshing, and it felt clean again. The sun was setting, casting orange and red splashes through the apartment, and creating lines and dark shadows over the hardwood floor.

Skylar was on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her and a manuscript on her lap although she hadn't read any of it and was instead watching some cooking show on TV.

"We could go to Bryant Park. Or Central Park," I offered, sitting next to her. She wouldn't look at me. She twisted her lips and frowned. "Go ice skating. It's been awhile for me. You may have to help me from falling," I laughed lightly, a poor attempt to make her smile. She didn't react. I raked my hands through my hair, ready to start pulling it out in frustration, sexual and otherwise. "Skylar, you need to get out and start doing things again. You can't stay in here all day. And you have to start talking to me!"

My voice was louder than I had intended but I couldn't control it. I could feel the burning of my skin and the anxiety building.

"It's cold out."

"I know it's cold. But it's stuffy in here. And it's not that cold out," I stated, standing up and grabbing a beer from the fridge. She watched me with an expression like I was murdering a cat.

"I don't want to."

"Why?" I answered. I was resting against the counter and she was looking at me exasperated.

"As if I have to tell you," she shook her head in disgust and turned back to the TV. 

"Skylar, I know what happened. But we have to move on. We have..."

"You have no idea what I'm going through!" She screamed so loud that I took a step back. She was shaking; that was visible from where I stood. Her eyes were wide, and not with tears, but full of anger. "I lost a baby. A baby. A part of me is dead! And you want me to go ice- skating! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The wall I built to protect Skylar came crashing down to rubble in mere seconds. I couldn't hold back even if I tried. The words flowed from my mouth like an erupting volcano.

"I don't know what you're going though? It was my baby, too! I lost a baby. Or did you forget that I'm here because you haven't asked me ONCE how I am feeling!"

Her hands slid from her knees, and her face paled.

"I was a father and then I wasn't. Don't you think that I'm devastated? I don't know what to think, or how to feel, and I'm tiptoeing around you to make sure you're okay and that you don't break down." I was shaking and had thrown the bottle of beer into the sink. Skylar flinched. "What about me? For fuck's sake!"