Chapter 2
696 Words
A month ago, that night, Amber called him, and he rushed out the door just to drink on her behalf.
Meanwhile, I was in so much pain I nearly blacked out. I drove myself to the ER alone.
The doctor told me I had been pregnant for over two months. The baby no longer had a heartbeat. The pregnancy had already failed.
And when I heard our child was gone, the first thing I felt was relief.
Lying alone in the hospital room, I realized it was finally time to end this marriage.
In the living room, Christian stood with his back to me, gripping his wine glass so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He never asked why I hadn't called him.
Because he knew exactly how many times I'd tried to reach him that night.
Unfortunately, no one answered.
"It doesn't matter that the baby's gone," he said coldly. "This just proves you were never meant to be a mother."
Christian walked into the study and shut the door behind him with practiced ease.
In seven years of marriage, we'd had countless fights.
I was always the first one to give in.
But this time, Christian never heard the apologetic knock he had grown so used to.
Half an hour later, he opened the door and searched the entire house. I was nowhere to be found.
I was Christian's first love. No one could understand why a polished, handsome rich young heir from a respected family would fall for a wild girl who smoked, partied every night, and skipped class as if attendance were optional.
Our first meeting hadn't exactly been romantic.
In a filthy alley that reeked of garbage, a straight-A student was being cornered by a group of thugs.
I happened to pass by, and one of them whistled at me.
So I rode my bike straight into the crowd.
By the time I finished teaching the punks a lesson, I'd accidentally saved the shy rich kid from the biggest crisis of his life.
After that, Christian became impossible to shake off.
He followed me home after school every day no matter how many times I told him to stop.
He gave me roses once. I dumped them into a toilet bowl to soak, then tossed the ruined flowers back onto his desk without expression.
Another time, he spent a ridiculous amount of money preparing lunch for me by hand. I turned around and gave it to a beggar on the street.
My girlfriends laughed and said I'd somehow adopted a rich, overly devoted lapdog.
Anyone could see we came from completely different worlds.
And yet, when my alcoholic father beat me so badly I couldn't even go to school, Christian was the one who barged into the house, picked me up, and carried me to the hospital.
While the doctor stitched my wounds, he stood with his back to me, shoulders trembling uncontrollably as he kept wiping at his face.
The doctor looked caught between exasperation and amusement. "You're not the injured one, so why are you crying?"
"I don't know," he muttered hoarsely. "My chest just hurts so much."
Then he stupidly asked whether he needed an ECG.
Back in the hospital room, Christian awkwardly peeled fruit for me.
"I don't want to feel this horrible anymore, Clara," he whispered. "Please don't get hurt again."
I licked the ice cream cone he'd bought me and mumbled a vague agreement before glaring at him.
"So... are you going to be my boyfriend or not?"
For the rest of the day, both of us were too red-faced to say another word.
Later, I told Christian a secret.
Whenever my dad got drunk and beat my mom half to death, there would always be a wilted rose waiting in the house the next morning as an apology.
So if one day he ever wanted to break up with me, he wouldn't need to say it out loud.
All he had to do was give me a rose.
"Dummy," the eighteen-year-old boy said as he pulled me tightly into his arms, refusing to let me say another stupid thing. "We're going to be together forever."
- Writer
