Reggo
Blue Crack Addict
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2007
- Messages
- 26,992
I told you I would post it today. 
The next three chapters are a story arc very important to the plot, so I'm posting them in rapid succession. 15 today, 16 Wednesday, 17 Friday.
Disclaimer: Not true, never happened, a bit of swearing, and a scene that might make you squeamish. You've been warned.
-----
I arrive at Hanover Quay the next day and from outside, I can hear Larry bashing away at his drums. "I have never seen him in this terrible of a mood," Danny Lanois says, outside smoking a cigarette. I go inside to our studio and sure enough, Larry's completely red in the face, his jaw set and teeth bared, smashing at his cymbals and drums like he's trying to drown out the thoughts in his head. He stands up and actually kicks his kick drum, takes a large cymbal with its stand still attached and throws it as far as he can, kicks over a floor tom, and knocks another cymbal down. He sees me and pauses his tantrum.
"What's wrong?" I ask, setting down my coat.
"Nothing. Fucking nothing. Goddamn fucking nothing," Larry kicks his bass drum once more, then folds his arms. I raise an eyebrow. "Lucy walked out on me last night, too. And now I can't get ahold of her," he sighs.
"Why?" I ask, surprised.
"I don't know," he mumbles. I raise my eyebrow again. "She needs time to think."
"Hmm," I reply, lighting a cigarette.
"Don't try to tell me you're not the least bit amused by this. She finally decides we can be together and then she leaves. Girls are mad," Larry growls at me.
"Well, I am sorry to hear it, Lars," I smile a little. "But I believe this means that she is fair game, now, isn't she?"
"You honestly want her back?" Larry asks. I nod. "Sparky, you're mad. And you're on."
When the session is over, I call Lucy, and surprisingly, she answers. "Hi, Adam," she says brightly.
"Hi. Where are you?" I ask, wanting to meet her.
"M'down-a pub," her speech suddenly slurs badly. I can almost smell the alcohol through the phone.
"What pub?"
"Uhh...Where'n hell'm I? O'Ríagán's or summat. I dun'care. I wanna get drunk'n be drunk'n stay drunk. Doesn't hurt if'm drunk," she sets her phone down without ending the call. I end it and set out to find her. I search four pubs in Dublin before I see her dancing on the bar to the Arsenal football game at Riordan's.
"You responsible for this?" the barman asks, pointing at her with his thumb. I smile.
"Yeah, I'm her--Adam," I walk over to her and take her off the bar. "We should go home, love."
"Y'lied t'me, y'bastard," she holds herself to me anyway.
"I'm sorry, Lucy. I am," I stroke her back.
"I wanna be 'lone fer'while. None-a y'eejit boys 'round," she dozes in my arms.
"Uh-huh," I pay her tab and get her purse and cell phone. She puts her arms around my neck and pulls herself up. I carry her out of the pub and take her home. I pay the sitter and she leaves, slamming the door and waking Stacie.
"Daddy?" she asks as I'm struggling to keep Lucy on her feet.
"Go back to bed, love. I'm sorry I'm late," I whisper. She looks at Lucy, sliding out of my arms.
"Is that Mummy?" she rubs her eye.
"Anastacia Iris Clayton, go back to bed. We will talk in the morning," I order her back to her room and she obeys. I put Lucy in the guest room and tuck her in before I go to my bed.
**********
I wake up with no clue of where I am or how I got there. I take a look around and find I'm in Adam's guest bedroom at his Dublin flat. I get out of bed and open the door. Adam's in the kitchen with Stacie.
"Mummy!" she squeals. I smile, though my head hurts.
"Stacie, use a quiet voice. Mummy had a rough night," Adam pours me a cup of coffee.
Stacie drops her voice to a loud whisper. "Sorry."
"It's okay, love," I chuckle. Adam's made breakfast and sets a plate in front of me. "I got out of control then?"
"Barman was ready to ship you off," Adam replies, smiling his upside-down smile. "You need table-dancing lessons."
"Oh, be quiet," I say and tuck into my toast and sausage. Adam lets me go home after a while, and I just want to make sure Larry's not there, but he is.
"Baby, I'm sorry," he says the second I walk in the door.
"What do you have to apologize for?" I ask. "You've done nothing wrong."
"No, honey, come on. I know I bollocksed everything. I want to make it up to you," Larry gives me sad eyes and a furrowed brow. "Máire, love. You are my everything, especially since Ann left me. I'm begging you for a second chance. You don't want to go back to Adam, do you?" And my gut reaction, even after last night and this morning, is to shake my head. "See? Give me another chance, love."
"Just one more," I say, but Larry smiles anyway. He growls playfully as he grabs my waist and he takes me to bed. He's taking off his shirt when I look up at him. "You only get one more chance."
He gives me a kiss that I swear cured my hangover. "I know, love. I won't blow it." He slides his hand under my shirt and it covers my entire stomach. "Are you losing weight, Luce?"
"Yeah, like half an ounce. Nothing major," I reply, wanting his hand to move. He pauses and looks me over. "Larry, make love to me before I get out of the mood." And he does and it's make-up sex like I've never had before.
Larry kisses me awake the next morning, something out of the ordinary. "Morning, muirnín."
"Morning. What did you do or are about to do?" I ask, knowing better.
"Nothing!" He smiles. I give him a blank stare. "Well, I've got a long session today. So I'll be home really late tonight," Larry smiles sheepishly, like he's expecting to get smacked or something.
"Again? Bono's certainly putting you through your paces this time around," I sigh. Larry raises his eyebrows, hopeful. "It's Bono, I can't object."
Larry kisses me again. "You are so amazing, love." He climbs out of bed, finds his boxer shorts, then heads for the kitchen. He's not much of a cook, but he's better than I am. I could ruin cereal. And I did once, for Adam. He said he was going to ask Edge if that's how cornflakes are done on his home planet. "Babe, come eat."
I climb out of bed, pull on a slip, then join Larry in the kitchen. He ahnds me a plate of scrambled egg and sausages. I set it on the counter, get a fork out of the drawer, then tuck into it, standing up. "Babe, will you pour me a glass of juice, please?"
"Yeah," Larry says, mouth half-full. He gets a glass from the cupboard and fills it with apple juice for me. "Here you go," he hands it to me.
"Thanks, love," I say as I sip it. I eat half the egg and one of the sausages and the apple juice is only a quarter of the way gone.
"You need to eat more than that, honey. For the baby," he puts his hands on my waist and pulls me close.
"The baby is the one not letting me eat any more than that without being sick," I reply and he drops to his knees and talks to my belly button.
"This is your father. You need to let your mum eat so you can grow up big and strong," he says loudly. I grin and giggle. He looks up at me. "Are you feeling okay? Not like you're gonna--."
Don't say it. Don't think it, don't breathe it. We need all the good luck we can get. I put my finger to his lip and don't let him finish. "No. Just morning sickness. Honest-to-God morning sickness," I smile.
"That's a good sign that we'll actually have this one." He kisses my belly. "I love you both." He glances at the clock on the stovetop. "Bloody hell, I'm going to be late." He stands up, kisses me, then dashes for the bedroom. I clean up breakfast while he gets dressed. "Put down the dishes and back away slowly," he announces. I set a plate down in the soapy water. "You can do them later. I want you to rest as much as possible right now. C'mon." He puts one arm around my back and another behind my knees to scoop me up and carry me to the sitting room sofa. "Here. Sit," he sets me on the sofa and hands me What To Expect When You're Expecting. The front third of the book is very worn, but the rest has only been cracked once before. Stacie. I have the page marked of the farthest Iv'e made it through a pregnancy besides my daughter with Adam. "Read. I've got a feeling we're gonna make it this time." He kisses me and stands up. "Call if you need me. I'll come home straightaway."
"Go be brilliant. I'm fine," I smile at him as he shuts the door. I sit and read for about an hour. I know all this already. I want to get to the part that I've only read once. The fun second trimester stuff. I check the pages. Only 20 more to go. We can make it, can't we? I put my hand on my stomach and envision my baby, six or seven months from now, when he's finally here. Big blue eyes, hopefully my nose instead of Larry's, blonde hair. My perfect little boy. I see myself picking him up out of his crib in the nursery, sitting in a rocking chair with him in my arms and feeding him, burping him, singing to him. I see Larry lying on the sofa with the baby asleep on his chest, watching cricket or football and cheering silently, careful not to wake him.
Then nature calls and I stand up from the sofa. I'm instantly overtaken by the room swirling around me and I reach for the nearest solid object to hang onto, in this case, the coffee table.
Must've stood up too fast. I close my eyes and wait for the spinning to stop. When I feel like it has, I open my eyes. The room is still a bit off-kilter, but I no longer feel like I'm on a carnival ride. Walking seems out of the question, so I sink to my hands and knees and crawl to the bathroom. Maybe my blood sugar's too low. After the bathroom, I try to walk to the kitchen. The room lurches anti-clockwise and I'm gripping the doorjamb of the bathroom.
"Just get some more juice and we'll be fine. No need to call Larry yet." I get on my hands and knees again, sickeningly aware of the Earth's rotation, and somehow make it to the kitchen with my eyes closed. I pull open the fridge and drink half the apple juice straight from the bottle. I put it back, then rest against the fridge door. Give it a second to kick in. I sit, eyes still closed, in the kitchen for a few minutes, hoping that this is over. I open my eyes and the kitchen floor lurches suddenly upward like it's trying to roll me off of it and I grab the refrigerator door handle and shut my eyes tight again.
"Okay, something's wrong. Time to find the phone and call Larry." I start to crawl again, but find all I want to do is stretch out on the kitchen floor and lay there. I don't feel dizzy with my head on the floor. I lay there, content, thankful the room isn't spinning, and open my eyes. I see where I dropped my book, splayed on the floor. It's happening again.
"No, it's not. It's just low blood sugar. Once the apple juice kicks in, I'll be fine. We'll be fine. I just need to call Larry. He needs to come home."
I pick myself off the floor, the room whirling clockwise even with my eyes closed, and head toward my bedroom where my phone is on the bedside table. With how I feel, it may as well be in Switzerland. I get halfway around the bed and the apple juice catches up with me. I retch once before expelling not just breakfast, but what feels like everything I've eaten in the past two weeks. My stomach aches from cramping so hard, but I'm not done yet and just dry-heave a few times. I grab the first thing out of the dirty clothes hamper and wipe up the mess using one of Larry's shirts. I separate it from the rest of the laundry. I'll wash it as soon as I feel better. I lay on my back on the bedroom floor. That's not comfortable, so I try my right side. That works for a quick rest. I still need to get to a phone. Eyes open, but trained on the floor, I make my way to my phone. I call Larry, but I can only let it ring once before I start gagging again. How can there be anything left to sick up? I make a beeline for the bathroom and barely make it to the toilet when a little bit of stomach acid makes its way up and out. I lay on the bathroom floor, the cool tile feeling good against my head. Then I feel another cramp, but this time, it isn't my stomach.
"No!" I shriek at the top of my lungs. "Not again! it's not fair! Why?" I start to cry. Larry calls back, but I'm too far away to answer. I cry harder. I need him, but he's so far away and this hurts so bad. I lay on my right side, but that's not comfortable. So I try my back. Nope, not that either. My left side is worse and by the time I've made it to lying on my stomach, all this movement had made the room swirl violently and I'm dry-heaving again. Larry calls.
"Larry, come home, I need you," I say to my phone, ringing on the bed, miles away. I sob as I melt back onto the floor of the bathroom. My head hurts from the dizziness and crying, my stomach's aching because there's nothing left in it, but something must come out, and I can feel, with unmistakable clarity, my womb cramping as well. "I'm losing the baby."
I lay on the floor of the bathroom for what feels like hours, dizzy, crying, dry-heaving, cramping, when I finally hear Larry tear open the front door. "Lucy! Where are you?"
I'm crying so hard, I can't catch my breath. "In here," I croak out between sobs. He hears me and joins me in the bathroom.
He kneels at my side, "Oh, sweetie," and puts his hand on my back. "Do you want to go to hospital?" I shake my head. There's no point in them telling me what I already know. I've miscarried. Yet again. "Okay," his voice is very small, but still comforting. He wants to cry, but not in front of me. He kisses my cheek, then goes to the bedroom and brings me some clean clothes. "Come on, love." He helps me sit up, and for once, the room doesn't spin. He pulls the slip over my head, stained with vomit and blood, and sets it in the trash bin. He pulls one of his Harley-Davidson shirts over my head and hands me a pair of pyjama pants I slip into. Then he carries me to bed. "I gotta call Edge, okay?" He kisses my cheek, then steps into the corridor. "Hey, Edge. No, I'm not gonna be able to make it back." There's a long pause. "Well, er, she, erm, she--she miscarried," Larry sniffles loudly. "Yeah," his voice is full of tears, "so apologise to Bono and Adam and everybody for me, will you? I'm staying home with Lucy." He's crying. Larry's crying. "Thanks. See you." He stays in the corridor for a while, trying to stop crying so he feels comfortable in the same room with me. His eyes are puffy when he comes back in the room. "I'm sorry," he whispers as he climbs in bed with me.
"It's not your fault, honey," I say and caress his face. "Maybe we're just not meant to have a baby."
He nods, then creases his brow and shuts his eyes tight. "It's not fair, though, that we keep getting our hopes up." He holds me tight and we cry together. "Lucy, I love you. And I want to have a baby with you."
"And we will, some day." We stay in bed, napping, talking, or just staring at the ceiling and trying to understand why this keeps happening to us. At the end of the day, it doesn't make any more sense than it ever does. It makes no sense that Larry and I can't have a baby after trying for so long, but the condom breaks one night with Adam and Stacie arrives nine months later.
We stay together for a few weeks until Larry and I squabble over giving up his flat and buying a house together. I go to the pub and Adam takes me home when I've had more than I should. The barman gets to know Adam very well as the cycle Larry and I have set ourselves on repeats itself many times over the course of several months. Every time, Adam tries to get me to stay at his flat longer, but I always end up with Larry. Until one time when Adam's tired of history repeating and instead of being sweet and putting me in bed, he drops me in his shower and turns the cold water on. I scream and climb out.
"What'd you fucking do that for?"
"Stacie's asleep. Please lower your voice. And I did it because this is the last time I'm bringing you home. I'm tired of this, Lucy. I think maybe you need to go to rehab," Adam says smoothly. "Is that a black eye?"
"Fuck you," I say and walk, dripping wet, into a cold Dublin night.
The next three chapters are a story arc very important to the plot, so I'm posting them in rapid succession. 15 today, 16 Wednesday, 17 Friday.
Disclaimer: Not true, never happened, a bit of swearing, and a scene that might make you squeamish. You've been warned.
-----
I arrive at Hanover Quay the next day and from outside, I can hear Larry bashing away at his drums. "I have never seen him in this terrible of a mood," Danny Lanois says, outside smoking a cigarette. I go inside to our studio and sure enough, Larry's completely red in the face, his jaw set and teeth bared, smashing at his cymbals and drums like he's trying to drown out the thoughts in his head. He stands up and actually kicks his kick drum, takes a large cymbal with its stand still attached and throws it as far as he can, kicks over a floor tom, and knocks another cymbal down. He sees me and pauses his tantrum.
"What's wrong?" I ask, setting down my coat.
"Nothing. Fucking nothing. Goddamn fucking nothing," Larry kicks his bass drum once more, then folds his arms. I raise an eyebrow. "Lucy walked out on me last night, too. And now I can't get ahold of her," he sighs.
"Why?" I ask, surprised.
"I don't know," he mumbles. I raise my eyebrow again. "She needs time to think."
"Hmm," I reply, lighting a cigarette.
"Don't try to tell me you're not the least bit amused by this. She finally decides we can be together and then she leaves. Girls are mad," Larry growls at me.
"Well, I am sorry to hear it, Lars," I smile a little. "But I believe this means that she is fair game, now, isn't she?"
"You honestly want her back?" Larry asks. I nod. "Sparky, you're mad. And you're on."
When the session is over, I call Lucy, and surprisingly, she answers. "Hi, Adam," she says brightly.
"Hi. Where are you?" I ask, wanting to meet her.
"M'down-a pub," her speech suddenly slurs badly. I can almost smell the alcohol through the phone.
"What pub?"
"Uhh...Where'n hell'm I? O'Ríagán's or summat. I dun'care. I wanna get drunk'n be drunk'n stay drunk. Doesn't hurt if'm drunk," she sets her phone down without ending the call. I end it and set out to find her. I search four pubs in Dublin before I see her dancing on the bar to the Arsenal football game at Riordan's.
"You responsible for this?" the barman asks, pointing at her with his thumb. I smile.
"Yeah, I'm her--Adam," I walk over to her and take her off the bar. "We should go home, love."
"Y'lied t'me, y'bastard," she holds herself to me anyway.
"I'm sorry, Lucy. I am," I stroke her back.
"I wanna be 'lone fer'while. None-a y'eejit boys 'round," she dozes in my arms.
"Uh-huh," I pay her tab and get her purse and cell phone. She puts her arms around my neck and pulls herself up. I carry her out of the pub and take her home. I pay the sitter and she leaves, slamming the door and waking Stacie.
"Daddy?" she asks as I'm struggling to keep Lucy on her feet.
"Go back to bed, love. I'm sorry I'm late," I whisper. She looks at Lucy, sliding out of my arms.
"Is that Mummy?" she rubs her eye.
"Anastacia Iris Clayton, go back to bed. We will talk in the morning," I order her back to her room and she obeys. I put Lucy in the guest room and tuck her in before I go to my bed.
**********
I wake up with no clue of where I am or how I got there. I take a look around and find I'm in Adam's guest bedroom at his Dublin flat. I get out of bed and open the door. Adam's in the kitchen with Stacie.
"Mummy!" she squeals. I smile, though my head hurts.
"Stacie, use a quiet voice. Mummy had a rough night," Adam pours me a cup of coffee.
Stacie drops her voice to a loud whisper. "Sorry."
"It's okay, love," I chuckle. Adam's made breakfast and sets a plate in front of me. "I got out of control then?"
"Barman was ready to ship you off," Adam replies, smiling his upside-down smile. "You need table-dancing lessons."
"Oh, be quiet," I say and tuck into my toast and sausage. Adam lets me go home after a while, and I just want to make sure Larry's not there, but he is.
"Baby, I'm sorry," he says the second I walk in the door.
"What do you have to apologize for?" I ask. "You've done nothing wrong."
"No, honey, come on. I know I bollocksed everything. I want to make it up to you," Larry gives me sad eyes and a furrowed brow. "Máire, love. You are my everything, especially since Ann left me. I'm begging you for a second chance. You don't want to go back to Adam, do you?" And my gut reaction, even after last night and this morning, is to shake my head. "See? Give me another chance, love."
"Just one more," I say, but Larry smiles anyway. He growls playfully as he grabs my waist and he takes me to bed. He's taking off his shirt when I look up at him. "You only get one more chance."
He gives me a kiss that I swear cured my hangover. "I know, love. I won't blow it." He slides his hand under my shirt and it covers my entire stomach. "Are you losing weight, Luce?"
"Yeah, like half an ounce. Nothing major," I reply, wanting his hand to move. He pauses and looks me over. "Larry, make love to me before I get out of the mood." And he does and it's make-up sex like I've never had before.
Larry kisses me awake the next morning, something out of the ordinary. "Morning, muirnín."
"Morning. What did you do or are about to do?" I ask, knowing better.
"Nothing!" He smiles. I give him a blank stare. "Well, I've got a long session today. So I'll be home really late tonight," Larry smiles sheepishly, like he's expecting to get smacked or something.
"Again? Bono's certainly putting you through your paces this time around," I sigh. Larry raises his eyebrows, hopeful. "It's Bono, I can't object."
Larry kisses me again. "You are so amazing, love." He climbs out of bed, finds his boxer shorts, then heads for the kitchen. He's not much of a cook, but he's better than I am. I could ruin cereal. And I did once, for Adam. He said he was going to ask Edge if that's how cornflakes are done on his home planet. "Babe, come eat."
I climb out of bed, pull on a slip, then join Larry in the kitchen. He ahnds me a plate of scrambled egg and sausages. I set it on the counter, get a fork out of the drawer, then tuck into it, standing up. "Babe, will you pour me a glass of juice, please?"
"Yeah," Larry says, mouth half-full. He gets a glass from the cupboard and fills it with apple juice for me. "Here you go," he hands it to me.
"Thanks, love," I say as I sip it. I eat half the egg and one of the sausages and the apple juice is only a quarter of the way gone.
"You need to eat more than that, honey. For the baby," he puts his hands on my waist and pulls me close.
"The baby is the one not letting me eat any more than that without being sick," I reply and he drops to his knees and talks to my belly button.
"This is your father. You need to let your mum eat so you can grow up big and strong," he says loudly. I grin and giggle. He looks up at me. "Are you feeling okay? Not like you're gonna--."
Don't say it. Don't think it, don't breathe it. We need all the good luck we can get. I put my finger to his lip and don't let him finish. "No. Just morning sickness. Honest-to-God morning sickness," I smile.
"That's a good sign that we'll actually have this one." He kisses my belly. "I love you both." He glances at the clock on the stovetop. "Bloody hell, I'm going to be late." He stands up, kisses me, then dashes for the bedroom. I clean up breakfast while he gets dressed. "Put down the dishes and back away slowly," he announces. I set a plate down in the soapy water. "You can do them later. I want you to rest as much as possible right now. C'mon." He puts one arm around my back and another behind my knees to scoop me up and carry me to the sitting room sofa. "Here. Sit," he sets me on the sofa and hands me What To Expect When You're Expecting. The front third of the book is very worn, but the rest has only been cracked once before. Stacie. I have the page marked of the farthest Iv'e made it through a pregnancy besides my daughter with Adam. "Read. I've got a feeling we're gonna make it this time." He kisses me and stands up. "Call if you need me. I'll come home straightaway."
"Go be brilliant. I'm fine," I smile at him as he shuts the door. I sit and read for about an hour. I know all this already. I want to get to the part that I've only read once. The fun second trimester stuff. I check the pages. Only 20 more to go. We can make it, can't we? I put my hand on my stomach and envision my baby, six or seven months from now, when he's finally here. Big blue eyes, hopefully my nose instead of Larry's, blonde hair. My perfect little boy. I see myself picking him up out of his crib in the nursery, sitting in a rocking chair with him in my arms and feeding him, burping him, singing to him. I see Larry lying on the sofa with the baby asleep on his chest, watching cricket or football and cheering silently, careful not to wake him.
Then nature calls and I stand up from the sofa. I'm instantly overtaken by the room swirling around me and I reach for the nearest solid object to hang onto, in this case, the coffee table.
Must've stood up too fast. I close my eyes and wait for the spinning to stop. When I feel like it has, I open my eyes. The room is still a bit off-kilter, but I no longer feel like I'm on a carnival ride. Walking seems out of the question, so I sink to my hands and knees and crawl to the bathroom. Maybe my blood sugar's too low. After the bathroom, I try to walk to the kitchen. The room lurches anti-clockwise and I'm gripping the doorjamb of the bathroom.
"Just get some more juice and we'll be fine. No need to call Larry yet." I get on my hands and knees again, sickeningly aware of the Earth's rotation, and somehow make it to the kitchen with my eyes closed. I pull open the fridge and drink half the apple juice straight from the bottle. I put it back, then rest against the fridge door. Give it a second to kick in. I sit, eyes still closed, in the kitchen for a few minutes, hoping that this is over. I open my eyes and the kitchen floor lurches suddenly upward like it's trying to roll me off of it and I grab the refrigerator door handle and shut my eyes tight again.
"Okay, something's wrong. Time to find the phone and call Larry." I start to crawl again, but find all I want to do is stretch out on the kitchen floor and lay there. I don't feel dizzy with my head on the floor. I lay there, content, thankful the room isn't spinning, and open my eyes. I see where I dropped my book, splayed on the floor. It's happening again.
"No, it's not. It's just low blood sugar. Once the apple juice kicks in, I'll be fine. We'll be fine. I just need to call Larry. He needs to come home."
I pick myself off the floor, the room whirling clockwise even with my eyes closed, and head toward my bedroom where my phone is on the bedside table. With how I feel, it may as well be in Switzerland. I get halfway around the bed and the apple juice catches up with me. I retch once before expelling not just breakfast, but what feels like everything I've eaten in the past two weeks. My stomach aches from cramping so hard, but I'm not done yet and just dry-heave a few times. I grab the first thing out of the dirty clothes hamper and wipe up the mess using one of Larry's shirts. I separate it from the rest of the laundry. I'll wash it as soon as I feel better. I lay on my back on the bedroom floor. That's not comfortable, so I try my right side. That works for a quick rest. I still need to get to a phone. Eyes open, but trained on the floor, I make my way to my phone. I call Larry, but I can only let it ring once before I start gagging again. How can there be anything left to sick up? I make a beeline for the bathroom and barely make it to the toilet when a little bit of stomach acid makes its way up and out. I lay on the bathroom floor, the cool tile feeling good against my head. Then I feel another cramp, but this time, it isn't my stomach.
"No!" I shriek at the top of my lungs. "Not again! it's not fair! Why?" I start to cry. Larry calls back, but I'm too far away to answer. I cry harder. I need him, but he's so far away and this hurts so bad. I lay on my right side, but that's not comfortable. So I try my back. Nope, not that either. My left side is worse and by the time I've made it to lying on my stomach, all this movement had made the room swirl violently and I'm dry-heaving again. Larry calls.
"Larry, come home, I need you," I say to my phone, ringing on the bed, miles away. I sob as I melt back onto the floor of the bathroom. My head hurts from the dizziness and crying, my stomach's aching because there's nothing left in it, but something must come out, and I can feel, with unmistakable clarity, my womb cramping as well. "I'm losing the baby."
I lay on the floor of the bathroom for what feels like hours, dizzy, crying, dry-heaving, cramping, when I finally hear Larry tear open the front door. "Lucy! Where are you?"
I'm crying so hard, I can't catch my breath. "In here," I croak out between sobs. He hears me and joins me in the bathroom.
He kneels at my side, "Oh, sweetie," and puts his hand on my back. "Do you want to go to hospital?" I shake my head. There's no point in them telling me what I already know. I've miscarried. Yet again. "Okay," his voice is very small, but still comforting. He wants to cry, but not in front of me. He kisses my cheek, then goes to the bedroom and brings me some clean clothes. "Come on, love." He helps me sit up, and for once, the room doesn't spin. He pulls the slip over my head, stained with vomit and blood, and sets it in the trash bin. He pulls one of his Harley-Davidson shirts over my head and hands me a pair of pyjama pants I slip into. Then he carries me to bed. "I gotta call Edge, okay?" He kisses my cheek, then steps into the corridor. "Hey, Edge. No, I'm not gonna be able to make it back." There's a long pause. "Well, er, she, erm, she--she miscarried," Larry sniffles loudly. "Yeah," his voice is full of tears, "so apologise to Bono and Adam and everybody for me, will you? I'm staying home with Lucy." He's crying. Larry's crying. "Thanks. See you." He stays in the corridor for a while, trying to stop crying so he feels comfortable in the same room with me. His eyes are puffy when he comes back in the room. "I'm sorry," he whispers as he climbs in bed with me.
"It's not your fault, honey," I say and caress his face. "Maybe we're just not meant to have a baby."
He nods, then creases his brow and shuts his eyes tight. "It's not fair, though, that we keep getting our hopes up." He holds me tight and we cry together. "Lucy, I love you. And I want to have a baby with you."
"And we will, some day." We stay in bed, napping, talking, or just staring at the ceiling and trying to understand why this keeps happening to us. At the end of the day, it doesn't make any more sense than it ever does. It makes no sense that Larry and I can't have a baby after trying for so long, but the condom breaks one night with Adam and Stacie arrives nine months later.
We stay together for a few weeks until Larry and I squabble over giving up his flat and buying a house together. I go to the pub and Adam takes me home when I've had more than I should. The barman gets to know Adam very well as the cycle Larry and I have set ourselves on repeats itself many times over the course of several months. Every time, Adam tries to get me to stay at his flat longer, but I always end up with Larry. Until one time when Adam's tired of history repeating and instead of being sweet and putting me in bed, he drops me in his shower and turns the cold water on. I scream and climb out.
"What'd you fucking do that for?"
"Stacie's asleep. Please lower your voice. And I did it because this is the last time I'm bringing you home. I'm tired of this, Lucy. I think maybe you need to go to rehab," Adam says smoothly. "Is that a black eye?"
"Fuck you," I say and walk, dripping wet, into a cold Dublin night.
