Thursday, August 24th #2
“Oh god,” I gasp, my voice barely registering past the rising panic. My hand shoots out and grabs Ronan’s shoulder, shaking him.
“Ran, wake up,” I say, voice trembling.
He stirs, groggy, voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“I’m bleeding,” is all I manage to say.
It hits me then—how clammy my skin feels, how my shirt is soaked with sweat. I’m freezing and burning at the same time. Ronan jolts fully awake, immediately reaching for the light. When it flicks on and his eyes land on the blood, I see the panic flicker across his face—but his voice stays steady.
“Are you having any pain?” he asks, already climbing out of bed and coming to my side.
I start to shake my head, the word no already forming—when another wave of pain tears through me. I suck in a breath so sharp it cuts, every muscle in my body locking up as the contraction hits.
“Baby,” Ronan says, dropping to his knees beside me and taking my hand.
His grip is warm, grounding, while I try to breathe through the storm inside my body.
I’m only halfway through this pregnancy.
I haven’t taken any classes, haven’t learned how to breathe for labor—I’m just trying to survive this moment.
“I think…” My voice shakes as the pain fades again. “I think I’m losing the baby.”
The words make the fear real. My vision swims. I feel faint.
“I need to lie down,” I whisper, collapsing back into the pillows, my fingers still tangled in his. “I’m really tired…”
“Don’t you fall asleep right now!” Ronan snaps.
The sudden command slices through the fog in my head.
“Get up.” His voice is fierce, unrelenting.
I frown at him, tears welling. I can’t. I’m too weak. Too tired. My body hurts in places I didn’t know could hurt.
“Ran, please,” I whisper.
But he’s already pulling me upright. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” He scans the room, frantic. “Do not lie back down.” He points a finger at me before sprinting to the hallway. “Shane! Wake the fuck up! I need your help!”
He’s back a moment later, yanking open his closet. He tugs a plain white shirt over his head and grabs a pair of black sweats.
“Come on, baby,” he says, his voice gentler now. He kneels in front of me again, steady hands guiding mine. “Let’s get these on you.”
He threads my legs carefully into the oversized pants, his hands brushing against my knees, his eyes never leaving my face like he’s willing me to stay awake, to stay with him.
“What the hell is going on?” Shane asks, suddenly standing in the doorway in just his boxers, his chest bare and his face still puffy with sleep.
“I think Cat’s hemorrhaging. I need to get her to the hospital right now,” Ronan says, urgent but level.
Shane’s eyes dart to the bed, to the pool of crimson blood. “Holy shit.” He doesn’t hesitate. “What do you need from me?”
“Grab my keys. Help me get her to the car.”
Ronan sweeps me into his arms, cradling me like a baby. I cling to him, barely holding on.
“You sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?” Shane asks as he dashes out of Ronan’s room ahead of us.
“They’ll take too fucking long.” Ronan’s already striding out of his bedroom. “She’s too pale, and she’s cold as fucking ice, Shay.”
Another contraction hits me like a train, snuffing out all rational thought, shooting straight through my spine and curling around to my front like barbed wire. I tense so hard I think I might pass out.
“Stop, please—” I gasp, teeth clenched against the pain.
Ronan halts instantly, arms tightening around me, holding me solidly against his chest. I bury my face in his shoulder and try to ride it out, breathing hard.
“Are you okay, baby?” he asks, his voice raw.
I can hear how scared he is. But his arms are strong. He hasn’t let go of me once.
“No,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. I cling to Ronan’s neck like I’ll slip away if I let go.
Shane rushes ahead, grabbing Ronan’s keys. He throws open the front door and Ronan carries me out, careful with every step down the three flights of stairs.
The hot night air hits my damp skin as we step outside. It should feel good, but I’m still trembling, my whole body cold and clammy. I hear the click of the car door unlocking, then Shane swinging it open.
Ronan lowers me into the passenger seat as gently as if I were made of glass.
“Baby, listen to me,” he says, his green eyes locked on mine. “I know you’re tired right now. But you can’t fall asleep, okay? Please don’t fall asleep on me.”
I nod, barely.
He closes my door, takes the keys from Shane, and mutters something I don’t catch. I rest my head against the cool window as we pull away from the curb. The streets are empty. Everything is so quiet, except the roaring inside my body.
Each contraction tears through me like a storm surge. I drift in and out, fading, my limbs heavy, my breath shallow. The seatbelt presses against my stomach and I can't tell if it helps or hurts.
It feels like the drive lasts hours. Maybe it does? Don’t fall asleep, I chant, or maybe it’s Ronan’s voice? I can’t tell, and it scares me.
“Come on, baby, wake up. Cat, please.” Ronan’s voice echoes through the haze, desperate and cracking. I blink, barely, catching the shape of him through blurry eyes. He’s already pulling me out of the car.
My arms don’t move. My hands tingle. I’m freezing.
His chest is warm against my cheek.
“What happened?” a voice I don’t recognize asks.
I try to answer. I can't. My head lolls against Ronan’s shoulder, and everything begins to slip sideways.
“She just woke up bleeding,” Ronan says, his voice tight with urgency. “She’s twenty-two weeks pregnant. Contractions are coming about every minute and a half.”
I want to look at him, tell him how incredible he is for tracking that when I couldn’t even keep my eyes open, but another contraction steals my breath. My body locks up, muscles straining so hard it feels like I might rupture from the inside.
I can feel how soaked Ronan’s sweatpants are with blood, the fabric clinging to my thighs, sticky warmth running down my legs. I know what that means. I know what’s happening. But I can’t focus on it, can’t focus on anything except the next wave of pain crashing over me.
Suddenly I’m being lifted from Ronan’s arms, and I whimper in protest, trying to reach for him. My fingers twitch, grasping air.
He’s right there. His green eyes meet mine, stricken and scared, and I want to say something—anything. That it’ll be okay. That I just need to rest. That I’m sorry.
But my body gives out before my voice can catch up.
Everything goes black.
Ronan
I am a fucking mess.
I’m sitting in the waiting room of the ER—the same hospital where I woke up almost two years ago to the day—and the smell alone hits me like a punch to the gut.
The sterile sting of antiseptic and something metallic and sour.
It grabs me by the throat, yanking up memories I don’t want, but I shove them down hard.
I can’t afford to fall apart. Not right now. Not when Cat needs me.
I followed the three nurses pushing her stretcher like my legs were on autopilot, moving faster than I could think.
I’d driven here like a maniac, flooring it through red lights, flying over potholes, not caring if I wrecked my shitty car or got pulled over.
Every second mattered. Every single fucking second.
As soon as Cat told me she was bleeding and I saw the sheets—saw how much blood there was—I knew we were in real trouble. I might still be learning, but I knew enough that this wasn’t spotting. This wasn’t some harmless pregnancy symptom.
She was hemorrhaging.
She was pale, drenched in sweat, her skin clammy and cold, and by the time I pulled up to the hospital, her lips were tinged with blue and she was barely conscious. The sweatpants I helped her into were soaked through.
The entire drive, I kept whipping my head between her and the road, trying to time her contractions. I could see them coming, how her body would go rigid, how even half-unconscious she’d moan in pain. I kept pressing harder on the gas like I could outrun the clock, outrun what was happening to her.
I held her hand all the way through until they made me let go. Until they wheeled her into the treatment area and told me to stay behind. One of the nurses asked me questions in that too-calm voice they use when they’re bracing for the worst: Cat’s age, how far along she was, if I was the father.
Then she asked if Cat and I had been in a physical altercation.
Like maybe I had done this to her.
I almost lost it. My fists clenched, jaw tight enough to crack a molar, but I kept my voice steady when I said, “No. I would never.”
She made me sign some papers, consent for emergency surgery, blood transfusions—as if I’d get to make decisions like that for Cat. But I signed away like my damn life depended on it. It does. Cat’s life is my life. She has to make it through this.
And then I was left here. Alone. On a hard black plastic chair that feels like it was designed to make you more aware of your body just so you can suffer inside it.
An entire fucking hour now. I sit. I pace.
I sit again. I try to call Jen to tell her what’s going on, but I hang up when her voicemail kicks in.
She can’t find out that her daughter’s in the hospital from a message like that.
She needs to hear it from me. And I need to be able to say it.
I’ve tried my dad a few times, too. No luck. Everyone’s probably still sleeping.
But I’m wide awake.
Wide awake and terrified.
I’m restless and on edge, jittering with adrenaline and dread. I feel completely out of control, like I’m trapped in a nightmare with no way to wake up.
Finally, a doctor approaches me. Her face is kind, and I stand quickly from my chair, my body coiled and ready—braced for either relief or devastation.
Her voice is warm, gentle. She’s clearly trying to soften the blow, but even before she speaks, I know it’s not good news.
“Cat has suffered a severe placental abruption,” she says.