Chapter Six Bailey #3
“You have a scar,” Bailey observed, running her hand along his forearm and biting her lip. A white line ran three inches down from his elbow.
“Yeah,” Mac murmured. “I was in a bar fight, and someone threw a bottle.”
“What?” Bailey widened her eyes. Mac was basically a stranger and it hit her all over again how little she knew about him.
“Just messing. It’s from the dermatologist.” Mac’s eyes twinkled, amused.
“No, I knew you were joking.”
“Mm-hmm,” Mac teased. He reached over and pushed her hair behind her ear, kissing her neck until Bailey was so turned on she felt lightheaded. Bailey climbed on top of him, pulling her dress off over her head.
“Is this okay?” She gestured at her belly.
“It’s perfect.” Mac smiled. She loved his chipped tooth.
He had buzzed his hair short and he looked like a boxer.
He unhooked her bra and she stood up, slipping down her underwear as he took off his own and unwrapped a condom.
When he entered her, it hurt for a brief second and then gave way.
She sat on his lap and buried his face in her breasts.
She ran her hands through his short hair and rocked into him.
It all felt amazing, a week of pent-up need building, sparkly, until suddenly, everything felt too wet, strange.
She looked down and that’s when she saw what was happening. There was blood everywhere.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She pushed herself back and off of him. “I’m fucking bleeding.”
“Oh, shit.” It was all over Mac, his legs, the condom. The sheets were smeared.
Bailey stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower, quickly washing herself, ripping open the box of hotel soap.
“I’m so sorry.” Mac came in and pulled down a towel. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.” Bailey saw the blood swirling in the drain and realized she was crying. It was horror. It was darkness on the edges of her vision. “I have to go.”
“Can I come with you? Can I drive you?” Mac looked like he might cry himself.
“No, it’s fine, I’ll call you later.” Bailey dried herself quickly, put on her bra, and folded a knot of toilet paper into her underwear.
She was sobbing as she put her dress over her head and hurried to the elevator.
From the street she called her doctor, pressing zero after zero after zero to get to the after-hours nurse for emergencies.
Bailey cried as she paid the parking attendant in the garage, as she drove the twenty minutes to Beverly Hospital.
She wanted to call Van. She wanted to call Augusta.
She wanted someone to be with her, but she hated herself too much for it.
She couldn’t imagine how she would tell Van what she had done, how she had ruined it all.
The doctor who met her at the hospital was a woman Bailey had never met before.
She had short gray hair, deep wrinkles around her eyes, and she put her hand on Bailey’s shoulder as she squirted warm jelly on her stomach and pushed the wand back and forth.
Bailey looked at the ceiling, the bland poster on the wall, a watercolor of flowers.
This was the room she would remember for the rest of her life.
The doctor was quiet, the paper crinkled loudly under Bailey, and she could hear them both breathing.
When the doctor turned the monitor for Bailey to see, the green on black outline of her baby emerged.
She turned up the volume, and as they listened, she heard the underwater thrum, the pulsing rhythmic beat of the heart.
“It looks like everything’s fine in there,” the doctor said, moving the wand to show her the baby’s arm, moving to its mouth. “I think you just gave your cervix a good knock.”
“Really?” Bailey felt a thousand prayers lift from her chest. “It’s nothing? The baby’s fine?”
“The baby is totally fine. And sex is fine. Maybe wait a day or two, but nothing to worry about. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Jesus Christ.” Bailey sighed and then she felt the tears.
They ran down the sides of her face into her hair.
She cried and cried and couldn’t stop. She wanted this baby so much.
She knew she wanted it. She knew she had chosen to keep it.
But the thought that she had fucked it all up had nearly broken her.
She felt shame and guilt and horror, worse than she had felt in the hotel room, worse than she had felt in the car.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” The doctor rubbed her hand on Bailey’s knee through the blue gown. “Everything is okay. There’s nothing to cry about.”
“I know,” Bailey sobbed. But this is how she was built, this is how she had always been.
Maybe she was emotionally stupid, but always, in life, she saw the stakes long after the fact.
She cried months after her grandfather died.
She cried a year after her cousin lost her breasts to cancer.
She just bobbed along through life, making dumb fucking decisions, keeping so cool all the time, emotionally distant and above the fray, never realizing how much she actually cared until it was way too late.
She texted Mac as she left the hospital. Everything is fine they just diagnosed you with a medically giant cock.
Mac texted back immediately. Holy fuck I am SO HAPPY. I am so sorry. I really never could have forgiven myself. Can I see you tomorrow?
I’m just going to take it easy. My doctor said I have to be on bedrest for a day. But it was so good to see you. I mean, reenactment of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre aside.
Yeah, I think the housekeeping staff is going to have some questions.
They’ll probably think you were in another bar fight, Bailey texted, and then added a wink emoji.