Raw and Broken Ch. 04

My cries had turned to a silent agony, contorting my face as I gripped the sodden pillow.

Not only had I lost my unborn child, but I also felt more alone right now than I ever had in my life.

The hospital bed was horribly hard, making it impossible to sleep. Every pore of my body seemed to ache. To wail in mourning when my voice no longer could. Yet I took solace in the discomfort. It was a part of me. A constant I could depend on.

Many thoughts had spun through my head since this morning. But always, my mind returned to one fact: each hour that went by where my husband wasn't here and hadn't communicated with Malcolm or Becca proved me right. Drake wasn't coming back.

Just like the night after the altercation with Jimmy at the club, I questioned every decision I'd made since I'd met Drake. His own actions. His words. Particularly, the refusal to listen to me when I told him about Jimmy. His demand that I come home without explanation for why I'd left. Calling me his slave not his wife. The adamant denial of our child being his. Then there was his breakdown and confession. The abrupt desire to transplant to the Atlantic Ocean without asking me what I wanted.

On top of all that, I questioned our counseling sessions. They had gone so well. Almost too well.

Becca had told me she and Malcolm had spoken to the psychiatrist on many occasions about Drake and I. How our relationship with them had grown hostile. Estranged. They'd gone into quite a lot of detail about all of our private predilections since the doctor was into the BDSM lifestyle herself. So I hadn't been too surprised by the doctor's decision to trick me on our first session. It had been a risky tactic which could have backfired. I wasn't well-read on the psyche practice at all. Maybe it was unconventional. But it had worked. At least temporarily.

I now realized Drake and I probably should have fought more in our sessions. He'd been too quick to agree to my suggestions...when I'd finally gotten the courage to speak up. I'd been too quick to comply to his. I just wanted us to be happy. But hell, I hadn't asked him to move out to the East Coast. I'd wanted time away from him, and here he was uprooting himself to be close to me. All this time, I'd taken it as a sign of his desire for me, though...not his desire to control me more.

Then there were the positive conversations we'd had at Malcolm and Becca's house. In my mind, they'd reinforced Drake's actions. He had seen the error of his ways and had merely wanted to repair what he'd broken. I'd wanted the same.

What a fool I was. Had everything been a lie? Who was this man I'd married?

I considered that my need to submit was merely a weakness. I knew it overpowered any other desire. I couldn't help myself when he asked me to obey. I was happiest when I was making him happy.

But then I wondered if I had intentionally closed my eyes to the truth. That I knew what was happening because I'd been through it before, but I'd wanted to be with someone who would control me more than being alone. I told myself, at least Drake didn't abuse me, but then I realized that was also a lie. One I was ashamed I'd known for quite awhile. As I'd told Malcolm after my arrival, hurt was still hurt. The scars didn't have to be on the outside.

The psychiatrist had touched on the possibility of my ignorance—intentional or not—many times in our private sessions. Of course, I'd denied it. But now? I knew what I had done had only enabled Drake. It had fed the monster until he'd gotten out of control. And it was damn near impossible to cage and tame an animal once it was given a taste of how wild and free it could be.

I'd also refused to acknowledge his increasingly neurotic behavior since our wedding. I had sided with him about the collaring ceremony. Not pressed for more information on why he'd continued to insist on using condoms. Or why he'd started spending more time away from home than with me.

Ultimately, I'd not stood up for myself and been more demanding when Jimmy had shown up at our house. All of the little incidents added up to one big mess. And when I looked at it head-on, it only showed I'd known something was wrong but willingly ignored it. Because Drake had convinced me to.

I was more than a fool. I was pathetic. Both as a wife and a submissive. The poor, unfortunate soul who'd crossed his path, ripe for the picking. Especially, in the last three months.

But if what Drake had said and done since August had all been a façade, why had he done it?

He'd never implied my pregnancy was what had convinced him to give us a second try. In fact, his actions up until he'd found out I was expecting had spoken volumes against having children. Why would having one on the way suddenly change his mind? Would he have eventually asked for a divorce if it was just the two of us...well, us and whatever skeletons he'd kept in the closet?

I considered that my subconscious had played a part on the fateful night where I'd not stopped Drake to put on a condom. If I was honest with myself, the thrill of the 24/7 lifestyle had worn off. When your partner wasn't around to play, it became more of a chore than a pleasure to obey him. Maybe I thought he'd change his mind—stay home more often—if we settled down and started a family. Maybe my motive had been more than just the desire to feel the real him inside of me.

Despite what I assumed I knew about his opinion on the topic, the late-night talks overlooking the beach about becoming parents had indicated a different story. He'd really seemed like he'd turn the corner on being a father. Or had guilt kept him around because he knew leaving me meant he was also abandoning our child? And if there was no baby...

I clenched my eyes and pressed my face into the pillow, curling my body into a tighter ball. The voice inside my head suggested even louder that Drake didn't want me. Not the real Daphne.

He wanted an ideal slave—a woman who was happy being at his beck and call. Kneeling at his feet, smiling no matter what the task, day or night. Responding "Yes, Sir" and nothing more, but only when spoken to first. And when Master wasn't around, she would patiently while away the minutes thinking of the next time she would be able to please him.

He'd tried to change me into that person. But I couldn't be that kind of submissive. I didn't want to be. At least not anymore.

Maybe he'd seen that. And since there were no longer any strings attached, he could finally be free of me. Malcolm's phone call had given him the out, and he'd taken it. It was the only reason I could come up with for why it was past midnight, I was all alone in a hospital room after having a miscarriage, and my husband was nowhere in sight.

I suddenly hated him for his attempts to make things better. For giving me hope. Because deep down, I knew I was better off without Drake. I was just waiting for him to be the one to leave. I was too weak to do it myself. And I hated myself for that.

I was still fitfully awake when the night nurse came by to check my vitals. She took one look at my tear-stained face—my silent plea—and left the room. She returned shortly with a syringe which she injected into my IV. Then she held my hand until the drug took effect.

The last thing I remember was her smiling face as she brushed the hair off my forehead like my mother used to do to calm me. A few more tears escaped. A couple of heaving sobs shook my chest. Then it was nothing but peaceful darkness.

###

Malcolm and Becca had been with me until visiting hours ended the night before. I woke to hear the TV on low and their voices whispering somewhere behind me. I caught enough words to know they were discussing breakfast...and our current living arrangement.

My chest tightened as I gripped the railing on the side of the bed. They'd given Drake and I nine months to make a decision about our relationship. Until after I'd given birth. But now that I was no longer pregnant, was the agreement null and void? Would they abandon me like he had?

I must have made a noise as Becca was suddenly standing before me.

"Daphne? Are you awake? How are you feeling?" Her eyes were red and swollen in the morning light coming from the window. "Do you need anything?"

"Let the poor girl answer one question before asking another one, Becca," Malcolm sighed. He stepped into my vision as well. "Hey there. Looks like you finally got some sleep?"

I nodded and tried to swallow. My throat felt scratchy. "Water?"

Becca scooted away to retrieve the pitcher as Malcolm played with controls to prop up the head of the bed. I was gulping down my second glass when I heard a knock on the door before it swished open. There was a collective gasp amongst us, and I at least let out a soft groan of disappointment when we saw it was Dr. Braxton. He'd taken care of me after we'd arrived.

He offered a brief nod to each of us. Malcolm, Becca, and I exchanged silent glances as the doctor checked my chart. He wrote something down before he stuck the clipboard under his arm.

Before he could speak, the door opened again. This time, a woman in scrubs hustled in and whispered something to Dr. Braxton. She handed over another chart and an oversized folder she had tucked under her arm. Then she pointed to the door.

Dr. Braxton waved someone forward. A taller man entered. Again, he was not Drake. Again, I groaned.

I felt like someone was slowly but surely letting the air out of me.

"Mrs. Rockland, this is Dr. Montgomery, the head of our ER," Dr. Braxton said, gesturing to the woman.

I managed a brief nod. I think I remembered seeing her yesterday, although we had not been formally introduced. Before I could wonder what she was doing here, Dr. Braxton turned toward the man.

"And this is Dr. Lister. He's the head of neuro-surgery. He'd like to speak to you." Dr. Braxton glanced at Malcolm and Becca. "Privately?"

Neuro-surgery? What the hell? I thought I'd just had a miscarriage. I reached out and gripped Malcolm's hand. Becca took the plastic cup from me and took my other hand.

"No, they stay. We're all family." I did my own weak version of introductions. "My sister-in-law, Becca, and her husband, Malcolm."

The three doctors exchanged a few hushed words before they turned back to us.

"I'm sorry to bring you more bad news, but it appears that your husband, Drake, was in a car accident this morning," Dr. Montgomery said.

A light buzzing sound suddenly filled my head. I heard the doctor as she continued speaking. Saw her lips moving. But my brain was taking its sweet time registering what the words meant.

"He ran a red light just a few blocks away and hit another car head on. The other driver is okay, but your husband is in critical condition. The EMT found his phone, but the battery was dead, so we couldn't use it to find next of kin. A nurse in the ER recognized the name on his license from when you were brought in yesterday. Do you know if your husband has a DNR?"

Both Malcolm and Becca were looking at me. Drake and I had never discussed what to do if something like this happened. I felt even more embarrassed about our increasing lack of communication.

I offered a weak shrug and a slight shake of my head.

Dr. Montgomery nodded. "We will continue to administer life-saving measures as necessary."

"Will he be okay?" Becca's voice wavered. Her grip tightened.

Dr. Lister took a step forward, as if indicating it was his turn to speak. "How far is he in his chemo regimen? Has he had any radiation?"

I blinked up at him. My mouth suddenly felt like I was chewing peanut butter and moved as such. I couldn't speak, not even utter a sound.

Malcolm cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"

Dr. Lister was still staring at me. "Who is Mr. Rockland's oncologist, ma'am?"

"Drake—the patient—he's my brother. You can talk to me," Becca said. "I don't understand."

"Do you know the prognosis of the tumor? What stage was it determined to be? Which doctor he's been seeing? It's critical that we know the exact prescriptions and dosages of any medication he's on so we can determine how to proceed with his current treatment from the accident."

"I'm sorry," Malcolm said, his voice gravelly. Maybe a bit of it was frustration. "What she means is, we don't know anything about a tumor." He glanced at me, and I felt my eyes widen as I shook my head.

Dr. Lister pressed his lips together for a moment and then walked over to the wall where he turned on a light box. He took the black film from Dr. Braxton and stuck it up under the clips on the box. It was surreal when I realized I was looking my husband's brain.

"Mr. Rockland hit his head in the accident," Dr. Montgomery said, "so we did a head CT to rule out a concussion. What we discovered was far worse."

Dr. Lister took a pen from his pocket and pointed to a large, lighter section at the top of the image. It covered almost all of the left side. "Since it sounds like no previous tests have been run, I would need to have at least an MRI to determine exactly what kind it is and if it has spread from any other parts of the body. But it is definitely a brain tumor. Something this size is usually cancerous."

"Oh, my God." Becca let go of my hand and sat down heavily in the chair next to my bed.

"And this," Dr. Lister pointed to the right side of the image, "appears to be an epidural hematoma, a brain bleed. Notice the concave curve of it, how it dips in towards the brain. We need to operate as soon as possible to relieve the pressure."

Tumors? Brain bleeds? I wish the room would stop spinning.

Dr. Lister blinked a few times as he turned back toward us. "Has he been exhibiting any severe headaches? Vomiting? Mood swings? Seizures? Weakness or paralysis? Strange behavior?"

I felt myself shaking and then nodding my head, but it was Malcolm who spoke.

"His behavior... It's hard to explain."

Becca asked the one question that was surely on all of our minds. "How long could something like this have gone undetected?"

"Months. Years possibly." Dr. Lister shut the light off on the box and came closer to my bed. "Any other symptoms, Mrs. Rockland?"

I focused on the black rectangle that had just changed my life. I tried to think back. Headaches? No, nothing out of the norm. Vomiting? Just after the night I'd conceived because he'd drunk so much. Twice now, he'd gotten drunk and lost control of his own actions. That went along with the strange behavior. Weakness? I let out a weak snort. Hell, no. He rarely showed any sign of weakness. Seizures? Paralysis? Thank God, I hadn't seen any of that. But it didn't mean it hadn't happened...

I slowly shook my head as I blinked up at Dr. Lister.

"Is it operable?" Malcolm squeezed my shoulder now.

I willed myself to swallow. The buzzing grew louder. Yet it was comforting. It drowned out the voices in my head. Actually made things clearer.

"What I can see just from the CT doesn't look promising," Dr. Lister said, his voice lower...deeper. As if he were trying to emphasize the severity of the issue. "The most important thing right now is to relieve the pressure."

"Can't you just...cut it out? Operate on both at the same time?" Becca said between sobs.

Dr. Lister pressed his lips together again for a moment. "At this stage, without knowing if it has metastasized, the safest route would be to run more tests to see exactly what we're dealing with."

I looked at Dr. Lister and sat up straight. "Get it out of his head!"

"Daphne?" Malcolm's face filled my line of sight. His hands pressed on my arms until I rested back against he pillows.

"Whatever it takes." I glared at Malcolm through my tears, my jaw trembling. "Remember?"

"I know, sweetie. But we should listen to the doctor. He knows what he's doing."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Rockland. I know this is difficult." Dr. Lister shoved his hands in his pockets. "But until we know more information, my approach carries the least risk."

Malcolm squeezed my hand. Hard. "We understand, doctor. Do what you think is best."

"It will be a minimum of three hours," Dr. Lister said with a nod. "We'll keep you updated."

He grabbed the film off the wall as he and Dr. Montgomery walked out, talking in hushed tones.

I closed my eyes. My back ached. My head hurt. I wanted something to make me sleep and forget all that had just happened.

"Mrs. Rockland?" Dr. Braxton said.

Oh, he was still here? I tried not to sigh.

"Mrs. Rockland, I'm so very sorry about your husband. On a brighter note, all of your vitals look good, so you are free to leave as soon as the nurse removes your IV. Please let us know if you experience any more bleeding or discomfort. I've called in a prescription at the pharmacy downstairs for something to help you relax. Your discharge papers will be at the nurses' desk when you're ready. Your husband will be taken to the ICU after surgery. Someone up there can give you more information about his status. Do you have any questions?"

I laughed so loudly in my head I'm surprised they didn't hear it. Questions? I had nothing but questions. Millions of them. What actually came out was, "No."

He offered me a sad smile. "Again, I'm so sorry."

As soon as the door closed behind him, tears crept up my throat and spilled out as if I were vomiting them. I couldn't stop, just like last night. I hyperventilated as Becca hugged me, her own tears wetting my hospital gown. I clutched her against my chest. I felt Malcolm's arms surrounded me from behind.

Dr. Braxton's parting words reminded us that I wasn't at the hospital because my husband had been in an accident. The nurses had proven me right, but I'd known in my heart all along that I'd been carrying a little girl. A daughter. A niece to Malcolm and Becca. Drake and I had already decided to name her Lilly. But my grieving wasn't just for her.

I'd not only lost my baby, I'd convinced myself that I'd lost my sanity. Quite possibly my home. And I'd just been told I could be losing my husband as well. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

A nurse came in and bandaged up my hand after removing the IV. Then I stared numbly at the wall for an hour while Malcolm held Becca on the other bed. I could hear her sobs. Their soft whispers as they exchanged unanswerable questions.

Becca got me some scrubs since my clothes were pretty much ruined. She even helped me change. One of the nurses insisted it was hospital policy to take me by wheelchair to the main exit. When it was explained that we needed to go upstairs, I was wheeled to the ICU instead. I don't think I could have walked if I'd wanted to.

I felt like I was in somebody's sick nightmare. Had this been what Becca had felt like when she found out about Malcolm's accident? Had she known the extent of his injuries before she saw him? I couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for her...all by herself. At least I had them to help me with this. I don't think I would have managed if this had happened in California.

While we had moved to a different location—the ICU waiting room—our demeanor had not changed. The three of us remained huddled together, Becca's and my sobs intermingling as Malcolm whispered words of encouragement. Once, I blurted out that if something happened to Drake, I would have nowhere to go. They set me straight and said I would stay with them; there would be no further discussion on the topic. That knowledge provided at least a little relief.

A nurse came and checked on us each hour. She suggested we get something to eat in the cafeteria. It would help us pass the time. We did go downstairs, but none of us ate much and just pushed the food around on our plates. It was nearing the end of the third hour when something occurred to me.

"Malcolm, aren't you supposed to be at work?" My voice sounded like a frog, probably from all of the crying. My cheeks felt stiff, also from my tears. I felt like I hadn't showered for days. At least Becca had managed to pull my hair into a braid so I didn't look like I should be in the ICU myself.