Sara Jane

The waiting room of the doctor’s office needs their floor scrubbed. The dirt caught in the cracks of the tile brings back memories when dirt and rocks cut into my skin as I lay dying . . .

My jaw aches from the hit across my face, but I don’t fall. I won’t give him that pleasure. The biting taste of blood coats my mouth and my vision blurs. With one arm across my stomach, I’ll fight. For Alexander, I’ll fight. For this baby, I’ll fight harder.

“Sara Jane?” I jump at the sound of my name. Alexander is kneeling before me. “They called your name.”

“Oh.” I hate that my mind continues to replay that day. The littlest things have become tragic reminders that haunt me.

I take his offered hand and follow him to the door a nurse is holding open. He whispers, “You okay?”

“Yeah . . .” Despite trying to tamp down the memories and pretend it didn’t happen to lessen everyone else’s worries, I’m struggling to hide the pain I endured. I’m being forced to remember because of common things like dirt. I can’t fall victim to that day again. Not when Alexander needs me to be strong.

I’m settled onto an exam table while Alexander sits in a chair. The exam room is small but not entirely uncomfortable. Alexander is texting on his phone when I squeeze my eyes shut, my mind insistent on bringing back the pain of reliving every painful minute of that day . . .

The brown leather is scuffed beyond polishing, the leather lifting away from the black soles. I shouldn’t know this. I’m too close, my body curled on the ground as I protect not myself, but a life I want to share with my love. I use my arms in a failed attempt to block the next blows, but they come anyway. Every kick, I hear the internal screams.

I won’t survive this.

He wants to kill me.

No one could do this to a stranger without intent to finish the job.

The job.

It’s me.

Is this his job?

Why me?

Why . . .

Something cold startles me, my eyes flying open as I gasp for air. The doctor is standing over me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Dr. Whitley. Are you all right, Sara Jane?”

Alexander stands behind him, but rushes around to the other side of the exam table and takes my hand. When I fail to speak, my words caught in the torture of my memories, he says to the doctor, “We should probably go ahead and start so I can get her home. She’s not been sleeping well.” When Alexander looks back at me, he leans down and kisses my cheek before taking his thumbs and rubbing them gently over my face, wiping the tears away. “You’re safe, baby.”

My conscience is an ocean of guilt that engulfs me and “I’m sorry,” comes with a sob I can’t hold in any longer. I don’t care that we have an audience. I don’t care that I’m in a flimsy exam gown. My body begins convulsing with every cry and I wrap my arms around my middle and roll to my side. “I tried. I tried so hard to save the baby.”

Alexander’s body warms me as he covers me, his arms wrapping around me like a safety blanket, holding me to him. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry . . .”

“Shhh.” With his head tucked between my shoulder and my head, I feel the shake of his body.

“Chad died because of me. Our baby died because of me. I almost died because I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t sto—” My body is wracked with pain as it overwhelms me, the memories my penance for living a life that I let slip into darkness, all the good dripping through my fingers. All the promises we made in our innocent love are convoluted within a twisted, starless night that refuses to show us the sun. Are we closer to hell than the heaven we once believed was possible?

His tears are a harsh reminder that I brought this man down. When he needed me most, I took away hope. I let it drain from our bodies in the outskirts of town that fateful day when the present cut our future short. His voice chants his pain while he tries to comfort me. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry,” he pleads against my neck where the moisture gathers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Words that could heal before are used in stark contrast now. An apology never owed to me but should be given to him, to our baby, paid to clear a conscience. I owe him, but he’s apologizing to me. He should never. Never.

I failed him.

I look past Alexander to the doctor and communicate that we need a minute. Thankfully, he leaves the room quietly. This is mine and Alexander’s moment, and he hates an audience.

Moving my arms, his head squeezes into the small confines of my hold. “Why are you sorry, Alexander?”

He looks up, his hands grasping my face within his hold. His nose presses to my nose as his forehead leans against mine. “I’m sorry for not answering your call. I’m sorry for making you believe you could save me when I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry for coming into your life and destroying it.”

“Stop.” My arms are wrapped around his head, his burdens weighing us both down. I kiss the top of his head, and whisper, “Stop, Alexander. Never say that again.”

His eyes meet mine. The brightness of the blue is striking, causing my heart to skip beat. “But if—”

I cover his lips with mine, absorbing his pain and swallowing his defeat. With my eyes closed, I will my strength—any I have left—to leave me and go to him. Go to him. Please. Give him the strength he needs to save us both from this hell.

Our lips caress each other in our seamless way, giving and taking comfort. This is our life.

Inhaling his breath, drawing in his every heartbreaking emotion, I breathe out an inner hope that climbs from the depths of my sorrow. I refuse to give up what I fought so hard for—life.

Pure.

Simple.

Love.

Laughter.

Alexander.

Life.

I vowed my life to him long before now, our love and losses forever bonding us. Even our baby. Knowing the burdens Alexander bears and my struggles don’t have to be carried alone, I see the way to healing. There’s only one path for us.

“There is only us. You are my gentle and kind knight. My dark and determined king. My sweet and romantic Alexander. You’re everything to me, and I’ll accept nothing less. Do you hear me? Do you understand?” He takes a deep breath, no doubt trying to recalibrate his thought processes.

“Never less. We owe each other nothing less than everything.”

A small smile, a small victory won in the tiny exam room of the doctor’s office. What started as my heart finally caving to the pain and shattering on this table turned into vows that may never be spoken in a church, but are laid at our feet to move forward. And we will. We will move forward. Grieve our losses, but move forward, stronger than ever. Because we are one.

“I love you.” Standing, he repeats, “I love you.”

There’s a light knock on the door. The doctor comes inside with a box of tissues, handing them to me. “Everything okay?”

Dabbing the tissue under my eyes, I attempt to reassure him. Actually, we are okay. “We’re fine.” I blow out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I think that was a long time coming though.”

He nods. “No apologies needed. What you experienced was very traumatic. Everyone deals with extraordinary situations and grief differently and on their own timeline.” His hand pats my forearm, comfortingly. “I’m glad you could release some of it.”

I smile, feeling lighter already. “Me too.” Turning, I look at the quiet, stoic man next to me. “Alexander?”

A small grin appears, and I can see the lightness returning to his body, his shoulders not so low anymore. Running the back of his knuckles over my cheek, he says, “Always so worried about everyone else.”

“Only you.”

“Over yourself when you should be focused on getting better.”

“How can I get better when you’re not?”

Leaning over me, he kisses my forehead, and then looks at the doctor. “She’s impossible. She’ll put everyone else’s needs before hers, even at a detriment to herself.”

“She’s a strong woman.” Turning to me, the doctor says, “He’s right, Sara Jane. Please preserve your energy for healing.” He grabs a tablet from the counter behind him and scrolls on the screen. “From the form you filled out, things sound like you’re exactly where we want to see you. There is little to no swelling. And if you’re generally experiencing little to no pain, we should be able to reduce the pain medication, but let’s do that slowly. Reduce it by fifty milligrams every third day. We should have you off them after another week.”

“Okay.” I hold Alexander’s hand.

“I’m going to take a look at the stitches,” Dr. Whitley says.

I lie back and stare at Alexander as the doctor lifts the gown and lowers the bandage. “It’s looking good. You can stop bandaging the area and let it breathe a bit. The skin might pucker a little when it dries up, but that’s to be expected. Just keep an eye on it, and use vitamin E cream twice daily. If the pink area of the incision turns darker red or redness spreads wider, call us.” Nodding, I exhale when the gown is lowered. He adds, “The only reason to find blood at this point is if there’s a tear. You can add some tape to the area if it’s very minor. Other than that, call us.”

He offers me a hand up so I’m sitting. “Are we done?” I ask.

“Yes,” he replies with a smile. “Keep up the healing. You’re doing well.” Turning to Alexander, he shakes his hand. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything too strenuous.”

A flash of surprise hits Alexander’s eyes, but before he confesses his guilt over our sexual activity, I say, “Got it. Thanks.” As soon as he leaves, I add, “He wasn’t questioning that.”

He laughs. “Sorry. I felt like he could see my thoughts and knew.”

“He can’t. He’s a doctor not a psychic.”

The playfulness is so welcome in my heart right now and feels like it’s healing me in ways untouchable before. Hope returns as I open the window of my soul and let the sunlight pour in.

Hand in hand, we walk out of the doctor’s office. My heart feels lighter. Who would have guessed the appointment would provide more than just a follow-up for my physical wound, but give us the opportunity to release our emotional pain? Finally.