The more Austin pulled away from me, the worse I felt. The more I died inside. It had been a year and a half since my miscarriage, and I asked him at least twice a month if he was using again. That’s what our relationship had come to. He swore on everything that he had ever loved and promised me that he wasn’t using, that he hadn’t relapsed since that night. The only problem was he acted like he was.
The sad thing about it, I couldn’t tell if he was using or not. It had been too long or maybe I was just too blind. Too emotionally exhausted to think otherwise. The tattooed sleeves on his arms made it nearly impossible to see any track marks.
He was still going to his NA meetings and talking to his sponsor often. Doing everything he did before he relapsed, maybe even more so now. But the way he acted. It wasn’t my Austin, and that’s what confused me the most.
The air was so thick between us that some days he would hide out in the room that was supposed to be our baby’s. I hated going in there, and I think he knew that. It was his safe place to get away from me, away from real life.
Away from us.
I found some support groups online with women who had miscarriages, and a lot of them said that their relationships with their husbands or boyfriends suffered because of the tragic loss. That sometimes their partners blamed them, causing an even bigger rift and turmoil in their already shattered relationship from the miscarriage itself.
“It’s not me I’m blaming.”
Those five words haunted me everyday.
Which was why I let him be. I believed every word that came out of his mouth because he’d never lied to me. I trusted him because I loved him. I lost myself more and more every day during that year-and-a-half, the reason being that. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror. Most days I tried avoiding my reflection, not wanting to accept what was happening.
Austin was all I’d ever known. I went from my uncle’s fucked up grasp, to his. There was no middle ground. I didn’t know how to be anyone else but his girl.
And that scared me more than anything.
I started going to some NA meetings without him knowing about it. Trying to understand the way his mind worked. How an addict’s mind worked. Hoping that I could gain some insight on how to proceed, how to help him. I learned that addicts are very selfish people and that their addiction becomes so consuming that they don’t even realize it. I heard the words “rock bottom” come out of so many damn stories, and it made me question if Austin had truly hit his.
Enough for him to change.
I wondered if he ever stood up and told his story to a bunch of strangers that were all united and tied together by drugs. Their addiction. I wondered if his story included me, what he said, what he feared. What he wanted out of life. I used to think it was me. Love. Happiness. A family.
I didn’t know that anymore.
I began to question if I ever knew it at all.
“Baby…” Austin groaned from behind me, pulling me into his embrace.
He kissed all along the back of my neck, and I leaned into his affection. There were times like this where he would show me the love that I knew was still in there, even though we were both hurting. We would make love for hours, and he would hold me and tell me he loved me. He would call me his girl. With the snap of a finger, the next day he would go back to ignoring me.
Pushing me away.
I couldn’t keep up anymore. His emotions were causing me whiplash, and after all these years, I finally felt the havoc it brought upon me. We never discussed trying for another baby. It wasn’t an option. I went back on the pill and that was the end of it. Austin all of a sudden started to pull out when we had sex. There were very few times he actually came inside me anymore.
He didn’t want to try again, and I guess I couldn’t blame him. Neither one of us could survive the heartbreak of losing another life.
There was so much blood on my hands that I could barely see them.
The entire time I was pregnant, all we talked about was our wedding, marriage, and our future together. I knew he was going to ask me to marry him, I just didn’t know when. Now, I couldn’t tell you if that was even in the cards anymore.
One thing was for sure. We couldn’t go on like this.
I couldn’t go on like this.
“You smell so fucking good, Daisy.”
I loved it when he was this way with me.
Mine.
“I have to go in to the shop for a few hours. I have a client I have to finish up. I’ll stop by Half-Pint’s restaurant on the way home to get some dinner and that chocolate cake you love. I’ll bring you home the whole fucking cake, baby. You just have to smile for me.” He turned me around to look deep into my eyes. “Just give me that goddamn smile.”