052:

"I'm leaving." He gasped, and I didn't even---- no, couldn't even look up. The door opened and shut with it's harder than usual click. I flung myself on my side and sobbed irrationally, the contraction peaking, the babies all breathing a collective sigh of relief, and my arms feeling like spaghetti noodles as I tried to use them to push myself up. I rolled off the side of the bed, wincing as the contraction finally eased, and my breathing resumed. I pushed up, ungainly, without form as I listed to one side and then back, dizzily, tears still blurring my vision--- why weren't they stopping? They had a mind of their own, and they thought they were Niagara Falls.

I made it to the door and locked it with shaking fingers. I'd never locked a bedroom door in my life. I turned and leaned against it. Knowing it. Owning it.

I'd done some pretty naughty things before, but rule one in our house, never lock the bedroom door. If mom or dad wanted access to you, they better be able to have it instantly. Hence, the night that Rafe and I destroyed six feather pillows in my former bedroom at Rosewood. It probably still looked the way we'd left it. But that night, with all the screaming, Dad had simply been able to walk in. At least, if he had knocked we'd not heard him.

I felt a rush of nostalgia at the memory of Rafe in those red and white striped pajamas, far too small, revealing far too much of his anatomy. The sudden wash of emotion---- he'd been so cleverly cute day three or four of our relationship--- before the issues---

I buried my face in my hands and cried again.

I had locked Rafe out now. I was angry and hurt. He'd revealed the Mexico idea, that he hadn't bothered to explain, which meant he was thinking of heading to Sonora himself, to either meet with Maximiliano Guiterez, or what? Look for the necklace on his own? He wasn't stupid. He would have to know he didn't stand a chance of finding a necklace like that in a palacio in Sonora that he'd never even been to that was heavily guarded by the cartel. That didn't make any sense. He's not stupid.

I had called him stupid, though.

Well, he was stupid for being so jealous, and for cussing.... Cussing! He'd said the worst cuss word---- the absolute granddaddy cuss word and he'd said it to Ben--- his best friend, and in my presence. He could--- he could--- just----!

I was so angry I wanted to scream. I pounded the back of my fists against the wood behind me, and did just what I wanted. I let out my rage and frustration with an ear-splitting whoosh! And when one wasn't enough—I pounded harder, and did it again. I added a foot stomp.

Hadn't Ben told me--- Rafe had smashed his fist through a door? Why? Was this the kind of frustration that caused a rational person to make irrational decisions? He. Is. A. Professional. Pound fists again. Kick door behind.

Feel anger sweltering on next contraction. I tilted my head back to the ceiling and screamed again.

He was my husband, and his professional example was to hit his fist through a door. I hit my fists. It wasn't satisfying. The door was stronger than me. I kicked it. I turned around and faced it and kicked it again.

The contraction built into a roaring crescendo of mind numbing tension, the five inside couldn't believe this reaction to my adrenaline--- well, weren't they all being fed a steady dose of adrenaline for the first time right this second? Being squished and delivered highly toxic poison? That's the kind of mother I am!

Someone tried the door. I stepped away, gripping my lower abdomen as if my arms could support it.

"Open the door." Of course, it was the professional I'd married. And I was a professional too. I could multitask, watch this. I could kick, have contractions, and scream in rage all at the same time. My husband had just taught me how, and now I was indoctrinating our offspring.

I kicked the door again. Out of control. I couldn't even think. I doubled over as the contraction pinched my nerves all to heck. I was panting in exertion. Angry--- so angry. Had this really stupid issue just sent me into labor prematurely? Even more angry at that thought.

I was beyond words angry.

"Go away!" I yelled through my pain. I couldn't even straighten up, but I stumbled to the bed, flopped down, rolled and clutched my belly.

I heard the string of muted cuss words as if from far away, and then the slamming feeling of his fist against my door. Great! Now he was going to bust that up as well.

I actually had terbutaline injections in the nightstand that I could administer to myself. I still clutched the tightening middle part of me, fear of the pain and the early onset of possible labor clouding my judgment.

I am a professional.

"Aubrey, open this door, now!"

I need to block him out. His outbursts are causing me stress. He can't be part of this if he is going to stress me out. Think, Aubrey. Think. How to stop pre-term labor.

Number one: Don't panic. A few minor contractions didn't constitute labor.

Number two: Settle down. Take a nice warm bath.

I rolled over. The bathroom for this room isn't in the room. I bit my lip, took a deep cleansing breath and decided to brazen it out.

I heard the uncanny sound of metal on metal on wood and then the door handle turned and Rafe stepped in. I was sitting on the side of the bed now, and I looked up at him. My eyes had stopped their unnatural watering, but I'm sure my face was splotchy. He just stood there staring at me.

"Why didn't you answer me?" He dropped the tools he'd used to unlock the door on the foot of my bed.

"I can't. I'm having contractions. I need to stop worrying about you and your idiocy, and focus on myself."

He had stopped moving and now was staring in wide-eyed fear. He'd discarded his sandals, and I watched as his toes worked their way into the carpet. He was still agitated.

"I'm going to take a warm bath. I have some herbal teas, and some hypnobirthing techniques and some positions I'd like to try and I don't need your stress at the moment. This has to come first for me, so why don't you go?"

"I--- I can't go." He knelt in front of me, and the rancid BO of his temper tantrum filled my nostrils.

"You can't be here smelling like a Viking. Go work it off. Shower, or play ball, or something. If you're settled down, or can settle yourself down, maybe we can talk."

He went to the closet and found another dress like the one I had on, draped it over his arm and went to the bathroom near our downstairs bedroom--- I heard the water running.

The bathroom we used down here was outside of the room, but it was still a very large and very nice room. I forced myself to stand, as the contraction eased, knowing I needed to get off my feet, and ease the pressure on the cervix. I made it to the door and saw that he'd started the shower on one side of the room and the bathwater in the large spa tub, pouring in the Epsom salts I kept there for just such a contingency. Now that my brain was working again, I felt more in control.

Rafe still stunk as I passed him silently on my way to the tub. It had steps up to it, and steps down, maybe one step, I had only used it once before.

I started to strip and noticed Virgil was standing at the door.

"Hi, baby." I said weakly, and cleared my throat, clutching my gown. "Aubrey's gonna take a bath, okay?"

His eyes darted to Rafe who had started the coffee maker with hot water and retrieved a mug for my tea.

"It's okay, bud." Rafe said gently, that special calm he reserved for his children back in place. He put an arm around Virgil's thin shoulders and urged him back the way he'd come. I saw him look over his shoulder in anxiety and I nodded to him.

"I'm all right, love bug." I announced with a small smile of reassurance for our little boy. "This is normal. My tummy hurts, and the warm water will make it feel better, okay?"

His dark eyes were so solemn. It was hard in that moment to put him first, to try and project into his fears and concerns, his sense of abandonment, and his distress. But I knew I had to reassure him. Felicity and Rein had come around the hall from the kitchen searching for Virgil. Abbie was right behind them, her face white, her eyes suspicious. She'd heard the recent outbursts.

I started to close the bathroom door as Rafe turned the kids over to Abbie, intending to come back to me. I bit my lips as another contraction clamped itself onto the nerves in my back. It wasn't really all that bad, as in not exactly painful, but the thought of it not going away with my efforts to make it go away, and then having to go in and deliver the quints at barely thirty weeks made me feel sick.

I felt a throat choking sensation and told myself to breathe, focus inward. It was almost time to visualize.

Rafe closed the door behind us and locked it.

Another lock I wasn't used to.

He came to me as I leaned against the tiled wall separator. His hands were warm and soft as he pulled the dress up and over my head. He'd been right, I wasn't wearing anything under it. Number one: it was so hot, every little thing against my hyper sensitive skin was like a scratch on a chalkboard, and number two: I hadn't really thought I could bend over and put underwear on, nor clasp a bra today.

I left his side and went to the shower, like the others, there was no real door, just an arched lip to catch water, dim lights at the far end, it was again, long and narrow, tiled beautifully, with multiple spigots. We didn't have this Romanesque of bathing chambers at Rosewood. I stepped into the hot water, and instantly felt the relief of its soothing fluid rain. I forced my eyes closed, tilted my head back and let it wash over my prickly skin.

I'd intended to rinse off alone, focus, do some visualization. Hypnobirthing would have me take it to the dial image, and start dialing down the cervical opening, dialing down the tightening pains. But Rafe's gliding hands in my hair, shampooing changed my plan. His chest against mine, wet and slippery was all business though. I let him lather and rinse and apply conditioner. He went to another spigot and soaped up instantly.

His back was to me when I pulled the now untangled strands through my fingers to get the conditioner out. His tattoos were inky, indistinct, and covered him from neck to waist. Normally, I was drawn to them. Fascinated by their scope and surreal beauty--- today they reminded me of a different man, someone who was insanely jealous, and impulsive. They stood for his pain and his loss, and they stood for a time in his life in which I didn't exist. They were not part of me in every way as was the rest of him.

I watched as he washed his hair, leaned back, closed his eyes and let the water cascade over his face, both heavily muscled arms up, pulling the suds out. I swallowed hard. Rafe was beautiful---- and kept himself more than fit.

I turned my back on him--- feeling the sting of tears now for a different reason.

The water was steaming in the tub. I managed to get in without help, not sure Rafe even knew I'd left the shower. I sank into the water and as the Epsom salts swirled in a cloudy mist, I closed my eyes. This contraction was not as hard.

I'm not a bath person. But this warm water felt heavenly. My legs were bent, and my bottom felt bony against the porcelain or whatever made up the walls of the tub. I leaned over the baby belly, feeling overwhelmed with remorse.

I'd let myself get out of hand.

I'd lost my cool.

What had I been thinking? This had the potential to turn out so badly.

I didn't even feel him enter my bathwater. But as the swirls rippled and the water lapped against me, I opened my eyes to see his legs framing my backside. I hung my head, unable to hold it up.

Cool fingers pulled my hair away from my neck.

"I'm sorry, Aubrey."

I had nothing for that. It happened far too often. Apologies were certainly acceptable, and I'd accept his, but it didn't change the facts.

"You hit the door." He admonished.

"Thought I'd try it and see if it helped. My husband thought it might."

He chuckled. "Did it?"

"Not really."

"I'm sorry for hitting the door."

"Why are you so jealous of Ben?"

"Keep him out of our room and I'll promise never to let my jealousy show again. It's under control, okay? I swear."

I shuddered. "Stop swearing. Please. Please."

"No."

I leaned my face to the side on my shoulder and he peered at me, dark eyes reflecting the illumination of the skylight above us. His arms came around me, insinuating themselves under mine on top of the babies as my abdomen began its slow tightening. His sensitive fingers were sure to feel it. My whole body waited in anticipation of it.

"It grates on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard."

"I know it does."

"It's really unpleasant." With one fist, Rafe released my fingers, pressed his fist between us in a knot in my lower back and kept it there, firmly planted. Instantly the pain of the contraction eased significantly. His other arm rose to just under my chin, as his lips lowered to my ear.

"Aubrey. I barely cuss around you at all. I've made a huge effort to resist a vocabulary I built over thirty years' time. For you, I would stop using those words. For you. To the best of my ability. Just know, if you hear a cuss word out of my mouth, that I have used up the best of my ability. I honor you with everything in me. But if I cuss--- I mean to do it. They aren't proverbial slips, they aren't ----." 

I closed my eyes with one finger over his lips. I forced myself to breathe and eventually held my breath--- as the contraction eased.

*****