A warning to my readers – this chapter contains mature themes that may be disturbing and/or upsetting for some of you. Please read at your own discretion.
Chapter Six
HER ONLY ESCAPE
Amy didn’t get out of bed the following morning. She refused to acknowledge Matthew, ignoring him completely when he offered her breakfast or anything else. He eventually backed down, accepting that maybe the miscarriage had more of an emotional toll on her, seeing as she’d been the one carrying their baby.
The pain within her was overwhelming. She’d cried out all of her tears, but the pain, her guilt and self-hate, remained strong, stronger than last night. She despised herself – she’d murdered her own baby. She would never be able to forgive herself. Not ever.
At midday, Matthew re-entered their darkened bedroom and told Amy he had to make a trip to the grocery store. Amy’s only acknowledgement was direct eye contact, but it was enough for Matthew to understand that she had heard him. He left silently after kissing her cheek softly.
Amy felt she had failed Matthew as a wife, and she felt guilty for receiving his love. She was supposed to be supportive and loving in return, but she’d failed, not listening to him when he said she was too stressed, and as a result, she’d murdered their baby.
Murderer. Amy was convinced that she was a murderer. She’d failed at her role of a mother, unable to even carry her child before it was born into the world. She’d taken away the life of her child, her own flesh and blood.
Amy suddenly had the willpower to pull herself out of bed. She had no intention of eating or dressing. She would not watch television or movies.
She sought to avenge the murder of her child.
Amy went into the bathroom and ran a bath. A warm bath with her favourite bubble wash. As it was filling, she moved into the kitchen, searching the cupboards for her tool of desire. She smiled darkly as she grasped the handle of a large carving knife, running her finger across the sharp blade.
Back in the bathroom, Amy undressed and submerged herself in the bath water, but left the taps running. She held her left arm in front of her and slid the blade of the knife across her olive skin. A lone tear escaped her eye but a dark and gleeful grin covered her face. She threw her head back in satisfaction, feeling the energy that the incision had given her – the adrenaline.
When the temporary rush had subsided, Amy attacked herself again. And again and again and again. The cuts became deeper and deeper as she sought to avenge the murder of her child. She could not bear to live with herself, knowing she had killed her baby.
Most of her blood began trickling into the water, much to Amy’s delight. Red was a powerful colour. Other traces of her blood dried on her skin before it broke the water. She attacked both of her arms for what seemed like an eternity. She would make an incision and relish in the relief it brought her, the satisfaction that her child would not be dying in vain.
Yet with each incision, Amy became physically weaker. The loss of blood was proving detrimental to her physical functioning, and it soon came to the point where she lost her grip on the knife, and it fell beyond the bathtub, landing on the tiled floor. She reached out to get it, but she lost her balance and fell back into the bathtub, hitting her head hard its rim.
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Recovering Amy (Amy, #2)
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