OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

one-hundred-nine.

When it was over, Reagan untangled herself out from under the blanket that she and Kate were sharing. She stood slowly, not wanting to wake her sister, but as soon as her feet were planted on the carpet, pain crunched through her lower stomach.

She inhaled sharply, her hand flying to her abdomen. The sudden discomfort reminded her of a period cramp, but it also abruptly reminded her of something else — the night she'd gone into labor with Gracie.

Reagan felt the blood drain from her face in a rush and the voice inside her brain went into overdrive.

No, she told herself. It's not like that.

It couldn't have been. It was something else, a normal cramp from having laid on the couch for so long. Her lower back had been aching ever since she'd gone downstairs and she scrambled to reason that she'd slept funny, or laid at too-awkward of angle on the couch with Kate.

She took a deep breath, feeling her hand around to her back. It ached, but there was no sign of another oncoming punch of pain like the one she'd just felt.

It was nothing. It was just muscle aches.

Practicing extra caution, Reagan took her time stooping to pick up Kate's empty coffee mug and the plate they'd shared a few slices of bacon on. She was even more careful as she shuffled to the kitchen, waiting anxiously for more pain to cripple her. She made it to the sink without feeling a thing.

She exhaled. It had been nothing, just as she'd predicted. She placed the dirtied dishes in the sink and went to turn on the faucet.

Just as her hand closed over the sink's hot water knob, the pain reared up again, the second wave much worse than the first.

Reagan gasped, grabbing her stomach and hunching over. Again, she was reminded of how she'd felt the night that she'd given birth to Gracie. It was the same sensation of her insides sabotaging her and it was the same scenario in which she was pregnant with a baby that wasn't ready to come out.

Especially not this baby. Not at thirteen weeks.

She held onto the counter and steadied her breathing, but it did her no good. Another stab of pain swept through her belly and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to groan. 

The cramps were familiar, but they were more rushed than they'd been with Gracie, never letting up once the second wave had found her. They persisted, making Reagan's lower body ache heavily. It felt like something in her gut was being pulled downwards.

Bathroom. Now.

Reagan staggered out of the kitchen, bent over in an effort to subdue the agonizing pain between her hips. She got to the stairs and looked up miserably, wondering if she could climb all fourteen steps without collapsing.

She couldn't even tell what was more distressing; the pain of the cramping, or the fact that she was even having them in the first place.

Using up the last of her dwindling willpower, she dragged herself up the steps, clinging to the rail the whole time and pausing with every spasm rocked her body. By the time she made it the second story, she was panting.

The one bathroom in the Abner household was small and small was not what Reagan needed. The walls felt like they were closing in on her as she shakily shut the door and pulled down the pair of light cotton pants she was wearing.

What she saw horrified her.

Blood. So much of it.

It was running in rivulets down her thighs and pooling thickly in her underwear. For a half-second, Reagan wondered if she'd somehow blacked out long enough to have been stabbed or injured or knocked over into something sharp.