#i have. thirteen. fragile elephants with fragile noses

[adamsvanrhijn]

someone should go back in time and tell my parents not to give me a stuffed elephant so that i don't become obsessed with an animal that when in the form of a fragile item has a long extremely breakable nose

[swooncalumswoon]

Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be - Calum Hood

Word count: 2.3k

Pairing: Calum + Y/N

WARNING: Talks of still birth

A/N: Hey, it’s been a while.

Turning on his side, Calum blindly reaches an arm out to pull your warm body closer to his. When his hand finds a cold pillow and a scrunched up blanket, he let out a heavy sigh.

This happened every night now. You left the bed, sat outside, fell asleep, only for Calum to wake up in an empty bed at four am, follow you down and bring you back to bed. Every night. Without fail. He wondered if it would ever stop or if this was it for the two of you.

He finds you outside, as expected, but this time, for the first time, you’re awake. You’re sat on the porch steps, back hunched over, elbows resting on your knees, fingers fiddling with a pink, baby-sized elephant stuffed toy.

Calum’s heart breaks all over again.

The nineteen year old, just a year older than you, moves quietly to sit next to you. He leaves a gap between the two of you. You’ve avoided touching him since you returned home from the hospital. The closest he gets to you is when he’s lying next to you in bed, your face always turned away from him. But he craves more than the view of your back. He’s constantly restraining himself from reaching for you, and every time his restraint does crumble, he’s in a half asleep state and you’re never there.

But it’s not just your physical state that’s not there. He needs you emotionally as well as physically. He needs your love, your support and your kind words, because that’s what he wants to give to you: his love, his support and his kind words. He needs you to get through this. But you’re not there. You’re somewhere else. Somewhere out of reach.

It’s like he’s got an anchor tied to his ankle and it’s dragging him down into the cold, emptiness of the sea. He knows reaching you won’t make him float, but maybe, just maybe, if he reaches you, you’ll sink together and the two of you will just accept the horrible fate of never letting go of what you lost.

Yet he’s here, sinking on his own.

Perhaps you’re just floating aimlessly around. Because that’s what it feel like. He’s almost certain your mind and soul have left your body because all that appears to be left of you is an empty, lifeless shell.

You’re too young for this. This shouldn’t have happened to you. Either of you. This shouldn’t happen to anyone. How were you supposed to deal with this? How was anybody supposed to deal with this? Is there a right way to deal with this? No. How could there possibly be a right way to deal with such a thing when the situation is just so wrong and just so unfair.

The two of you thought the hardships of your out of wedlock teen pregnancy were brutal, but oh! How naive you’d both been.

Your little girl had gotten stuck. The umbilical cord had somehow wrapped itself around her, becoming knotted and then...nothing. You were left with nothing but stretch marks, sadness and empty arms.

The crying, the shouting, the family feuds, the hasty wedding to make your out-of wedlock-pregnancy wedlock were all for nothing. Now you were crying for something, but at the same time nothing because she isn’t here.

It isn’t how it should be. But then again, nothing has gone as it should. You weren’t supposed to become best friends with boy that pushed you over and pulled your hair at the young age of seven, but you did. You weren’t supposed to fall for your best friend at the young age of thirteen, but you did. You weren’t supposed to admit your feelings to him at the young age of fourteen, but you did, or more like you were forced to after he discovered your diary under your bed. You weren’t supposed to get pregnant to your childhood sweetheart at the young age of seventeen, but you did. You weren’t supposed to give birth to a stillborn baby girl at the young age of eighteen, but you did.

A combination of accidental happenings somehow lead to this.

It’s strange how things change. How emotions and feelings change. How people change.

You remember the day you found out you were pregnant. You were a sobbing mess, inconsolable as Calum wrapped you up in his arms, rocking you sweetly and muttering incoherent things- to himself or to you, you still do not know.

As the pregnancy progressed and you and Calum got married, the crying and the panicking turned into giggles of happiness and feelings of excitement for the new path life had presented. Sure it was presented earlier than expected, but the two of you began to accept it.

You grew up fast. Seventeen-turning-eighteen with a baby on the way would make anyone grow up fast. Suddenly it wasn’t university applications and Christmas time mock exam stress; it was midwife appointments, house viewings and shopping for baby things. But it was okay. As long as you had Calum and he had you, it was all okay, it was enough.

And then suddenly it wasn’t enough. Calum wasn’t enough.

You needed her, but you’d never be able to have her. You’d never hear her cry, hear her laugh, see her take her first steps, grow her first tooth, say her first words. You’d never know her.

A stranger. She was a stranger. She always would be.

Her face haunts you. It’s all you see when you close your eyes.

They’d let you hold her. It was almost cruel, but for that one moment you could pretend she was just sleeping. Her dark eyelashes were dusting the soft, brown skin of her cheeks. The smooth skin of her eyelids hid the colour of her eyes from your view, but you already knew they’d be his shade of brown. Her nose was wide, her lips were plump and what little hair she had on her head was black and curly. She looked just like her father. Perhaps that explained why you could barely look at him.

It hurt.

You looked to him to find comfort, only to be reminded of what you’d so unexpectedly lost. It hurt to look at him. But the fact that you couldn’t go to him for comfort because of this almost hurt more. Almost.

All of this has led you to here. The back porch steps of your house, her pink elephant toy resting in the palm of your hand when it should be resting next to her in the moses basket that’s still sitting at the end of your’s and Calum’s bed.

You stroke the fluffy material of the stuffed toy before placing it gently in your lap. You keep your eyes on the elephant in your lap as you shuffle closer to the boy you love and adore. Your arm brushes against his and you both shiver at the contact. It’s been so long.

Your cold hands find his warm ones, and he immediately cups your hands between his before he lifts them towards his mouth. He breathes warm air onto your cold hands as he rubs them between his, trying to warm them up.

He’s done this more times than you can count. The first time he did it will be the time you remember the most. Late November when you were fifteen he took you on a date to the funfair that was stopping in town. It was freezing and you’d forgotten your gloves. You remember how Calum had gasped at the feeling of your cold hands against his cheeks as you cupped his cheeks during a kiss on the ferris wheel. He’d pulled away and spent the rest of the ride trying to warm up your hands.

You bat the memory away, focusing on now. You’ve been having trouble staying in the present lately. Always looking back into the happier times, or into the fantasy world you created where you’re part of a happy family of three. Either was better than here, better than now.

You rest your head on his shoulder, loving the feeling of your cheek against the bare skin of his shoulder. You sit like that for a long time: your head on his shoulder and your hands clasped in his. It feels good. You want to sit like that forever. But you can’t. You have to tell him. You know you’re just going to break his heart further, but if you don’t tell him your heart will stay broken.

“It’s not fair.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. It’s so quiet and broken that Calum barely hears it.

“I know.” His breath against your hands stops for a moment as he speaks before it starts again.

“I don’t understand why it happened to us. It doesn’t make sense.” Your voice is cracking and by the time you get the last word out tears are streaming down your face, landing on the pink elephant. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cried into its stomach.

You’re surprised when you feel wetness against the skin of your hands. You pull them from his grasp and look at him properly for the first time in weeks. It hurts. But you force yourself to keep your eyes trained in him. His face is thinner and his eyes have lost the light and warmth they were once saturated with. His eyelashes are wet from the tears that have escaped and his eyebrows are furrowed in what seems to be a constant frown.

He’s just as broken as you are.

He presses his lips together before he utters his next words. “Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be.” He presses the balls of his hands into his eyes as a sobs begin to leave his mouth. They’re strong, wracking his body, making him look small and fragile.

You can only watch him crumble before you.

As he lifts his knees up to his chest, you reach your hand out and run it through his hair. Stopping at the back of his head, you pressure him forward so that his face is in your chest. You continue to run your hand through his hair as you rock him, just like he did you when you found out about the pregnancy. His arms wrap themselves tightly around your waist as he uncontrollably pours his heart out. You mutter sweet, hushed words through your own, softer sobs.

This is what he wants. This is what he needs. This is how he’ll heal. But this isn’t how you’ll heal. You’re going to hate yourself when you do what you need to do.

His sobs are getting stronger, making it harder for him to breathe.

“Baby,” you cup his cheeks, forcing him to lift his head and look at you. You press your lips to his forehead, “Breathe. Breathe with me.” You suck in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before releasing. Your thumbs wipe away his tears as he mimics you, inhaling, holding and exhaling. A sob breaks through every now and the, but soon his sobs stop and his breathing is finally steady.

You need to tell him now. If you don’t tell him now you never will and you’ll be stuck here in this house of little reminders of what you lost.

You lean down, pressing your lips against his. Pulling back you press your foreheads together.

“I’m sorry.” He looks confused for a moment, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to explain your apology.

You pull away, and stuff a hand in your pocket in search for the folded piece of paper you’ve been hiding for days. You hand it to him.

He unfolds it slowly, keeping eye contact with you. “What is it?”

You don’t reply as he begins to read. His eyes move across the page, taking in each and every typed word. He reaches the end and carefully folds the paper before handing it back to you.

“I didn’t even know you’d applied.” He looks hurt. You always tell each other everything.

You stuff the letter back into your pocket. “I didn’t think I’d even get in. And at the time I thought that even if I did get accepted that I wouldn’t be going because… well you know.”

“So you’re going? You’re leaving the country to go to university. You’re leaving me?” It’s like it just hit him. He leans back, turning and sitting on the step your feet are resting on. His back hunches over as he sits in the same position he found you in.

“Yeah.” You whisper the word that ruins the boy sat in front of you. You can almost hear his already broken heart shatter into a million pieces. He’s beyond fixable now. He doesn’t cry though. His head sags forward as the anchor around his foot becomes even heavier, dragging him to his fate, to his hell.

He has nothing.

“I’m sorry.” You rest your hands on his shoulders. His skin is freezing now, yet it’s almost as if he hasn’t noticed. “I just can’t stay here anymore. It’s too much Calum. It’s too much.”

He stands up, pulling away from your touch. For a moment you think he’s going to go back inside, however he surprises you when he sits beside you, presses your head to rest against his shoulder and clasps both of your hands in his once again.

Both of you are silent as you sit there. Your skin turns stone cold, your joints go stiff and the sun begins to rise before Calum finally speaks.

“I understand.” He doesn’t. But it’ll make it easier for you. You need to do this for you. Maybe you will be able to float. Maybe you won’t sink on your own, and you won’t sink with him. As Calum presses a kiss to the wedding band on your left hand, he knows he’ll take your anchor along with his if it means you can float.

~Ellie xx