When she loses the baby, one of her favourite white dresses is ruined. There's a dark red stain on the back. It leaked through her underwear, the silk ones she loved. Dorota slides a long trench coat over her shoulders and calls the car. Her mother is in Paris. She forbids Dorota to call anyone. Not Serena, not Chuck. Not even Louie.
The doctor's prick and prod her. The dress lay collapsed on the steel chair next to the bed. It looks exhausted. Her eyes look tired in the mirror above the sink. She holds the panties in a ball, in her first. She lays back, knees up. She lets instruments slide inside of her. She doesn't wince. The worst is over.
She looks at the ruined dress.
The worst is over.
They release her and she leaves the dress, but clutches the underwear. She tells Dorota to go home. She has to make a stop. The woman refuses.
"Fine." They sit in the back of the car and cross the Brooklyn Bridge in silence.
The staircase is cold and empty. She leaves Dorota in the car downstairs. The panties dangle from her thumb and index finger. She knocks on the thick wooden door with her other fist.
His shadow is visible through the glass. Her breathe is caught between her throat.
He says her name in shock, runs a hand through his unruly hair. His dark eyes look down. "What…"
She sways, falling forward slightly. He catches her shoulders, steadies her. "Come in, please come in." She steps out of the hallway. The door is shut.
His hand falls from her shoulder to her hand. He slips the panties into his own fist. She sees him wince as he examines the blood.
"I need some clothes," she chokes out. The trench drifts open. He sees a silky smooth slip inside but nothing else. Her brokenness stops him from being turned on in the slightest.
They're in his room. He's going through drawers. His fingers graze the Lincoln Hawk shirt Serena used to wear. He pushes it to the back and rescues his tattered Bright Eyes tee. He also pulls free a pair of plaid boxers.
The trench falls to the ground. She stands motionless with it at her ankles. He says her name. She looks to the ground. The only reason her fiancé was staying was for the being growing between her hips. Her fingers touch her flat stomach. She looks up at the dark haired boy and gives a bitter smile.
He drops the clothes on the bed, touches her smooth shoulder. He pushes the strap of her slip. It falls to her elbow and the other follows suit. Her breasts still feel sore. He kisses the top of one before pushing the slip down, watching it fall onto the abandoned coat. He sees the dark stain. He winces once more. She shivers and goose bumps collect on her chest.
He takes the tee shirt, helps pull it over her head and fit her arms through. She leans on him as she pulls the boxers up; they're loose on her hips. He tangles his fingers in her long hair and piles it up on her head. And she smiles a bitter smile.
She looks at his concerned face. The worst is over. The worst is over.