An idea, that popped into my head, and that I've put up for all of you to read and REVIEW. I cannot stress that last part enough. I can't know if what I'm doing is working if I am not given any feedback. I own nothing...check out my other fics: Begin to Hope, Dope Sick,and Trying. Leave a review for them too if you get a chance, even if you aren't into what I wrote, I'm glad to hear anything.

Anyways I hope you enjoy. I've been working on this for a while, and I am really starting to like it.

More soon.

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This was never supposed to happen.

That's all I can think as I sit propped against the wall, staring at an empty baby cradle. I can remember the second I realized that I was pregnant. That little blue plus sign was scariest fucking thing I'd ever seen in my eighteen years of life. One night of careless, senseless sex and now, I'd closed the book on my whole life. Nothing can prepare you for that kind of shock.

Eventually, I warmed up to the idea. The baby was due right after my nineteenth birthday. Everything was going smoothly, and I was looking forward to being the mom I always wanted.

I like to think that I could be a good mother. I like to think that I could do most things right, and not let it overwhelm me. My kids wouldn't have to deal with parents like the ones I'd had: a military father who'd dedicated himself more to his career than his family, and an alcoholic mother who spent years passed out on the sofa. I'd convinced myself that my kids would have at least a mom who loved and protected them, especially if they couldn't have a dad.

I never told Craig. I meant to, but every time I got up enough nerve to pick up the phone and dial him, I got his answering machine, and he never returned the call. I couldn't bring myself to leave a message. I thought he deserved to hear it in person. When I was about four months into it all, the number was disconnected, and I couldn't have called him if I wanted to. So, I let him fade away, figuring when he took time away from being a rock star to look me up, he would see that he'd missed his chance to be a father.

She was born a week early, on my birthday, and my Annie, Anne Marie Manning, was the most perfect gift I could have gotten. Every morning spent bowed over the toilet, every night spent with an aching back and throbbing feet, and every hour of mind-numbing labor was instantly redeemed at the sight of one beautiful little girl.

She was mine, my flesh and blood. I knew instantly that Annie was my heart.

Someone's home and my daydream is shattered. It sounds like it could be Alex because of the heavy, pounding footsteps. I don't even know what time it is. My head is still spinning. The long, long silence I'd been enveloped in is forever destroyed when a voice cuts across the apartment.

"Hello?"

It is Alex. I don't want her to find me; what I really want is to slip through the cracks in the wall and never be seen again.

"Ellie?"

My voice doesn't want to work. I can't answer, but she knows I should be here. My car is still parked where I always park it, and my keys and cell phone are probably on the counter. Alex will look for me; I know it. She would never let an unusual situation just be. I think not knowing what's going on makes her nervous. She calls my name again, and I can tell she's getting closer.

"Ellie?"

A second later, my door swings slowly open, and Alex's pokes her head in. Immediately, I see her face fall. She knows something's not right.

"Ell, what are you doing on the floor?" She says. Her face scrunches in confusion, and she steps inside the room. I can see the instant she realizes that I have been crying. It's written all over her face. She looks at the empty bassinet, and back at me. For a second, she's confused, but I guess the expression on my face says it all. Alex falls down next to me, and leans her back into the wall.

"Oh God Ellie," she sighs. Her voice cracks. She knows it has to be something really awful.

That's one thing I love about Alex. For a girl who seems like such a heartless bully, she's remarkably intuitive. You don't ever have to say anything; she just knows. She doesn't ask or even say anything at all, but for my own unclear reasons, I hear the words tumble out of my mouth.

"She was blue. I woke up this morning and went to get her out of the crib, but she was just blue Alex," I croaked. Tears are welling up in my eyes for the millionth time today. Alex's arm shrug around me, and next thing I know, I'm soaking her shoulder with fat tears, and it hurts. It actually, physically hurts me when I think about it.

She was my daughter, my baby girl. I will never get to see my baby laugh, or talk or even cry, ever again. She's gone forever.

My Annie is dead

I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe, but it doesn't worry me, because I don't want to ever take another breath. It hurts too much.

Alex doesn't let go, and I have to love her for it. I know that Alex isn't even usually a hugger or even at all one for physical contact, but she just lets me cry a mess all over her shirt. We are silent, except for my crying, for the longest time until she mumbles something and I hear her sniffle. When I pull away and look up, she's crying too.

Her tears are quieter, and more dignified than mine, but are nonetheless there. Neither of us moves away from the wall. Alex is staring at the empty bassinet, and I can tell her heart is breaking too.

I never said anything about it, but I was going to make her Annie's godmother. In the brief nine weeks we'd all had with her, Alex had especially taken to my little girl. I could tell she would've spoiled that baby rotten if she'd gotten the chance.

"The said it was probably SIDS," I hear myself whisper. Once again, the words escape my mouth without thought. Alex looks at me, surprised that I spoke again.

"Isn't that the thing you can't prevent?" She asks. I shrug, because I can't really remember what they said; most of the hours spent at the hospital are all still blurry to me.

I will never tell her about the battering of questions doctors hit me with at the hospital. Did I smoke, drink, or do drugs? Were there blankets or stuffed animals in the crib? Did I have thoughts of hurting my baby? Was I prone to violence? That was a traumatic experience in itself, and every answer I gave seemed like it wasn't good enough to them. To everyone I talked to, it seemed like they thought it must've been my fault. I will never tell her that they have a social worker on me, trying to figure out what I might've had done wrong, and how I might have been responsible for the death of my own baby.

For all I know it could've been my fault. I could be a murderer.

My chest tightens and I can't breathe deep enough to feel the air in my lungs. I feel like a murderer. God, I probably did do something wrong. I'm only nineteen; I shouldn't have been a mother. I'm not old enough, not smart enough, and I had no place in thinking I could have ever done this right. This is my fault. I got what I deserved.

I killed my own child.

The whole room is collapsing in around me. It's becoming unbearably hot, and my breaths are getting rapid. I know either I am about to have some kind of mental breakdown, or I am having a panic attack. Either one is no good by my standards. I look up and see Alex's mouth moving, but I don't know what she's saying. My ears are pounding with the dull roar of my pulse.

Suddenly, I feel arms wrap around my middle, and Alex is holding onto me as if she's holding on for her life, and she's speaking right into my ear.

"You have to breathe, it's ok, this is all in your head," she says. I nod blankly, trying to pull back into reality. She just keeps talking to me, and I tune in and out, sometimes hearing her say her same reassurances, and sometimes only hearing my heart racing. I am going crazy. I can feel it. My brain just keeps spitting that awful word in my face: Murderer.

I am a murderer.

"It's all in your head," she says again. "You are fine, and you are safe. You are not crazy; this is all in your head. This is just a panic attack, you will be fine."

My eyes are squeezed shut, and in my head, I hear shouting. Someone is screaming and nearing hysterics. I don't think it's me, but it has to be someone. I open my eyes, and feel that my mouth is shut. Alex is still right in front of me. My lungs are loosening, and the roar in my ears is dying down, but I still feel crazy.

"Are you ok?" she asks. I nod, for her sake. It's probably not at all comfortable to have a nutcase freaking out right in front of you. She pulls away finally.

"I'll be right back," she says, and leaves me sitting on the floor alone again. I force myself to keep breathing, but it's remarkably harder than I expected.

When Alex leaves, I figure out where that yelling came from. She and Paige are in what sounds like the kitchen, arguing. Paige is the hysterical screaming voice from earlier. Apparently, with my eyes shut and me going mental I missed a blow up from the Queen Bee.

Alex thinks if she whispers, that no one will be able to hear her fights with Paige, but it's a futile effort on more than one level. First of all, Alex has one of those whispers that the whole world can hear. It's not very subtle, and even if she could speak quietly enough to conceal her own words, Paige screams loud enough that it doesn't matter. This is a small apartment, and not a single word of their fight escapes me.

"What were you and Nash doing in there Lexi?" Paige is screaming. She is talking rapid fire, and Alex is trying to get Paige to be quiet enough to let her have a word.

"I don't want to be quiet Alex. I can't believe you," the blonde bellows.

"Jesus Christ Paige, you obviously don't understand," Alex spits back.

"I'm not stupid. I walked in on you and Ellie didn't I? Don't you dare call me stupid," Paige yells back. I wince, feeling the bitterness in her words. Alex sighs so loud that it's almost more of a growl.

"You're not stupid and I never said that," Alex defends, "But you don't get it." Paige's footsteps are so loud; I know that she's pacing back and forth.

"I get it, I totally get it hun. If you want someone else, fine by me, go for it," she says. Alex keeps trying to force her words in, but Paige isn't giving her an inch to speak in. "I guess if I'm not enough then-"

"Fucking hell Paige, her baby died this morning! Annie's gone," Alex finally yells. Her voice drops into a fierce whisper now that she's gotten her girlfriend's attention and she doesn't need to yell. I suspect she doesn't want me to hear, but like I said, this is a small apartment, and Alex's voice isn't exactly gentle. "Ellie was having a fucking panic attack."

The whole apartment is dead silent, and I can hear Paige's mind blow. It shattered into a million tiny little pieces all over the floor, just as my heart did.

"What?" Paige croaks. Her voice is so much smaller and gentler. Alex sighs loudly again.

"The baby's gone. It was SIMS or SIBS or something," Alex says, frustration evident in her voice. The part of me that knows Alex suspects that this annoyance in her voice is a cover-up to avoid revealing how much it really affected her.

"Sudden infant death syndrome," Paige murmurs. I can only figure that Alex nodded, because I don't hear her answer.

"Oh my god," Paige whispers. "Oh god, the poor girl." There is a sharp pang in my chest when she says that. I don't know why that specific statement of hers hurt. All I know is that I feel like I am going to freak again.

But I force myself to keep breathing. This is all my head being unable to process what has happened. I need to sleep or something.

I need to stop thinking for today.