"The baby's...gone," Dean said, quietly. He let go of my hand and started walking around the room.
"Dean, I'm so sorry," I said, through fits of tears. "I couldn't sleep the night you left...I decided to go for a drive..."
"It's my fault," Dean said. He walked back to the window and looked out of it. "I shouldn't have listened to your brother. But..." he fell silent.
"Dean, come here," I said.
Dean walked back to me and sat down.
"It's not your fault. I could see you were frustrated," I said.
"It's my fault. It is," Dean said. Soon, he broke down crying along with me.
Despite bringing in the New Years at the hospital and being around with Dean, my mom, my brother (who actually felt like shit for what he did), and some of my other family members, the new year wasn't going to start off good.
Dean took the news the hardest.
Once me, Dave, and Dean were back home, I sat down on the couch. My mother lit the fireplace so that the house could be warm. But despite the house being warm, it still felt cold in the air.
"I'm going to the store," Dean said to me, grabbing the keys. "You want anything?"
"Just some apple juice is fine," I said.
He left and was gone for half of the day.
Damn, it doesn't take that long to go to the store, does it?
My mom was in the kitchen cooking dinner for us.
Finally, Dean came back home. His eyes were slightly red.
"Here," he said, handing me the bottle of apple juice.
"Thanks," I said.
"Welcome."
I noticed that Dean had something else in the bag. I couldn't make out what it was. He left the living room before I could get a better look.
I was starting to worry about Dean after an hour or so. I was trying not to think the worst was going on and instead tried to focus relaxing. But I just couldn't. Despite getting better after my accident physically, emotionally I couldn't take everything that was going on around me.
My son Dave was back home safe and sound but I had lost my baby and me and Dean were having emotional breakdowns.
I went down the hallway and noticed the bathroom light was on. I knocked on the bathroom door.
"What?"
"Dean, it's me."
I heard him gulping something down.
"Go away, Desiree," he said.
His speech was slurred.
"Dean, please open the door," I pleaded. "I know you're hurting. But you can't shut me out."
There was silence.
"Dean?"
I heard the door unlock. I opened it.
"Dean, give me the bottle," I said.
Dean was drinking a rather big bottle of Jack Daniel's. He was almost finished with the bottle. He was sitting on the toilet.
"Get *hiccup* out of here," Dean said.
I grabbed the bottle out of his hand. He stood up and almost fell over into the bathtub. He somehow regained his composure.
"Stop it," he said.
"You don't need this," I said.
I turned and left the bathroom. I hid the bottle in a cabinet in the kitchen.
"What's that?" my mom asked.
"A bottle of liquor," I said, solemnly.
"Oh," she said. "Give him some time."
"I will," I said, leaving the kitchen again.
I walked back down the hallway. The bathroom light was off. I walked past the bathroom and into my room.
Dean was passed out on the bed.
I pulled the covers over him and left the room.
"Is he alright?" my mom asked from the kitchen.
"Yeah. He's asleep. Save him a plate, please and thank you."