Zoe lay in the dark, the towels underneath her itchy and coarse against the backs of her legs. She gazed up to the ceiling above, ripples of cool blue light moved across it, mirroring the rain that slithered and slunk slowly down the window panes. It must be past midnight, the house was silent, only the gentle hushing of the rain and the whispering of the trees outside.

She placed a hand across her stomach, slipping it under Max's jumper that she wore, resting her palm low against her abdomen, her skin warm and soft to touch. She felt her stomach bubble and rumble beneath her skin.

If she closed her eyes all she could see was the blood on Max's bathroom floor. The smell of it lingered in her nose, at the back of her throat. It hurt to swallow and the roof of her mouth was sore. She had forgotten about the cold. She could hear the remnants of Max's cold as he breathed, he had fallen asleep hours ago, a gentle snore breaking the silence every now and then.

She blinked, the blood scarlet behind her eyelids. She was exhausted from crying, now all that remained were the thoughts in her head. Her body motionless and cold. She'd kicked the cover off, feeling claustrophobic and didn't have the energy to retrieve it.

She could feel Max's breath against her ear, her hair fluttering against her skin with every exhale. His breath smelled faintly of alcohol. She turned her head ever so slowly to look at him, his profile grey against the window.

His mouth hung open, his head tilted upwards resting against his hand. She watched him, and with every breath he took she realised the baby that had been growing inside her would never breathe that air, would never call him 'Daddy', or her...

She shuddered, almost crying out to stop her thoughts from wandering anywhere more harmful. Max stirred, closing his mouth and swallowing. He cleared his throat gently and opened an eye, rolling onto his side to face her and squinting down at her, his eyes struggling to focus in the dark. The dread, the remembrance of what had happened slipping up from his gut, knotting in his throat.

"Are you ok?"

He whispered, rubbing his eye with his fingers.

She didn't answer immediately, only turned her head against him,

"Try to get some rest."

He whispered against her forehead, struggling with the fear that seemed to gnaw and stab at his heart.

"Did you see it?"

She asked eventually, her voice muffled as he reached down and pulled up the duvet around her, placing his arm gently over her, every so often he kissing the skin of her forehead gently.

She felt him stiffen slightly as he breathed in slowly.

"Yes."

He answered, closing his eyes, they were dry and seemed to scratch when he blinked.

"How big..."

She whispered.

He rubbed his fingers over her shoulder, clearing his throat again, finding it difficult to find the right way to answer, wondering if he should even answer at all.

"A bit smaller than my thumb."

He said slowly, still the image at the forefront of his mind, static and illuminated, unmoving.

She rolled over to face him with difficulty, everywhere seemed to ache and throb.

She took hold of his hand, kissing the tip of his thumb with trembling lips and placing it where hers had been, against the soft curve of her stomach, just bellow her belly button.

"I'm sorry."

She drew in a sharp breath through her nose, daring to close her eyes, torturing herself with the half memory of how it had felt, to feel her baby leave her body in such a violent and gruesome manner.

He ran his hand across her skin, back and forth, back and forth, his lips brushing her face, deliberately slowing his breathing down as he began to hum gently, his breath vibrating against her, brushing his lips against her hair, holding her so gently against his chest, his voice whispering to her, the words slow, drawn out, rhythmic;

"...Oh no love! You're not alone, you're watching yourself but you're too unfair,

you've got your head all tangled up, but if I could only make you care..."

It took her a moment to realise that he was singing, his voice just a soft slow whisper against her skin, his body rocking her ever so slightly, his breathing so slow, so laboured it became hard to focus on anything but the 'Rock n Roll suicide'.

"Oh no love, you're not alone.

No matter what or who you've been,

No matter when or where you've seen,

All the knives seem to lacerate your brain,

I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain..."

She felt a lull wash over her mind, as though a blanket had been drawn over her thoughts. She murmured something, she wasn't sure what, her eyes rolling back in their sockets, still he hummed, still he sang, repeating the lines, whispering the lyrics.

"You're not alone."

He breathed, closing his eyes, still rocking her body gently. Love wasn't something he'd felt before, but music never seemed to fail him.

"You're not alone.

Just give me your hands...you're not alone...

Give me your hands, because you're wonderful...you're wonderful

You're not alone..."

Thank you for all of the lovely, lovely reviews! I love reading them, especially when I'm up with my son at 4AM each morning! They make the early starts a little more tolerable!

I had someone ask if I write for a living, I don't know how to reply to individuals? Is that possible? Anyway, I do, I'm a writer and journalist (little bit worried about admitting to that as I'm obviously writing this without a proof-reader/editor!)

Anyway, thank you again, I will update again very soon x :)

Oh I forgot to add, this update would be best read whilst listening to David Bowie's 'Rock n Roll suicide' (youtube it) x