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Original Fiction >> Tragedy

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.


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Bleeding Through
By FarAwayEyes


Note: All characters in Bleeding Through belong to me. The events that take place in this story are fictional and any similarities to people, alive or dead is coincidental.

Bleeding Through

The loud melodies of Chopin grated on Kathy's ears as her husband beat out his frustrations on the piano down the hall. She wiped an errant tear from her eye as she flicked her gaze back towards the picture in her hand. A tiny representation of her unborn child in black and white lay within. Kathy looked through the large bay window at the radiant white that blanketed the world outside their lonely living room. Another crescendo burst forth from down the hall and Kathy dropped the photo to clasp her hands over her ears.

“Stop it! Just stop it, Michael!” Kathy fled out the back door into the bitter cold, forgetting her coat in her haste to escape the pain.

She ran down the garden path, ignoring the harsh February wind that assaulted her exposed skin. Kathy knelt down onto the fresh snow. Chestnut strands of hair fell into her face as she bent forward, her hands over her eyes. She began to rock back and forth to the steady rhythm of the piano floating through the open door. She whimpered, unable to escape her husband's pain.

Sitting up, Kathy realized she had stopped in front of her beloved rose bushes. She tore the coverings off as tears froze to the sides of her face. Wailing, Kathy ignored the sting of the thorns as she pulled on one of the bushes itself. Blood dotted the clean snow below and she stared at it in fascination. Kathy let the uprooted bush drop, gaping at her slashed palms.

A clang interrupted the momentary silence and Kathy shouted, “Damn you, Michael! Damn you and your piano!”

Kathy stared up towards the weak, winter sun. This was supposed to be her first Minnesotan winter. They had both grown tired of the heat in Georgia, choosing to move north to Duluth. Kathy remembered the day Mike suggested it. He had been excited about the change in scenery. He had said with a baby on the way that everything should be fresh. At first Kathy had been eager to experience her first true winter, but now all it did was remind her of her loss.

Kathy assaulted the next bush, tugging on it by its stalk. It snapped in her hand, cutting further into her palms. She tossed it aside and clutched her head before folding her tiny body into a tight ball. Kathy clutched a hand to her mouth, tasting the tang of blood.

Snow clung to her blue sweater as she sat up. She tugged on a third bush, slashing deeper gashes into her battered palms. Frantic trills drifted out into the frozen garden. Kathy shouted as she yanked, “Damn it, Michael! Will you stop beating on that damn piano already! Enough is enough.”

Once the bush was free, Kathy beat it into the ground, frozen dirt flinging from the roots to sully the white snow. More blood spattered, mixing with the black earth. Kathy tossed it aside and pulled on her remaining rose bush: her favorite yellow tea-cup. She strained against the frozen earth as arms suddenly encircled her waist. Kathy let go of the large bush, jabbing an elbow backwards. A grunt reached her ears, although the arms didn't release.

“Let me go!”

“Not until you explain why you're out here destroying your rose garden.” Mike's deep baritone whispered into her ear. “What are you doing out here without a coat, Kat?”

Kathy squirmed out of his grip, glaring at him. She clenched her hands into fists blood squeezing out between the knuckles to splatter onto the snow. “Go back to your damn piano and leave me alone.”

“Come back inside, Kat. It's much too cold to be out here without a coat.” Mike rubbed his hands on the green sleeves of his sweater. His breath crystallized in the air as he spoke. “I'm not going back inside until you do.”

Kathy dug her fingernails deep into her wounded palms. She shook a fist at Mike and warm blood dripped from the gashes, down her arm to stain her sleeve. Kathy shouted, “No! Just go, leave me alone damn it. Your piano must be lonely. It's the longest you've been away from it all week!”

“God damn it, Kat! Look at what you did to your hands.” A frown crossed his pale face and dark bangs fell into his green eyes. Mike reached a hand out to grab one of hers.

Kathy flinched away from him, blood dotting the snow. She shouted, “Like you care! As if you give a damn! You haven't come out of that damn room all week. That stupid piano obviously means a lot more to you than I do.”

Silence settled over them as snow started to lightly fall. The flakes swirled in the wind before they landed, sticking to the frozen earth. Tree branches swayed and Kathy shivered, hugging herself for warmth. The frigid wind howled and snow stung Kathy's face as she stared at the ground.

Mike closed the gap between them and gripped her hand, forcing the palm open. He ran a finger across the cuts, blood coating the tip of it. “Jesus Christ, Kat. I care. What the hell made you come out here and rip your roses out? It's freezing.”

Kathy jerked her hand away and she squinted as snow stuck to her eyelashes. She charged, beating her fists against his broad shoulders. Blood trickled out from her knuckles to spatter on Mike's sweater, staining it brown. “No you don't! You don't give a damn about me! All you care about is your piano! Why don't you just leave me alone and play that god damned Chopin song again?”

“Bullshit! What the fuck? Kat, of course I care about you. What makes you think I don't care?” He grabbed her wrists, preventing her from beating his chest.

Kathy strained against his strong grip. She glared at him and shouted, “Let me go! No you don't! You don't care! You haven't left that damn room all week. I hear you late at night. You don't sleep. You haven't come to bed. You haven't talked to me all week. What the hell am I supposed to think when all you do is play that damn song over and over?”

Mike let go and backed away. He clenched his hands to his sides and glared at the ground, frowning. Mike said, “Maybe I haven't slept because all I can see when I close my eyes is you on the ground. All I can see is you falling and I know I could have stopped it.”

“Don't you do this to me, you bastard. Don't you blame yourself for losing our girl.” Kathy squeezed her nails deep into her palms, blood spotting the snow beneath her feet. “I won't let you take responsibility for my mistake.”

Mike stepped closer, pulling her against his chest. “Damn it, Kat. It's not your fault. It's mine. You got that?”

“Let me go! Just leave me alone!” When Mike tightened his hold on her, Kathy caved in and slumped against his shoulder, sobbing. “Why! Why us? What did I do to deserve this?” She gripped his sweater in her injured hands.

Mike pulled her closer, providing the warmth and security that she desperately needed. He rested his chin atop her head. “I don't know, Kat. It's not your fault.”

Kathy shivered against him. “Yes it is. It has to be. I could have stayed inside. I didn't need to go out to see the snow.”

“Damn it, Kat. I already told you, don't blame yourself.” Mike hugged her closer to his chest. “It's not your fault, it's mine and we both know it. I don't ever want to hear you blame yourself again.”

Kathy sobbed, burying her face into his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, her bloodied palms smearing onto his sweater. Kathy's teeth chattered as the cold air numbed her body. Mike pulled away, grasping one of her slashed hands into his. She didn't resist as he tugged on her, pulling her towards the house. The heat struck her as they entered and she stopped shivering. Kathy blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit hallway.

“Let me go, Michael!”

Mike ignored her plea and dragged her to the kitchen. He pushed her into a chair, opposite the stove. Mike opened a cupboard, pulling out bandages and set them down onto the table. His dark bangs fell into his face, hiding his eyes from her. He scowled as he counted out square gauze bandages. Mike looked up, his green eyes connecting with her gray. “Wash your hands, Kat.”

Kathy stood, crossing to the sink. She stared out the window that overlooked the garden and saw the black dirt and her blood sullying the crisp, white snow. The bushes she had uprooted lay strewn about. Turning on the sink, Kathy placed her abused palms under the warm water and watched in fascination as it swirled pink down the drain. She squirted some soap onto her palms, the foam turning a bright red. As she rinsed, she saw that the gashes on her palms were deep and that fresh blood bubbled to the surface as soon as she removed them from the rushing water.

Kathy glanced over her shoulder, noticing that Mike stared at her. His eyes were narrowed and his frown increased. He joined her by the sink, taking one hand into his. Mike ran a finger over one of the cuts. He said, “Jesus, Kat.” He pulled her back towards the table, pushing her back down into the chair. “Put your hands on the table, palm side up.”

She did as told, watching as the blood dripped down the sides of her hands to splash on the clean, white table cloth. She winced when she felt him apply peroxide and he gently dabbed at one palm with a cotton ball before placing gauze to it. Mike wrapped tape around her hand, securing it.

Kathy whispered, “You don't have to do this. I can take care of it myself.”

Mike snorted and lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. He took the other hand into his, following the same procedure. Once both palms were cleaned and dressed, he took her hands into his, running his thumbs over the bandages. He said, “You never did answer my question. Why were you ripping your roses out? Kat, why were you out there at all?”

Kathy looked around the kitchen, at the yellow rose wallpaper and the green trim. Some pans peeked out of the cherry wood cabinets. Kathy glanced back at her husband, the worry evident in his green eyes. She bowed her head, glancing at the white table cloth, and sighed.

“I don't know, Michael.”

“There had to be a reason.” He gently squeezed her hand.

“I couldn't take it anymore. That song. I had to get away.” Kathy raised her head and looked into his concerned eyes. “I—I wanted to wait until I was a couple more months along, to tell you this.” Kathy looked away, out to the demolished garden. “Rose. I wanted to name our baby girl Rose.”

Mike kissed her forehead and pulled her into an embrace. She leaned against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Kathy wrapped her arms around him, her eyes falling shut as tears slowly fell down her cheeks. Mike rubbed her back, gently rocking her.

“I'm sorry, Kat.”

Kathy lifted her head, looking into his green eyes. Unshed tears shimmered in them. She wiped a tear from her gray one. “For what. I told you not to take responsibility for my mistake.”

“I'm sorry that I haven't been there. I've been an asshole lately.”

Kathy hugged him, leaning her head onto his shoulder. “No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so mad.”

Mike took a deep breath, his hand running through her hair. He sighed. “No, Kat. I don't know how you put up with me.”

Kathy snuggled closer to him. She said, “Who else would put up with that song non-stop?”

A soft laugh reverberated in Kathy's ears. Mike said, “True.”

Silence filled the kitchen and Kathy closed her eyes in contentment. She focused on the strong body holding her, finally feeling reassured. As she opened her eyes, Kathy could see her destroyed bushes through the window. She asked, “Michael, is it alright if we buy new rose bushes this spring?”

“Only if you promise to leave them in the ground where they belong, Kat.”


The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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