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VERONICA

~“I’m done being scared,”~

~If I shed any more tears, they’ll wash me away,”~

~But when I hear you say my name,”~

~I whisper the word I never thought I’d say…”~

~– Hurts~

***

I woke up to the sound of hushed voices. My eyes fluttered open, revealing a stark white ceiling. My body felt numb, my mind foggy. It took a moment for me to register the noise I was hearing.

~Beep. Beep. Beep.~

The rhythmic sound of my own heartbeat told me that, for the second time in a month, I was in a hospital. But this time, I had no clue why.

“Miss Tanner?” a voice asked. I turned my head to see Dr. Jacobs, the same doctor who had treated me last time. He was leaning over me. “Can you hear me?”

My lips felt dry, my voice raspy from disuse as I managed to croak out, “Yes.”

“She’s awake,” Dr. Jacobs announced, likely to the other doctors in the room, before turning back to me. “Miss Tanner, you’re in the hospital. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Good,” he said, “I’m going to explain everything, but first we need to run some tests, okay?”

I nodded again. Then Dr. Jacobs, along with two other doctors, began to examine me, drawing blood and checking my vitals, doing all the things doctors do.

Oddly, I didn’t mind the needles. Something inside me, maybe my subconscious, already knew what was wrong, what had happened, and why I was here.

Once Dr. Jacobs and the others finished their tests, he sent the other doctors away and stayed with me.

He sat next to my bed, taking my hand in his. I could feel the warmth of his hand, but his touch didn’t register. I was still numb, likely from some medication they’d given me.

“Miss Tanner,” he began, “I’m sorry, but you had a miscarriage.”

My first thought was, ~Well, no kidding, Sherlock~.

Then, the reality of what he’d said hit me. I’d been pregnant, just as I’d suspected. But who was the father? Vadim? Did it even matter?

“You don’t seem overly surprised,” Dr. Jacobs observed.

“I had a hunch,” I admitted in my raspy voice. “I just didn’t want to face it.”

Dr. Jacobs nodded solemnly. “But that’s not all, Miss Tanner.”

Now I was confused. “What do you mean?”

Dr. Jacobs looked sad. “You had an ectopic pregnancy.”

Ectopic pregnancy.

A pregnancy that doesn’t occur in the uterus, where it should.

I felt my face pale. The doctor saw my understanding and continued.

“In your case, the pregnancy was in your Fallopian tube. You were about two months along, and two nights ago, you started bleeding internally.”

I’d been unconscious for two nights. Talk about déjà vu. But that wasn’t the point.

What he was saying was that I’d been pregnant, the egg had been fertilized outside of my uterus, and I’d had a miscarriage.

I should’ve been crying by now, either in relief or in sorrow. I should’ve felt something. But all I felt was a cold, hard self-loathing.

I should’ve gotten a blood test. I should’ve been more careful about sex. I should’ve done things differently.

Dr. Jacobs said the pregnancy was about two months old.

That meant it wasn’t Vadim’s, but likely Jax’s, since he was the only other person I’d had unprotected sex with.

Around two months ago, I’d slept with Jax for the second time.

If I’d gotten pregnant normally, I would’ve been carrying Jax’s child.

Jax, who’d threatened to possess my body in every way. Jax, who’d lost control and nearly raped me. Jax, who’d tied me to a bed while I was terrified and fighting for my life.

The cold inside me hardened into icy determination.

No one was going to control me ever again.

No one was going to try to control me ever again.

No one would ever do something to my body that I didn’t want.

No one would touch me, not even with a ten-foot pole, without my permission.

I was worth more than that. Despite my issues and breakdowns, I was still a woman with a mind of her own. I’d been trying to find peace with myself, to find redemption.

Nothing and no one was going to take away the progress I’d made.

So, I’d been pregnant, but now I wasn’t.

So, I’d had a miscarriage, but there was nothing I could do about it now.

So, I’d been hospitalized again; it wasn’t the end of the world.

I wouldn’t lose it again. I wouldn’t break down. I wasn’t that weak anymore.

I turned to look at Dr. Jacobs.

“What happened after I started bleeding internally?” I asked, my voice steady.

The doctor looked a bit concerned about my lack of emotion, but answered my question anyway.

“You were brought to the ER. We performed surgery to remove the implanted egg and stop the bleeding.”

“After that, you were sedated to make the initial recovery from both the miscarriage and the surgery easier. That’s why you’ve been unconscious for almost two days.”

It made sense.

“I see,” I said, then looked back at the ceiling. “Can you get me some scissors?”

Dr. Jacobs looked taken aback.

“For what?” he asked, surprised.

I glanced at him. “I want to cut my hair.”

He looked doubtful.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now—” he began gently, but I cut him off.

“I’ve got to cut my hair, or I’m going to lose it,” I told him, straight up. “This is about my sanity. I can’t risk another meltdown, Doc.”

“Just hand me some scissors. You can watch me, make sure I don’t do anything crazy with them.”

He studied my face, searching for something.

“Your family and friends are here to see you,” he said, his voice slow and measured.

“I don’t want to see them yet,” I replied, “I need to cut my hair first.”

I must have had a pretty serious look on my face, because Dr. Jacobs gave in. He handed me a pair of scissors, probably meant for surgery or something.

“I can do it for you,” he offered.

“I’ve got it,” I said, and he helped me sit up. The sedatives had my body feeling numb, so I didn’t feel a thing. “Just keep me steady while I do this.”

Dr. Jacobs held me as I took the scissors from him and gathered my waist-long, curly black hair in one hand. He even held up a mirror so I could see what I was doing.

I thanked him and started cutting through the tangles of my hair. A few minutes later, my hair, which used to reach my waist, was now barely brushing my shoulders.

It felt like a massive weight had been lifted off me. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Dr. Jacobs helped me lie back down, and I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

This time, though, I let them fall silently, while the doctor ran some more checks on me.

“Now, I’m officially starting over,” I said to myself. “I’m not Veronica anymore.”

“So, who are you?” Dr. Jacobs asked.

I closed my eyes and smiled. “You can call me Ronnie.”

***

The first person to see me wasn’t my mom or Oliver, surprisingly. It wasn’t even Laura or Warren or Santana or any of my other friends. It was Frey.

He looked good when he walked into the room quietly and took a seat by my bed.

His thick, dark mohawk was perfectly styled, except for one stray strand that I was itching to fix.

His purplish-gray eyes were filled with hidden emotion, but they were brighter than usual. His tall, muscular body was dressed in his usual army boots, jeans, and t-shirt with a coat over it.

He looked like a dark shadow in the stark white hospital room, but in reality, he was my guardian angel. Funny how appearances can be deceiving.

The first thing Frey did was look at my face, then at my roughly cut hair.

“You look...okay,” he said, sounding mildly surprised.

“I am,” I replied, listening to the steady beep of the heart monitor in the background. “Can you tell me everything that happened after I blacked out?”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Frey raised an eyebrow. “You might think you’re stable, but anything could set you off.”

“Frey, you’re my mentor and I love you,” I said, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks after saying the L word, “but I’m really okay. I’ve been thinking I might be pregnant for a while now.”

“Turns out I was right, but it doesn’t matter anymore because I miscarried and it was ectopic anyway.”

For some reason, my mentor’s face darkened.

“If you’re taking this so well, it means Dr. Jacobs didn’t explain your condition properly,” he said, sounding angrier than I expected.

“You started bleeding all over me when I was carrying you out of Jax’s apartment. You were practically dying in my arms.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, dying?”

“I mean that your heart stopped beating before the ambulance got there,” he said, his eyes flashing with anger.

“They had to do CPR right there to bring you back, and thank God they did. But what if they hadn’t?”

The news was definitely a shock, but instead of feeling scared, I just smiled sadly. “I would’ve died.”

“That was a rhetorical question, Veronica,” he said, and I winced a little at the sound of that name.

“Don’t call me that,” I told him, and his eyes widened slightly. “I’m Ronnie now.”

Frey looked more confused than angry for a moment, but then his expression cleared, and I could see the realization dawn on him. He knew how my mind worked, better than I did.

“I understand now,” he said, and gave me the same sad smile I had. He took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I get it all now.”

The warmth of his large, rough hand sent a jolt straight to my heart.

It was a gentle hold, a protective hold, like a brother holding his sister’s hand, or a father holding his daughter’s. It was kind and warm and it brought tears to my eyes.

Frey didn’t let go of my hand but gave me a serious look.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said, “and I realized there’s something I don’t understand.”

I tilted my head. “What’s that?”

He met my gaze. “You must’ve been on birth control while you were sleeping with people.”

If I were still Veronica, I would’ve squirmed, looked away, and stuttered out some excuse.

But I was Ronnie now, and Ronnie wasn’t afraid of anything.

So, I didn’t squirm or look away and said firmly, “I stopped taking them a while ago.”

His face remained impassive as he said, “What do you mean you stopped taking the pill?”

The steady beep of the heart monitor in the background was a constant reminder of the consequences of not taking those pills.

“They made me feel sick,” I said seriously, “and my gynecologist said my body was producing some antibodies on its own, which is rare but does happen.”

Frey fell silent, his gaze fixed on me. After a moment, he spoke in a tone that was almost casual. “So, if I understand correctly, you stopped taking the pills and didn’t use any other protection.”

Given that he was already aware of my recent condom-less encounters—I’d spilled the beans during one of our “share your past mistakes” chats—there was no point in denying his claim.

“Exactly.”

I braced myself for a lecture about recklessness, about stupidity, about knowing better. But instead, a profound sadness washed over Frey’s face.

“Why are you so hell-bent on destroying your life, Veronica?”

I didn’t bother to correct him, to tell him I was Ronnie now. I noticed the deliberate way he used my full name. It was a clear sign that he expected a truthful response.

“Because I’m the one who caused my father’s death.”