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{Heartbeat}The light made her hazel eyes a shade softer, her pupils dilating to the beam. Her pale lips parted slightly, the ghost of her breath escaped with silent surprise. The impulse to blink argued with her in every passing second but she held on, eyes wide open, as her fingers clung to the fabric of her shirt. She dug deeper and clutched on to her swelling abdomen area, feeling an inkling of pain to arise in that area as it had before. It had been a pain so severe, Nicoleta was sometimes bedridden with eyes that were smudged with lethargy. It had been a pain so fierce that sometimes, it would enter her dreams with a touch so jagged that she screamed unconsciously to make it stop. It had twisted and turned, like a demon in its crib, twisting her muscles and puncturing her flesh with its claws. With every episode of pain, she sometimes saw a light as bright as this flash spots in her mind. Her heart was struggling to find equilibrium as it pounded with more heavy beats. It was sore from anxiety, the poison that made her body ache since the day she decided to agree to do this. Never did she think it would hurt this much.

Her senses came back to her when the light was moved away, her vision refocusing at the view of the doctor before her. It was a woman, Doctor Lea, with stark blond hair with tired make-up and pale pink lips. If there was anything Nicoleta noticed in her blue eyes that was other than her messy brown eyeliner, it was the hue of concern. The Romanian firmly pressed her hands against her abdomen protectively, as if she was covering the eyes of a child away from disaster.

"I see that you were a heavy smoker and a drinker, Mrs. Karpusi?" she asked as she looked at the clipboard of papers and information.

"Yes." Nicoleta replied numbly, revealing a small smile of defeat after realizing the weight of the doctor's words. It was not really a question at all, but a demand for confirmation. In that instant, she felt sick as if she was hung over. The memory of alcohol and drugs churned in her system like an acid. A thought nearly made her tear up. Her child was drowning in her filth of the past, getting high off the cocaine that had long been gone, getting drunk off the absinthe and vodka that once poisoned her. Her throat became dry at the unsettling imagery--this was precisely the reason why she didn't want to be a mother in the first place. How was she to raise a child when she was a rotten child herself?

"We might have to do a few more scans but these symptoms that you have is a likely case of miscarriage." Her face was as astute as death.

Nicoleta held her composure, her complexion still and frozen. The crack in the ice was when her lips twitched, pressing them together to hold in whatever moisture was left on that faded maroon. She had taken bullets to the flesh and laughed at it but these words were enough to push her to the brink of tears.

"You've been going through this pain for... four months?" The doctor's eyebrows were creased with sympathy. Nicoleta hated it. "It's an awfully long time, you should've gotten checked earlier."

"I have," She said, trying her best to maintain a steady tone. Her voice was honed with an edge of grief and remorse. "I should've but I didn't. That won't take back the pain I already went through."

The doctor fell silent.

In short, Nicoleta was stubborn and was afraid of hearing those doctor's words too early on to the pregnancy. Without the nicotine and the daily cup of wine, her willpower and strength deteriorated to the consistency of freshly fallen snow that crumbled with every moving step. It was evident in her appearance. Her once naturally stunning glow was jaded by a cloudy and pallid complexion. Her figure, once firm, fit, and healthy was deteriorating, thinning, and trimming slowly down into the bone. It took Heracles several months to actually get her to see a gynecologist, bribing her with kisses, food, and words of hopeful comfort. Such wishes of comfort were all in vain, for she could already foresee the loss of this little flame that had went out before it took its breath. There was a chill, cold like the side of a steel knife, in her womb.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Karpusi, I understand why you feel this way." Lea admitted, expressing her professional sense of sympathy. She pulled on a stool and then sat down. "Many women go through this. It doesn't mean you are infertile. Give yourself some time to heal, time to restore back your strength. You can try again."

But Nicoleta had grown attached to the projection of a child that appeared in almost all of her dreams. Yet with every reverie and strong affirmations to be a mother was traded off with pain and rejection and remorse. Messaged had relayed on back and forth with Nicoleta on the line, wavering, wondering which side she should fall onto. Only now did she realize how strong her commitment was and how it hurt to know that the unborn was not going to commit to her. This betrayal rang deaf in her ears.

"I'll figure it out." Nicoleta replied tersely to the other woman's kindness. She took her coat, slipped it on, and hopped off the examination bed. The world was spinning dizzy in her vision, a pang of pain seared as if an icepick stabbed through her temple. The woman winced as she took a step back, colliding with the edge of the bed and nearly falling to her feet. What was this weight that was shackling her? It let her move no further as panicked words flew over her head. Denial, grief... relief?

She doubled over, feeling the claws scrape inside her. With every scratch was an electric burning sensation that emanated and spread like a fanned fire. Deaf, she was, to the point where she could only hear her desperate breathing and her heartbeat. Her eyes were shut closed as she found herself closer to the ground, holding on to the small swell as if she was clutching a bleeding, open wound. In the darkness, the very same that had used to make her feel safe, she screamed at the rape of her sanity. It hurt, more than she could imagine or ever wish to imagine.

When she came to, she had a trail of tears down her cheeks. Someone wiped the perspiration from her forehead, the cloth was damp and cold but did nothing to cool the heat. Things were moving, people were running, noises here and there. Her half lidded eyes could not see much--only a blurry reality before her. The pain made her so numb, she almost felt light. All she could hear was... her breathing, her heart beating. How curious that all it took was monstrous pain to simplify the complexities of life.

Nicoleta placed a hand over the dead swell and ghosted her fingers down the curve, perhaps one last rub as a goodbye. An inkling of a smile graced her lips, one of rueful acceptance as she closed her eyes. Maybe it was not meant to be, she thought as her consciousness slipped away. In the hazy darkness, there was that little light again. A small child with a form too blurry to see, but it was a boy with a light in his hand. He smiled at her and reached out to touch her fingertips. In that instant, she swore she felt another heartbeat.

{Spoiler}{Cinnamon}There was a faint taste on her tongue, a flavor she could not identify. It was an uncommon happening on this very common day. For, the rain fell as it did every other winter morning, sprinkling over the city of London in rhythmic disarray. The monochrome clouds showed not the slightest mercy for any dapple of blue, the overcast illuminating the every niche and detail in a hue of murky grey. Even the faces of the city's denizens appeared gaunt and sullen because of the weather, their eyes distant and their lips pursed as they waited at the train stop.

There was little motivation to converse since there was no way to contest the chatty rainfall, the droplets of water tittering enthusiastically against the umbrellas and rolling down the nylon surface. Among the multi-ethnic bevy of people, a short haired woman stood in the dry shadows alone and in the back, her dark attire blending her into near invisibility. Perhaps the only real color was in her stark, calculating hazel eyes. Nicoleta only watched the rain inadvertently from under the concrete canopy, inwardly wishing she had brought an umbrella with her. Though she was sure some gentleman was going to offer her protection, she did not want to feel the need to be potentially forced into socializing. There were too many things to be unhappy about to speak. If there was anything she hated as much as getting wet, it was mornings and waiting. Morning was not her time of day, it was as clear as the dark under-eye circles she failed to conceal. As for the waiting, her patience was drawing to a near close. The concept of being 'early' was enough to make her look as sulky as a child sent in the corner. A word ample enough to describe her demeanor would have to be 'miserable'. Nothing about this morning weather seemed promising.

The days before today had been slow, draining, and unexciting. The collective lethargy was taking its full toll at the moment. Consequently, Nicoleta felt as if her energy was being sucked out from the nape. It became a feeling so uncomfortable, she had to rub the back of her neck to ease the gooseflesh. The woman paused, recognizing this sensation as one of notification. Instinctively, she turned to the side to see a man, tall and protruding with a stout nose and a broad forehead. He gave her a rather thin smile but quickly turned away after failing to elicit an expression from the Romanian. She glanced off, listlessly scanning the periphery to notice that it had become quite crowded. Surely, she was going to get a bad seat unless she could tackle and weave through the sea of people, a notion her lack of energy scoffed at. From the distance, a sound like thunder was rolling in on the metal tracks. The train was approaching, causing the restless crowd to stir to life as they awaited on the prospect of starting the day.

Unlike the others, the nocturnal Nicoleta was waiting to end her day, to crawl to bed and wrap herself in covers for peaceful slumber. She closed her eyes for a moment and felt the sting of the sleepiness that glossed her eyes.
There was a smell of petrichor, coffee, brown sugar, cinnamon and some sort of spice she didn't notice before--the combination sounded ordinary but it had the right intensity to make her reminisce. It reminded her of home, the spices especially. The rain could not drown out the hard stop of the train, which woke her up from the reverie. People were moving in and out of the train already, crowding in the entrances like the sands of an hourglass. Once she saw the man who had been next to her scuttle near the entrance, she realized that she needed to get moving. With a bit disdain, she left the shelter of the canopy and stood to be grazed by the rain. It was a slow-moving process--she didn't think there would be so many damn people today. At this rate, it was going to fill up, much to her dismay.

Yet her anger seemed to sink under the gravity and weight of the rain. Her eyes, suddenly not so tired, noticed someone among the cluster of people. The smell of cinnamon. An image of a young boy with deep brown hair and chatoyant hazel eyes flashed in her head, his smile broad and strong as he left a piece of cinnamon into mother's mug of coffee. The epiphany brought a pang of emotion through her chest, making her shoulders stiff and her throat hurt. She hadn't seen him for years since he was taken. When she had first arrived in England, looking for him was her top priority. He was the last of her family, her kin, and a boy she had loved almost more than herself. To be so sure that he was in her presence was so surreal that it created a momentary stasis. This chemistry of anxiety, severe yearning, and other complications in her person; it was a mix powerful enough to make her heart ache. The ache, however, provided a jumpstart, the energy coursing through her like electricity. It was him, it had to be him!

She recognized the back of his head, that tiny, almost unnoticeable bald spot on his scalp. Nicoleta wanted to cry out to him but for some odd reason, her voice was tied up in her throat. She cursed under her breath, the ghost of her words escaping in a fist of steam. As an act of desperation, the woman almost lunged the person in front of her as she tried to weave herself through. "Valeriu...!" The rain, the footsteps, the slosh, and the chatter muffled her call. The name sounded so familiar to her, it was almost foreign.

He boarded the train, his black backpack on and his headphones in his ears. The boy had grown so tall, it seemed as if it wasn’t Valeriu at all. However, there was no room for doubt, at least not now. He looked so normal, she thought as she hurriedly tried to cram herself to the entrance. Out of everything that happened, he looked as if he had been having a normal life. She could only wish, from the deepest, most tender parts of her heart, that he was truly living that kind of life. Her sincerity and drive was not enough, however, to get her a spot in the train. The people around her were not afraid to combat her rudeness with their own.
"Please stop bloody shoving! It'll move a whole hell of a lot faster if you stop." said a burly man with a frizzled beard. He almost frightened her because of the suddenness of his tone.

Clearly not herself and drenched to the bone, she chose to not reply as she watched the boy disappear in the train. It didn’t look like she was going to be able to make it.

"I need to get on that train." The tone of her voice almost made him change his hard expression. It was not desperation in her tone, but one that trembled with resolution.

"You and everyone else." he replied brusquely with a subtle reassuring undertone. "The next one won't take too long."

The next one, she thought vacantly as she watched the shutter doors close. The next one? It echoed in between each sound of the falling rain, reverberating off the cold and dissuading expressions of the people around her.

Next time. Next try. She had told herself that so many times. That word only asked to bide more time, which in return, asked her to promise more waiting. The gravity of that word hurt, perhaps more than it should have.

The train revved with life, followed by the sound of the bell ringing in a timely manner. That clicked something in her brain. She inwardly admitted to herself that she was overreacting, overemotional, over-the-top with whatever previous incomprehensible phase. Acts driven by emotion—why, that is madness, no that was weakness. She knew the consequences of weakness well enough to shock her back into homeostasis. Finally, Nicoleta was slowing down, feeling numb as the reality seeped through her black coat and into her skin. The adrenaline washed away as quickly as it came. The mechanical clamour of the metal wheels as it began to roll away crushed any lingering wishful thinking.

She maneuvered herself to the front after calming down--people were much more complacent when you don't shove them around. Standing at the edge of the platform, the Romanian watched, her eyes half-lidded and hazy as the descending clouds that engulfed the head of the metal convoy. The tail was left and she could swear by her melancholy that she saw a boy look back by the rear window. Even if a boy did look back, he would have not recognized the frozen appearance of a woman, all dressed in mourning black. Sorrow, failure, defeat?

Traces of cinnamon and coffee became diluted, slowly becoming overcome by the stench of mud, tar, and smoke. The cold rain dripped from her hair, rolled down her skin, and kissed over her lips, sweetly reminding her that she was truly alone. Her eyes stung out of embarrassment and disappointment but she let the rain cry for her. This was why she never liked waiting, for nothing had ever stopped to wait for her.

How bittersweet.