Taken the Spaniard's Virgin

She didn’t feel much like eating anyway, so when she was nauseous, she didn’t. She got a commercial spot and found it easy to lose the five pounds her agent wanted her to. She started wearing more makeup to hide the circles under her eyes from lack of sleep.

When she slept, she dreamed. About Miguel. They weren’t nightmares, far from it…she relived every moment in his arms, but waking up hurt like someone was pounding her chest with an anvil. Easier not to sleep at all than to deal with the pain on waking.

She was driving to a shoot two hours from her home when the lack of sleep caught up with her. She woke in an area hospital. Her body ached, but not like anything was broken. Like she was having a really bad period.

She moaned and forced her eyes to open.

No one else was in the emergency cubicle.

“Miss Taylor?”

She looked up as the doctor came in. At least she assumed it was the doctor. “Yes?”

“How do you feel?”

“Not so good.”

“It could be a lot worse.”

“Yes.”

“When you fell asleep, your foot relaxed on the accelerator and impact happened at less than thirty miles per hour we figure.”

“Was anyone else hurt?” She couldn’t stand the thought of being responsible for someone else’s pain.

“No other cars were involved.”

“I didn’t break anything?”

“How do you feel?” he asked, instead of answering.

“Achy. Like I’m having a bad monthly.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Taylor.”

Something in his eyes said he meant more than commiseration for cramps. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You lost the baby.”

“Baby?” She’d been pregnant? But she and Miguel had been so careful.

“You didn’t know you were pregnant?”

“No.”

“That explains you not taking care of yourself.”

She stared at him, the silent criticism screaming through her brain. She hadn’t known she was carrying a baby. She hadn’t taken care of the baby. Her baby was dead because she’d fallen asleep at the wheel.

When she lurched up in bed, the doctor seemed to know exactly what she needed and had the small elliptically shaped dish near her mouth before she was sick on the sheets of the pristine hospital bed. Pristine and white. No blood anywhere. Her baby was already gone.

She checked herself out of the hospital a few hours later after calling her agent and telling him a portion of the truth. She’d been in an accident. She didn’t tell her mom anything, just went home and prepared for the next day’s shoot.

The nausea did not leave with the end of her pregnancy. The thought of food sickened her. She had not eaten enough to keep her pregnancy viable, she could not force herself to imbibe fuel for her own sake now. She didn’t deserve it. She forced herself to sleep, though, no matter how much waking might hurt.

She couldn’t risk falling asleep at the wheel again and hurting someone else.

She answered her cell phone five days after losing the baby and heard Miguel’s voice on the other end of the line. “Don’t ever call me again,” she said in a voice that sounded dead even to her own ears and then hung up.