Page 107 of The Has-Been

I just want it to go away. I want to float into nothingness. A void. A dark pit of emptiness, anything other than this.

Away from the constant clamor I cannot evade.

I close my eyes, tossing the pill bottle back and swallow.

I wait, my back against some light pole in the arena's parking lot—ready for the silence to drift me away—to know peace, once more.

My chest feels too tight. I can’t catch my breath, can’t get enough air.

I pant, pulling in too much and yet far too little. I slide down the bathroom wall, my knees finding my chest. Staring off into space, I rock back and forth as the realization hits me. I know I need to find my phone, I know I need to call Jasmine, before this spirals into something more.

Hot tears streak down my face.

I place a hand over my chest and press down, trying to soothe the ache.

I was ready for the silence—for the absence of my own mind.

I repeat the realization over and over. Then force myself to say it aloud. No longer afraid of it. No longer ashamed of it. I survived. I fought the silence I was so desperate for.

And I’m starting to feel like I won—that the future I couldn’t see, the one I was so ready to evade because it was one I didn’t want—it was still mine, worthy of living for.

I don’t hear the door open. I don’t hear her when she calls my name.

I’m not certain I even see her face.

Not until she’s right before me, her eyes gazing into my own.

“Liam.” She shakes me, places her hands on either of my shoulders.

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

I shake my head, as if I can physically remove myself from this trance. She runs her hand over my cheek, and I close my eyes. She’s always been my anchor, my rock, a tether to the earth when I try to float away on the wind.

I sniffle. Wiping at my eyes. I’ve never been one of those men who are embarrassed to cry. I don’t believe showing emotions makes you any less masculine…it just makes you more human.

“I tried to kill myself,” I blurt at last.

And saying it aloud helps ease the weight sitting on my chest. “I lied—when you asked me how many—I knew, I know. All of them. The whole fucking bottle, Aubrey! I fucking knew! When you asked me that night—I knew it was enough!” My voice cracks as her face goes white.

Air catches in my throat, breaking apart each of my inhales into sharp pieces of glass, cutting me from the inside out. Tears spill hot—fast—blurring everything. Sounds are leaving me, ones I can’t control. They are broken noises, hiccups of gasp as my face twists, my mouth trembling.

“Enough?” she questions, pulling her hands away from me suddenly.

I look at her, my head dropping to the side. “I knew it was enough—to not wake up!” I yell. And I hate that my voice rises, that I lose control. “I didn’t want to wake up, Aubrey.” I am standing on my feet now. And I have no idea how I got to this point. “And I think that’s what’s happening to you…you don’t want to wake up either.”

Aubrey looks at me in a way she never has before.

But all I can manage through my choked sobs is: “I understand—why you left. I get it.” I say so quietly, I’m not sure she can hear me. I twist, turning so my chin can rest where she is frozen below me, my height over her suddenly so obvious. I lean down, resting my cheek on the top of her head. I take her smell in, a scent that’s so much stronger, purer than even my best memories of her.

When she pulls away, her eyes are bloodshot, tears streaming down her face in time with mine. And I never want to see her cry again, never want to be the reason behind them. Because she’s shed more than a lifetime’s worth on me already.

My thumb grazes her skin, wiping it away. But she grabs my hands, pulling them away.

She’s right. I don’t deserve to wipe them away when I’m the cause of them.