I Love You to Death (32 page)

They’d been trying to have another baby for years. Almost as soon as Seth was born, they wanted another. My Mom had desperately wanted a daughter, not that she didn’t love Seth, but I guess all mothers want a little girl of their own. For years they had tried and for years they didn’t have any luck. They both had tests and everything was normal, but it just wasn’t happening. But Mom insisted they keep trying, one day it would happen, that she knew she was meant to have another baby. Then one day she woke up, walked out into the kitchen where Dad was cooking her breakfast and before she’d even sat down, she walked to the sink and threw up. Dad says she knew straight away what it meant. That when she was pregnant with Seth she couldn’t stand the smell of food first thing in the morning, it used to make her sick every time. So instead of being mortified at having vomited all over the kitchen, Dad just poured her a glass of water and after rinsing her mouth out, both of them were laughing and crying at the possibly it had finally happened again. As soon as the stores opened they went out and bought a test and when the positive came back, they were over the moon.

By all accounts her pregnancy with me was completely normal. The morning sickness she had was the same as what she’d had with Seth. She lost weight initially, which wasn’t good, but the same thing had happened with Seth. And when she reached twelve weeks, it all stopped, just like with Seth. The rest of the time was all normal. I grew normally, they found out I was a girl, which made her even more excited and everything was just so completely normal.

In the end though, I was born a month early. Whether the excitement of New Year’s Eve caused me to make my unexpected appearance or whether it was something to do with the unforseen complications, I’ll never know. But just before midnight on the last day of the year, when everyone else was counting down the clock to celebrate, I entered the world. And one minute later, just before the clock actually struck twelve, just before the New Year arrived, my Mom died.

They were holding me at the time, when it all started happening. Dad tells me she smiled, then he kissed her and then things started to go very wrong. There was a lot of bleeding, a lot of noise as monitors started alarming everywhere. Doctors were rushing around, I was taken out of her arms and out of the room. Dad kept holding onto her hand as they tried desperately to get the bleeding to stop.

"I love you," was the last thing she said before she closed her eyes.

I never got to know her and she, after wanting me for so long, never got to know me.

In the end, Dad named me Asha because it was what they’d decided on months before. Actually as he says, it was what she’d decided, that as soon as she found the name, she knew that’s what I would be called. There’s a part of me that wished I was named after her, but Dad always said this was the name she wanted and when she wanted something she pretty much always got it. He laughed when he said this, telling me, "Your Mom was very stubborn you know."

Depending on which origin you look at, my name, it means desire, hope or wish. Ironically it can also mean life. Dad says she chose it because that’s what I was to her. I was her hope, her wish and her desire.

But I also took her life.

Sometimes I don’t think I deserve this name, not after everything I’ve done. But it’s what she wanted for me. I really wish I could have known her.

∞

Afterwards we go out to the bar. People are congratulating them, clapping them on the back, hugging them all. Luke never lets go of me and I love being here with him, knowing that all of these people love him. I love knowing it’s me that he loves, that he is mine and I am his. I never thought I could have this again and I love him, for giving it all back to me.

The industry people find the guys and drinks are bought for everyone. They are impressed with tonight’s performance and want to discuss ideas, a possible support tour and recording session. The guys are so excited and I’m so very happy for them. I watch Mia and Jared as they dance around each other still; slowly getting closer, but still so far apart and I want so badly for them to work it out. Want so badly for them to have what I now have, what I know they both want.

When midnight strikes, Luke excuses himself and pulls me away. He takes me back behind the stage, to a room where all of their gear is being stored. He pulls me to him, whispering in my ear, "Happy birthday my beautiful girl, happy birthday."

I can’t believe he has remembered, that he has thought to do this with everything else that’s going on for them tonight. That still he thinks of me. "Luke," I whisper, my heart close to exploding right now. "You don’t have to do this."

He smiles at me as he whispers, "Yeah Ash, I really do."

He kisses me so passionately I feel like I might pass out. His lips move slowly along my jaw, down my neck and back up to my ear where he tells me, "I have things at home for you, let’s get out of here."

I don’t want to ruin his night or this chance for him, so I tell him, "Let’s stay. Stay as long as you need to Luke. I’m not going anywhere."

He smiles at me and kisses me again and we do more than we should in that tiny back room.

When we join the rest of the guys, Mia is smiling at us. I guess it’s obvious what we’ve been doing so I stick my tongue out at her to hide my blushing. She leans over and whispers to me, "Have fun back there did we?"

I can’t help but hug her as I say, "Thank you Mia, thank you for everything." She hugs me back and just laughs when Luke pulls me away from her, wrapping me in his arms, his entire body pressed against mine.

Hours later, we all leave. We are out in the back alley, piling the gear into Ben’s van. Luke is holding his guitar case in one hand and my hand in the other. I’m buzzing with excitement at getting him alone again.

As the van doors shut and we yell goodbyes to each other, Luke and I walk towards the end of the alley. Mia is still talking to Jared. They are standing so very close to each other now and Luke and I both smile when we see them. I wonder if they’re going to walk back with us, or if maybe they’re going somewhere else together. I wonder if they are finally really talking. Ben and Sarah are clearly going home together and I’m very happy for them. Steve and Pete have already gone back inside and probably won’t go home for hours. The apartment isn’t far and although it’s winter, there is no snow at the moment.

As we get to the end of the alley though, I see a shadow emerge and I feel sickening fear twist at my insides.

A deep voice snarls, "Hand over the fuckin’ gear," and I see the glint of metal as it rises to face us.

Fuck, fuck, fuck
the voice in my head is screaming. My heart is pounding now, but for all the wrong reasons.
Why didn’t we leave earlier when Luke said? Why did I tell him to stay? Why do I have to go through this, again?

The gun moves so it’s pointing at Luke and I desperately want to scream for the others to come and help us. The voice repeats itself, "I won’t say it again asshole, hurry the fuck up!"

I hear Luke’s firm voice, "No!"

I hear the sharp click of metal.

And above all of it, I hear my brain screaming
please, please, please, don’t do this to me again. Please don’t take him away from me.

I don’t know if I’m screaming out loud or if it’s only in my head.

∞

The other part that made Sam’s death the worst of all was that his death was the only one I experienced first-hand. After everything I’d told him, he still stuck around and in the end, his was the only death I actually saw, the only one I really discovered. The only death I truly lived through and this made it so much more horrifyingly painful and real.

It was all so stupid too, such a stupid waste that could’ve so easily been prevented. A tiny little insignificant thing that you never would’ve expected could kill you. But it did and as always, it had been my fault.

He’d had a toothache for ages, weeks. It was interrupting his sleep and getting to the point where he could barely eat anything he was in so much pain. He wouldn’t go to the dentist though because he was worried we couldn’t afford it. We could, I had money put away, money my Dad and Seth had left me, but Sam wouldn’t use it. Said he’d be fine. But he wasn’t, so in the end, I found him a dentist. I randomly picked one from the net and organised an appointment for him. Made sure he went.

He needed some major work done and it did cost a fortune, but it worked. He came home pain free and much happier. After the swelling in his mouth went down, he was able to eat again and he was finally sleeping properly. I didn’t care about the huge bill we now faced, it was only money. I was just relieved, relieved that he was ok and relieved it had all gone smoothly.

I couldn’t have known how wrong I was.

About a week after, Sam started to feel unwell. At first it was just a high temperature, but then he started getting chills at night, which after piling on the blankets would quickly turn into sweats. It was amazing how fast he could go from freezing cold to sweltering hot. Nothing seemed to work, painkillers, cold showers, so I tried to get him to go to the doctor. Sam was reluctant, convinced he just had the flu and that we couldn’t really afford it after the last bill.

The following week, he started vomiting. He wasn’t able to keep anything down and I was now starting to get really scared. By the end of the third day of him being sick I suggested to him we go to the hospital.

"We’ll go tomorrow babe," he said to me, struggling almost to get the words out.

It was late and rain was coming down outside.

"Sam I think we should go now," I said.

He smiled weakly at me and said, "Just let me sleep tonight babe. It’s shit out there. I promise I’ll let you take me tomorrow."

In the end I relented. I wish I hadn’t but shortly afterwards he fell asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake him. I sat there watching him for a while, an increasing fear working its way into my gut. I thought about calling someone. But as usual there was no one. All of Sam’s family were in Seattle and mine were all dead.

I could just call an ambulance, I thought to myself, trying to picture Sam waking up to the paramedics carrying him down the stairs.

As I sat there watching him sleep, debating what to do, his hand reached out and took mine. Without opening his eyes he whispered to me, "Come sleep babe. Tomorrow, we’ll go tomorrow."

Reluctantly I crawled onto the bed and curled around him. He was burning hot, the blankets having been thrown off and lying next to him, I didn’t need any of my own.

Eventually I fell asleep.

Curled around Sam. He was breathing, warm and alive.

The next morning when I woke up, it was the worst day of my life.

Sam was lying on the bed completely still. Not breathing, cold and dead.

He’d died in the night and I hadn’t even noticed.

I grabbed his hand. It was cold, unmoving. I lay my head on his chest, begging, desperate for a heartbeat but I couldn’t hear anything. I screamed at him, pleaded with him to wake up. I shook him, trying to force the life back into him. I even sat there stupidly praying to something that I’d never believed in. Begging, pleading, anything; I would give anything for him to wake up.

I don’t know what happened next, how anyone knew to come. Maybe they heard my screams, maybe I called 911. I honestly can’t remember. All I know is what happened after.

Them taking him away.

Being alone.

By the time the autopsy was done, his parents had arrived. They didn’t stay with me. They told me what was happening though. Let me come with them to the morgue. Let me see him one last time. He looked so different then. He wasn’t Sam anymore and I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye to him. Couldn’t believe it was him lying there in front of me, his skin pasty white and the faintest tinges of blue on his lips. I didn’t want to touch him like that, didn’t want to have that be my last memory of him.

Eventually they came and spoke to us. They said he had bacterial endocarditis.

I had to ask them, "What is that?"

An infection that spreads to and destroys the heart, they told me.

"What causes it?" I asked.

Bacteria entering the bloodstream through an open wound and making its way to the heart they said. Had he had any surgery or open wounds or dental work recently?

I felt my legs give way.

I felt myself collapse to the floor. Someone tried to help me up, but all I remember is the sound of someone screaming. It wasn’t until later I realised it was me.

They said it was an aggressive strain. They said it had worked quickly. They said it was tough to say whether treatment would have worked, even if we’d gone to the hospital the previous night. They said the dentist would be investigated.

Dental work. I’d chosen the dentist. I’d made the appointment and I’d made him to go. I wanted to tell them I was the one at fault, I was the one to blame.

That it was me. That he had loved me and I had loved him.

That I had killed him.

I had infected and damaged his heart. I had broken poor Sam’s heart. And because of that he’d never stood a chance.

And the only memory, the absolute worst memory I have of the whole awful day. The one I woke up to and which continued to haunt me night after night pulling me from my sleep; was the silence of Sam’s heart when I lay my head on his chest.

The empty silence of nothing at all.

Triskaidekaphobia, a condition characterised by a fear of the number thirteen

∞

Playlist
:

1. How to save a life – The Fray

2. Saviour – 30 Seconds to Mars

3. Timshel – Mumford & Sons

∞

Despite everything I’ve lived through, it’s ironic that the one thing I’m scared of in life is death. Of course I’ve always been petrified of the death I’ve created, the death I’ve caused, but deep down the one I’m most afraid of, is my own. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave yet. I haven’t done enough, seen enough. I haven’t had enough chances. But most of all, I haven’t been able to fix all of my mistakes. When you live with as much fear and regret as I do, it’s terrifying to think of how it might all end, what my punishment might be. I don’t believe in any kind of God, how could I, but I am scared at what awaits me, at the thought I may have to face them all again.