Remembering Phoenix (28 page)

I have no time to do anything other than yell, “Mommy loves you, Phoenix!” I hope he knows just how true that statement is.

My life feels like a slow-motion movie reel.

The horn starts blaring.

Metal crashes against metal.

The pain, it’s palpable. Excruciating. Then it’s numbing.

My body dangles between life and death.

And everything goes black…

I gasp for air, clutching my hands to my chest.

Collapsing to the floor, the severity of what just rushed back to me smothers me, sucking every bit of oxygen from my lungs. “Phoenix,” I gasp desperately. “Oh God, no. No. No. NO!”

I search the floor for something to throw, something to punch. The first thing I see is my coffee table centerpiece. I pick the ceramic trinket up, slamming it across the room with all my might. It splinters in pieces as it hits the wall.

It doesn’t ease this pain. It doesn’t even touch it.

Those were the last few seconds of my son’s life. Out of all the things in this world, why did that memory come rushing back to me?

The point of impact.

The moment when life went from easy to downright brutal.

The moment
everything
changed.

“I can’t do this. Please somebody help me,” I beg to anyone, yet no one, all the same.

I close my eyes, the tears breaking through the cracks like an angry river. It’s as if the entire universe has taken up residence on my chest. The weight is crushing me. It’s too much to bear.

I’m not okay. I don’t have control. I have lost every morsel of control I have in this life.

After what could be hours or seconds—time is of no importance anymore—I get the strength to stand up. Stumbling my way to the kitchen, I find the bottle of tequila Slayter left here. I guzzle it straight from the bottle, letting it scorch my throat on the way down. It does nothing.

I need something to numb the pain. I need to
not
feel.

I’m feeling too much.

Too much pain.

Too much sadness.

Too much anger.

Too much… life.

I close my eyes, and will the memory away.
“Go away. GO AWAY!”
I cry, beg, plead, and bleed my agony
out all over this floor. It’s no use. The memory is as gaping as the wounds left over from that godforsaken day.

It won’t go away. I feel it in my bones. I taste its bitterness on my tongue.

This world—it’s some sick, twisted joke. I’m done playing its game. I’m beyond done. It’s crushing me. I’m suffocating. I’m drowning. And no one can save me from this.

Life.

Death.

What’s the difference when I’m but a dead soul with a beating heart?

In the haze of my tears, I find my clutch on the couch. I open it up with shaky hands; it fumbles to the floor along with all of its contents. I fall to the floor, no longer having the strength to stand. The first thing my eyes pull to is my picture of Phoenix. The one I never go without. The one I cling to when the world feels like it’s crushing me.

I grab the picture and the pills. Holding the picture in one hand, the pills in the other, I look between my trembling hands and I try to decide—life or death?

I guess they’ve always been one in the same for me.

With shaky hands, I open the bottle, and pour every last pill in my hand…

After knocking several times with no answer, I let myself into Charlie’s apartment. As soon as I walk in, an unease settles in the air. The entire apartment is eerily quiet as I make my first steps through the door. No tapping away at the computer, no Charlie humming songs, no TV going in the background. Absolute silence. I walk through the living room and turn my head slightly, caught off guard by the coffee table being misplaced.

Then I see it, and my heart stops.

My life.

My girl.

Motionless on the floor.

I drop everything in my hands, rushing towards Charlie as quickly as I can. I bend down, cradling her head in my arms. A picture falls from her grasp as I examine her. Her skin is pale, her lips turning a shade of blue. I check her pulse, feeling the faintest beat.

Moving on autopilot, unable to think, I just react. I fumble with my phone and finally dial 911.

“Please help!” I beg. My voice is broken, matching every bit of my heart and soul. “My… girlfriend. She… she’s not breathing.”

“Sir, calm down,” the operator instructs. “Can you tell me the location you’re at?”

I rattle off the apartment complex and apartment number as I desperately cradle Charlie in my arms.

“I have your location, and paramedics are on their way.”

“Fucking hurry!” I beg.

“Sir. I need you to calm down,” she repeats. “Does she have a pulse?”

I check her pulse again. “Yes.”

“Good,” she says. “Listen to me. I’m going to walk you through the steps to perform CPR. Can you follow me?”

I nod my head, my eyes never leaving Charlie’s lifeless body. Oh my God. What the fuck did you do, Charlie? “Yes,” I say. “Yes I can.”

I perform CPR, hoping, praying, and begging to God that she doesn’t die. I cannot lose her. Not like this. Not. Like. This.

One, two, three, four… “Come on, Charlie.” …seven, eight, nine… “I’ve got you.” …twelve, thirteen, fourteen. “Breathe!”

The memory will forever haunt me, etched into my memory like a bad tattoo. My heart physically hurts. My soul is crushed.

I never wanted this.
Her
. But she's crawled her way into my heart, etched her dark little soul into mine, and there's no coming back from that. She's in everything that I am. Everything that I do. And I'll be damned if I let her slip from my fingers this easy.

"You better not die on me, Charlie. Don't you fucking quit on me. You can't. I won't let you."

I'm so fucking angry. I know she's not had it easy, but she can't do this. She can't leave me before I ever get a chance to...

Three light knocks on the wall break me out of my trance. "We need to run some tests on Miss McGee now," the nurse says. "Visiting hours are over as well. You can come back in the morning." She looks between Charlie and me with pity in her eyes as she gives me sad smile.

"Yeah. Okay. Can I have just one second with her? I promise I'll be fast." She nods and steps out of Charlie's ICU cubicle.

I bring my attention back to Charlie. Her beautiful face is covered by tape and the tubes from the life support machine. A knot has been lodged in my throat since I found her. It feels like she's been in this godforsaken coma for weeks. It's not even been a day.

I blink back the tears threatening to fall. I don't cry. I didn't cry when my parents died. I didn't cry when Claire was taken from me. I hurt like hell, but I didn't cry.

But now? Now I'm fucking destroyed. My heart is steadily breaking, ripping away from the spot in my chest where it's supposed to be with every second she's fighting for her life. I lost it when I found her cold, pale body lying on the floor clinging to that damn photo of Phoenix. Why did she do it? What happened for her to tip over the edge? Something had to have happened in the hours between when I left her and when I found her. I know she was down, I know she was fighting herself because of her inner struggle, but I thought I got through to her. I thought she was okay. She finally gave herself to me. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t need to. I felt it. I saw it.

"I don't know if you can hear me, or if you even want me here.” My words come out in a choked whisper. “But that part doesn't matter, because I'm not going anywhere as long as you're here. I don't know what the hell happened. I just want you to wake up. I need that. I need you, Charlie. Damnit, don't you give up on me. If you can hear me, I want you to know I love you.” I pause, the lump in my throat growing bigger by the second. “I love you so fucking much it hurts. I regret I never told you before, because if I don’t get a chance to tell you, really
tell
you when those gorgeous eyes are staring back at me, I don’t know what I’ll do.” I wipe the tears streaming from my eyes. “I know you told me you were incapable of loving anyone. That's okay. I couldn't care less because I'll love you enough for the both of us. The only thing I want... no, the only thing I need, is for you to come back to me. Please come back to me, baby."

I pick up her cold hand and place a kiss along her knuckles. "I've got you, Charlie. I've always got you." I lean up and brush my lips lightly against her head and grab the photo from her side. I look down as Phoenix smiles brightly on an old homemade tire swing. He's smiling so big. He looks so happy. So loved. I bet Charlie was the most incredible mother. I just wish she was able to remember that.

I walk out of her cubicle and turn around at the entrance, staring at her hooked up to the machine breathing for her. My heart physically hurts. It’s fucking crushed, trampled, ruined. “Charlie, you’re so much stronger than you think you are. You have to remember that.” My voice cracks.

I close my eyes, praying to whoever will listen, that she pulls through this, and I force myself to walk away from my entire heart.

This is what it feels like. That fine line between wanting to fall apart and needing to hold yourself together.

I’m helpless.

Broken.

I don’t know what the hell to do.

Finding out Claire wasn’t mine didn’t hurt quite this badly. She was never mine to lose in the first place. And I knew she was okay. She
is
okay.

Charlie, though? I feel like I haven’t seen anything. What were the signs? Did I miss something? Why didn’t I help her more? I just need someone, anyone, to lean on, but everyone who knows and loves Charlie isn’t here.

I called Stetson and Lizzie, but I couldn’t force the words out of my mouth. I tried, but nothing would come out. I threw the phone to the cop that was there and made him inform them. I was too much of a coward.

I couldn’t even make the call to Charlie’s parents. They just left for vacation yesterday, so I’m all alone until one of the four show up here.

I’m all alone except for Charlie.

Charlie. God, her body was white, lips so blue from lack of oxygen. God knows how much brain damage she has. More brain damage. Shit. Why did I leave her? I could have cancelled that meeting. Rescheduled. Something. Then we'd be fine right now. Life would be normal. I should have seen the signs. I should have fucking got her help.

“Shit!” I seethe.

A hand lightly lays on my shoulder, startling me. I look up to see who it is. The cop from earlier stands above me, and I stand abruptly. "Can I help you?"

He looks between me and his trembling hands for a moment before handing me a folded piece of paper. He tugs at his belt. "I'm not supposed to do this because it's coined as evidence right now until it's definitely ruled suicide—”

"She's not dead," I spit out, ending his sentence. I look down at him sternly, suddenly feeling extremely defensive. He better not dare say that shit again, or I will pound my fist into him until he’s in the cubicle next to her.