by Faith Potts
“So, what’s a ship?”
No wonder he can’t focus on talk of chocolate and cream cheese. “Well, it’s basically like a couple. In a book. Except they’re usually not a couple in the beginning, and the author and fangirls enjoy getting them together. The readers and fans who are reading the book are ‘shipping’ us, meaning they want us together.”
Fork dangling from his fingers, he stares at me as if I just suggested we climb Mount Kilimanjaro. “Are you serious?”
“Totally.”
“So it’s like matchmaking? Except it’s fiction?”
“Pretty much. They may even make up a ‘ship name’ by combining the guy and girl’s names. Like, our ship name could be… Jalex. And then once they get together, the fans would say the ship is ‘sailing.’”
Biting his lip to keep from laughing, James cast a glance to the group of teens across from us. “Let’s finish up and sail out of here before we get attacked by freaky teenagers who need realisticness to fill their days.”
Chapter Seventeen || James
I’m awakened by the ringing of the phone.
I sit up with a start, shocked to find mid-morning sunlight pouring through the glass doors across from me. What time is it?
A glance at the apparently defective alarm clock tells me it’s after eight o’clock. Groaning, I scoot over to silence my phone—just as it stops on its own. It’s a number I don’t recognize, so I ignore it. They’ll call back or leave a message if they really need me. I grab my crutch, haul myself to an upright position, and amble toward the bathroom.
A few minutes later, I return to the room to attach my prosthesis, just as the phone starts ringing again. Same number. Grumbling under my breath, I fall back onto the bed and take the call.
“Hello?”
Broken background noise is all I hear. Someone must have the wrong number. I try again, out of manners. “Hello?”
“Is this James Greene?” a woman’s voice inquires, accompanied by sniffling and hiccups.
“Yes…can I help you?”
“This is Brenna Chandler, Travis’s girlfriend. I know you’re supposed to meet with him this afternoon, but…well, his brother found him early this morning. He…” She pauses, seemingly trying to get control.
No…not this… Not now…
“Travis killed himself.”
Phone in hand, I shakily sink to the floor and lean against the bed. My breath comes in short gasps. Oh, God, why? I flip the phone on speaker and let it fall to the carpet, running my hand through my hair and trying to find some sense in this chaos.
“Are you okay?” the poor girl asks.
“Yeah, uh…” My hand drops to the floor between my stump and my phone, my gaze following and watching the tremors. “He—he was doing so good, I thought. Has he…did he say anything lately? Anything that made you think he was serious again?”
“Not really, but…well, I don’t have to tell you about this, but he hasn’t been the same man I fell in love with since he got back.”
“I know.” I’ve been there… “Hey, would it be all right if I came over?”
“Yeah, sure.” Her voice shudders and trembles. “That would be fine. Only Justin and I are here now. Travis’s parents are taking care of arrangements.”
After hanging up, I clamber onto the bed and rush through attaching my prosthesis, questions whirling through my head. Why now, Travis? Just last week, you seemed so hopeful. Was it all a mask? Where did I go wrong?
Once standing, I shove my phone and wallet into my pockets, and hurry from the room. I rush down the stairs faster than I usually do—probably faster than is safe given the circumstances—and catch Brian as he’s going out the door.
“Hey man, can you give me a lift to Travis’s place?”
“Sure.” He motions for me to follow him. “I thought y’all didn’t meet until afternoon, though?”
“We do…did…” I pause a moment outside the door, breathing in the clean morning air, thankful to be alive. “He committed suicide this morning.”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
“James? You all right, man?”
I lift my face from my hand, propped on the door panel, and glance over at Brian, seated behind the wheel. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
He eyes me for a second, concern etched in his solemn expression. And I know I’m not doing a very good job of convincing him.
As we drive across town, a thousand images of Travis from the past few months flit through my mind. The most recent—and now, most heartbreaking—is the sound of his laughter. Alex and I met Travis and Brenna for ice cream last week. An entire scoop of chocolate fell off of Alex’s cone, and Travis burst out laughing—surprising us all. Brenna cried and hugged him and joined his laughter.
Why, Travis? I lean my head against the door, wishing away the ache in my heart. Wasn’t she worth it?
No. I can’t look at it that way. Brenna was more than worth the fight to him. Without her by his side, he wouldn’t have fought the darkness as long as he did.
“James?”
I look up, blink. We’re parked in front of the apartments where Travis was living with his brother. I didn’t even notice. Swallowing hard, I reach for the door handle.
“Do you want me to hang around for awhile?” Brian asks. “I was going to the gym, but that can wait.”
Gaze glued to the door I have to knock on, I shake my head. “That’s up to you, man. Don’t worry about me, though. I can call Alex for a ride.”
Without waiting for his reply, I open the truck door and slide to the ground. The walk from the road to the door doesn’t even feel real, but then there I am, raising my hand and pressing the doorbell. God, help me.
The door swings open and a young woman stands before me, dark hair loose around her face, doing little to hide her puffy red eyes. But in my mind, I don’t see Brenna. I see Alex, if I went through with it. I see Callie, if someone had to tell her that her brother gave in to the darkness.
Recognizing me, Brenna steps closer and falls into my arms. Sobs wrack her shoulders as she cries, her full weight pressing against my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold her, letting her cry—letting her grieve.
Footsteps scuff on the concrete steps behind me. Brian pauses long enough to rub his hand across Brenna’s shoulder and let her know she’ll be okay. Then he ducks inside the apartment.
Seconds pass with no sound. Finally, I hear a sniffle and then Justin’s voice as he recounts to Brian how he found Travis’s body in the early morning hours.
I hold Brenna tighter, reliving the emotions I felt when I heard the awful news the first time.
And I beg God for a reason.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| Alex
The buzzing of my phone interrupts my MercyMe jam session/Saturday morning house cleaning routine. I grin as soon as I see the text.
11:14 AM — James: Are you busy?
Alex: Never too busy for you
I reply and stick my phone in my pocket as I continue cleaning. It’s not until several minutes have passed when I realize James never replied. It’s Saturday morning, which means he isn’t doing anything other than maybe looking for a job. And that’s only if he has a ride. I quickly send another text; maybe he missed the first.
11:20 AM — Alex: What’s up?
A few minutes pass, which result in nothing more than me pacing around my apartment and wondering why, before I let myself text him a third time. He never neglects to reply, especially when he started the thread.
11:24 AM — Alex: James? You okay?
Please, be okay… Somehow I survive the sixty seconds until my phone rings.
11:25 AM — Incoming call from James Greene
Heart hammering, I accept the call and stick the phone to my ear. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
His weird tone does little to help my frantic pacing between the fridge and the door. Why is it so hard to talk on the phone standing still? “Are you okay?”
“Y
eah… Yeah, I’m fine. Are you busy?”
“No. Why?”
“Can you meet me at Tiffany’s?”
He wants to meet at a bakery on the other side of town? “Um…of course. Do you want me to come get you or—”
“No, I’m only about a block from there now. I’ll start walking over.”
Something is weird about this whole phone call. Like, really weird. “Okay, I’m leaving right now.” I grab my keys off the counter and slide into some flip-flops on my way out the door. “James…are you sure you’re okay?” I silently plead with him to talk to me. Tell me why you sound like you’re about to break down.
He’s quiet for so long I would have—under ordinary circumstances—thought he’d hung up. But I can hear his heavy breathing through the phone connection. “No. Not really.”
Mental note: Never say those words to someone who’s about to get behind the wheel of a car.
|| ~* || ~* || ~*||
Having run only one traffic light—it was yellow, I promise—I reach the small city bakery in record time. I’m somewhat relieved to find James seated on the terrace outside, but at the look on his face, it’s short-lived.
I approach him, his eyes on me as I walk up the steps and across the rock patio. When I reach the bench where he sits, I take a seat at his right and wait for him to speak.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Yeah, of course. You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. His eyes follow the cars on the road out front, right then left, never focusing, only following. Trailing along in a daze.
“James?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s got you so torn up?”
He shakes his head, turning away from me. Oblivious to anything going on around us, I stay at his side, noting the tension war that’s causing his hand to shake, lying on the seat between us.
I lay my phone on the bench…cross my arms…jiggle my knees…watch a bird fly by…before James speaks.
“Travis went through with it. His brother found him this morning.”
My hand flies to my mouth. Oh, dear God, no… “Dead?”
“Bullet through his stupid skull.”
Afraid I’m about to be sick, I scoot closer and wrap my arm around James, as if by doing so I can hold his heart and mind here with me. I can’t imagine how he feels right now. “You’re hurt.”
His initial response is a gruff snort. “Yeah, I’m hurt. The idiot promised he would try consistent therapy for six months. It’s been less than three. I thought he was doing better, but this…”
Swallowing hard, I look away. I want to say something to comfort him, but I can’t. My mind is a whirlwind of what-ifs that I’m not brave enough to voice.
But he is.
“Why was Travis the one to die, Lex?” James whispers, his posture lax and defeated. “Why not me?”
I fight back tears, wondering the exact same thing. “You’re still here because God has a purpose for your life.”
“Really?” James scoffs, directing his gaze to the ground below our feet. “Show me a purpose in this. Show me a reason. I need to see it, Lex, because all I’m seeing, all I’m feeling, is the pain.”
Oh, God, give me the words he needs to hear. “I don’t know, James,” I murmur, the tears I hear in his voice finding their way into my eyes. “I know He has a reason for our hurt, but I just don’t see it sometimes.”
He releases a sigh that, by the sounds of it, came from deep inside. Setting his elbow on the knee of his prosthesis, he drops his forehead into his palm. “I’m sorry for snapping. I’m just so tired, Lex. I’m tired of trying to be strong and getting knocked down again and again. I don’t want to get back up anymore; I don’t want to have to do it again.”
My heart pounds, pumping fear through my veins. “You sound like you’re giving up.” Please, don’t do that. I don’t ever want to find out what Travis’s girl is experiencing right now.
“I’m not,” he whispers, the words not very reassuring and broken by emotion. “Some days are just harder than others, you know.”
I do know what hard days are like, but I can’t relate to the steady ache in his heart. I don’t say anything—what can I say? He straightens, and I slide my hand down into his. I remain beside him, waiting and praying.
Minutes later, something clicks inside my head. “Is that where you were? When you called me?”
He nods. “Brenna called and told me this morning. I went over and talked to her and Justin. They want me to help with the funeral.”
Help with the funeral? “Like, speak at it?”
“Yeah.” He turns toward me, looking down at my hands, clasped in his and on his forearm. But not really seeing any of it. “About suicide… I said no.”
“Why?”
He looks over at me, as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “Why what?”
“Why did you say no?”
He shakes his head, looking out at the passing cars again. “Why would I say yes? I can’t share my story in front of a bunch of people.”
“Even if it could help someone? Someone who, right now, is where Travis was? Where you were?”
After a moment of silence, he draws his arm around my shoulders and hugs me closer. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Eighteen || James
No light enters the room except for the streetlight glow filtering through the window drapes, as I sit alone in the darkness.
Except I’m not alone. There’s more voices in my head than I’ll ever be able to silence.
On my back, fully dressed, I lie diagonally across the bed, my artificial foot still resting on the floor.
Oh, Travis…
After everything that happened today, I can’t sleep. Even though I didn’t see Travis’s body in that apartment, I see the carnage every time I close my eyes. I see the splattered blood and shattered bone. The ruins of a life lost too young.
No. No, I can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t even function.
Tears of weakness well in my eyes, and I rub my hand over my face. The night of the hardest day I’ve had in weeks—no, months—and I’m back in this room by myself.
Alone.
Does anyone even care? Alex—she cares. But she thinks I can talk to hundreds of people about the demons I face. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand, she never will.
And she’ll be better off without me.
I’m suffocating, dying the slow, defeated death of a prisoner. Freedom…
There’s only one way out.
Pushing to my feet, I totter across the room to the dresser against the opposite wall. As I tug the top drawer open with only the slightest squeak, a war surges through my mind.
A war between giving up and getting help. A battle between getting out and waiting until I can think clearly. A fight between doing what my broken mind wants or sticking to what I know is right.
I grip the top of the dresser with a shaky hand as my head spins, threatening to send me to the floor.
I can’t, I can’t…
My heart pounds as I peer into the dark drawer, knowing its contents, knowing this is it.
I have to… I have to get out…
Reaching into the back, my fingers find cold, enticing metal. I draw out the weapon, appreciating its dense weight in my palm.
The gun—one I took from my parents’ home six months ago. Just in case, I whispered to myself then, just in case I need it. Just in case, I told myself, as I shook my head when Joe asked if I had anything tucked away to cause harm with.
Just in case the day comes in when I can’t do this anymore…
Just in case has arrived.
Swallowing hard, I wedge the gun under my arm and hold it against my side. I reach in again for a handful of loose shells, struggling to hold them while not losing my grip on the gun.
Stupid cripple.
Wavering, I ease to my knees there on the floor, dropping the gun and bullets o
nto the rug in front of the glass-paned doors. My fingers encase the handle of the gun. It’s a perfect fit to my palm. It feels right.
Now or never…
Releasing the magazine from the back of the handgun, I pick up a stray bullet from the floor and force it into the tight space. The noise of the loading mechanism as I insert each bullet is the only sound in the room. I keep loading until no more lie on the floor in front of me. I don’t know how many there are, but it’s enough.
I stare down at the gun, wondering if I have the guts to do this, wondering who will care.
My arm trembles so badly I wonder if I’ll miss. I raise my hand, shivers chasing down my spine as the cold barrel grazes my cheek.
Eyes drifting close, I breathe in deep and let it out slow. And I blink into the dark room, wondering if I’m leaving anything undone…
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| Alex
My buzzing phone jogs me from a deep sleep.
Apparently I forgot to mute it before going to bed. Although... With bleary eyes, I peer at the digital clock across the room. Few people text me at 1:53 a.m.
Stretching out from under the covers, I grab the phone from the nightstand and sink back into bed. The bright screen hurts my eyes and I squint to read the small words through a sleep haze.
1:53 AM — James: Just want to make sure you know how much I love you
Oh, James… My heart drops, panic swirling in my stomach. The text is sweet at surface value. But for a girl whose boyfriend deals with PTSD and has already attempted suicide once, it’s terrifying. Especially after today’s events.
1:54 AM — Alex: I love you too, handsome. Are you okay?
The seconds tick by without a reply from him. Yesterday, he was slow to reply, too… And, knowing why, I shudder.
