Without Merit

by Colleen Hoover

"Go to bed, already," he says, agitated.

  I grab the stapler. I shake it at him as I walk out of his room. "I liked you better before I met you."

  I close the door and make my way back to my room. I lay all the pages out on the floor but I'm forced to take a moment for my vision to settle before I can put them in the right piles. All the pages are starting to run together. I have almost all of them stapled when someone knocks on my door.

  "Go away!" I crawl to the door and lock it before whoever it is can open it.

  "Merit."

  It's Sagan. The sound of his voice makes me wince. There wasn't enough tequila to dull this feeling, apparently.

  "I'm sleeping," I call out.

  "Your light is on."

  "Your light is on!"

  He doesn't respond to that. I'm glad, because I'm not even sure what it meant. A few seconds later I hear the door to his bedroom close.

  I squeeze my eyes shut to keep the room from spinning. I lay my head down on the floor. I'm too dizzy to keep sitting up like this. As soon as I close my eyes, I hear a text message come through on my phone. I reach my hand to my bed and search around until I find it.

  Honor: What happened?

  So much has happened in the last two hours, I don't even know which part she's referring to.

  Merit: What do you mean?

  Honor: Sagan just texted me and told me to be careful coming home. WHY does he know I'm not home?

  Merit: Well . . . he's very hard to lie to. Besides, what's it matter? He's not even your boyfriend.

  Honor: It matters because I lied to him and thanks to you, he's now aware of that. Remind me not to ask you to cover for me in the future!

  Merit: Okay. Don't ask me to cover for you in the future.

  Is it normal for a person to hate their own family this much?

  I find the bottle of tequila but it's still empty. That doesn't help me much because I still feel things. I stumble my way into the kitchen and open every single cabinet, but I can't find more alcohol. I open the refrigerator and the only thing that might help me numb what's happening in my chest right now are three beers. I grab all of the cans and take them to my bedroom. I slide back to the floor and pop open one of the beers. I stare at the letter I wrote.

  Should I give it to them?

  Probably not. It would only give them more reason to hate me. They wouldn't feel sorry for me after reading it, they'd be mad at me for telling all their secrets.

  I down the first beer and my stomach already hurts, but it still doesn't help the pressure in my chest. You know what this feels like? It feels just like the day I decided to stop going to school. I was walking into the cafeteria when Melissa Cassidy grabbed my arm and said, "Honor, come here. You won't believe what I found out!" She dragged me about five feet to her table, where Honor was already sitting. She glanced back at me and then at Honor and she said, "Oh. Sorry. I thought you were Honor." She let go of my arm and walked back to the table and started whispering in Honor's ear.

  I just stood there, staring at Honor. Everyone liked her, despite the fact that she was a Voss. Everyone wanted to hang out with her and be her friend and I was simply a by-product. The identical twin sister with less to offer. There wasn't a single girl at that table who would rather be friends with me than Honor.

  Nothing terrible happened that made me want to drop out that day. I was never bullied at school, despite everyone having their unsavory opinions about our family. I was just . . . there. When I kept to myself, everyone was okay with that. No one bothered me. When I decided to join in on conversations with Honor and her friends, everyone was okay with that, too. I was Honor's twin sister, they weren't going to be rude to me. What they were was indifferent. And I think their indifference bothered me more than if they would have hated me.

  It was like seventeen years of denial smacked me in the face right there in the cafeteria. The whole school would notice if Honor stopped showing up. But if I stopped showing up, life would go on. With or without Merit.

  In fact, I've had two texts from friends in my class, asking why I haven't been at school for two weeks.

  Two.

  That's it.

  And that's another reason why I've stayed home. But for some reason I thought I would like staying at the house more than going to a school where I didn't matter, but I don't. I hate it here, too. I don't matter here, either. If I dropped out of life, just like I dropped out of school, everyone's lives would go on.

  With or without Merit.

  I down the second beer and as soon as it's empty, I toss the can at my bedroom door. "Without Merit," I whisper to no one. "That'll show 'em."

  And then I do what I do best. I react without thinking. My spontaneity will be the only thing I miss about myself. I crawl to the closet and grab the black boot. I pull out the bottle of stolen pills and I open the lid. I reach for the third beer and my hands are shaking so bad, it takes me three tries to pop it open.

  I look down at the beer in my left hand and the bottle of pills in my right. I don't even give it a second thought. I pour some of the pills in my mouth and then try to swallow. I pour a few too many so I end up spitting them back out in my hand. I relax my throat and then try it again. They go down this time, so I pour a few more and then swallow. I can't get but about three or four down at a time, so it takes me the entire beer to wash them all down.

  I toss the empty beer can aside and then grab all seven stacks of pages. I grab a pen and go through each stack and add the word Without to my name. Sincerely, Without Merit. That's more like it. I start with Sagan's room, since his is closest. I slide one set of the stapled pages beneath his door. Then I continue down the hallway until Utah, Luck, and Honor have been covered. I don't even bother sliding the pages beneath the basement door. I open the door and throw my mother's stack down the stairs. If they stayed at the top of the stairs, she'd never see them. I make my way to Quarter Three and shove the last set of pages beneath my father and Victoria's bedroom door.

  On my way back through Quarter One, I notice a sheet of paper on the couch that wasn't there earlier. Between pretending to be Honor and kissing Sagan, I would have noticed I was sitting on a sheet of paper.

  It's upside down but I can already tell it's a sketch. I snatch it up and walk to my bedroom. I close the door and sit down on my bed. I don't know what he drew, but on the bottom of the back page he wrote,

  "Heart < Carcass."

  I cover my mouth as I flip over the sketch. My fingers are trembling against my lips as I work up the courage to look at what he's drawn.

  I shudder when I see it. I wrap my arm tightly around my stomach. Two hearts on either end of a couch. One of them whole, one of them cut in half.

  Which one is mine?

  I feel sick. I drop the drawing and watch it float to my bedroom floor. It lands on top of the empty bottle of pills. I stare at the word carcass.

  Carcass. Death. Dead.

  I roll over and bring my knees to my chest and hug them. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to let it all sink in.

  Don't let it sink in.

  The tears begin to slip out of my eyes, no matter how tightly I have them closed. My bottom lip begins to tremble worse than my hands.

  I don't want to die.

  I grip myself even tighter.

  I don't know what happens next. What if it's worse than this?

  My fearful cry turns into a sob. I clamp my hand over my mouth.

  "No, no, no, no, no." My voice is full of panic when the reality of what I've done begins to hit. If I lie here one second longer, I might not be able to do anything about it. I pull myself up into a sitting position. I grip my mattress and try to stop the room from spinning long enough to make it to my bedroom door.

  What have I done?

  I fall to my knees as soon as my bedroom door is open. I'm not sure I can stand up again, so I crawl. I crawl to the bathroom. I reach up and open the door and I crawl to the toilet. I shove my fingers down my throat.
<
br />   Nothing.

  I don't know that I've ever cried this hard. I can't make a sound, I can't scream, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe. I try to make myself vomit again, but it doesn't work. Every time I reach the back of my throat, my fingers recoil and it won't work, it won't work, it won't work!

  "Help."

  It's pathetic. My voice is pathetic through my tears and this is how I'm going to die. On my bathroom floor, leaving behind what is about to become the most despicable suicide letter anyone has ever written.

  This is not happening. This is a dream. I'm dreaming. Please let me wake up. "Please, God," I whisper. "I'll never drink again, I'll never steal again, I'll never even write another letter again, just please, please, please." I've managed to crawl to the bathroom door. Utah's room is the closest. I try to open his door but it's locked. I start beating on it. "Utah!" I beat on it again. I know my voice isn't loud enough, but I'm hoping he can hear me knocking. I'm on my hands and knees now, too dizzy to make it to someone else's door. I don't know how long it takes for pills to dissolve, but it hasn't been that long since I took them. Five minutes?

  Utah's door swings open. He's standing on the letter I wrote. He doesn't even notice it because he bends down and says, "Merit?" He's on his knees now, grabbing my jaw, lifting my face up to his. I can feel the tears and snot and slobber all over my face, but he doesn't care about any of that because he reaches for the hem of his shirt and wipes it away. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

  I shake my head and grab his arms, looking at him desperately. "Utah, I messed up."

  "Are you drunk?"

  "Her pills," I say, choking back more tears. "I took them, I wasn't thinking, Utah I wasn't thinking." I hear another door open and seconds later, Sagan is right next to Utah. I'm too scared to be mortified at this point.

  "Whose pills?" Utah asks. "Merit, what are you saying?"

  I fall back against the wall, panicking, shaking my hands out because they're numb. "Mom's! I took her pain pills!" Utah looks at Sagan and I know they're trying to figure out what's happening, but they aren't getting it! "I swallowed them!"

  Sagan pushes Utah out of the way. "Go call 911!" He grabs the back of my neck and pushes me forward, then shoves two fingers in my mouth. My body tries to reject them but he doesn't care because he holds them there and now I'm vomiting. All over the floor, all over him. I can't keep my eyes open anymore. "How many pills, Merit?"

  I shake my head. I don't know.

  "How many did you swallow?" His voice is panicked, just like my pulse.

  He keeps asking me how many pills I swallowed. I can't remember. How many did I have? I stole eight the other night. I added them to the twenty I had already stolen. "Twenty-eight," I whisper.

  "Christ, Merit." His fingers are back in my mouth, assaulting the back of my throat. The pressure coming from within me lurches me forward and I vomit again. I can hear Utah yelling into the phone, Luck is now in the hallway, Moby is crying, my father is saying, "What's going on? What in the hell is going on?"

  I open my eyes and Sagan is counting in a fast and frantic whisper. "Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four . . ." He's focused on the floor, sifting through what just came out of me, his voice trembling. "Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, TWENTY-EIGHT!" he yells.

  And then he scoops me up after my dad says, "Take her to the couch."

  I'm on the couch, still dizzy, still feeling like I want to throw up again.

  "What did you take?" Utah asks. He's kneeling down in front of me, still on the phone. Victoria brings me a wet rag.

  Sagan takes it from her and wipes my face. "Merit, they need to know what kind of pills you took."

  "She took pills?" my father says. He's pacing back and forth behind them. Luck is behind him with his hand over his mouth.

  "What were they?" Sagan asks. He's brushing back my hair and he looks just as panicked as my father. As Utah. As Victoria. As Luck. Even Moby looks panicked with his arms locked around Victoria's neck.

  "What's going on?"

  Everyone looks at the front door when it closes behind her. Honor's here.

  "Where have you been?" My father is walking toward Honor. He stops and shakes his head. "I'll deal with you later," he says, changing his mind as he walks back toward me. "Merit, what did you take?" He's hovering over me now. They're all hovering over me.

  "She threw them all up." --Sagan.

  "But what were they?" --My father.

  "Probably aspirin." --Victoria.

  "She said she stole them." --Utah.

  "What's going on?" --Honor.

  "Merit swallowed pills." --Luck.

  "Did you see this, Barnaby?" --Victoria.

  "Not right now, Victoria." --My father.

  "What did you take, Merit?" --Sagan.

  "You need to read this, Barnaby!" --Victoria.

  "Victoria, please!" --My father.

  "Merit, what were they?" --Utah.

  "They were Mom's." --Me.

  "You took your mother's pills?" My father is asking me this as he leans over the couch from behind my head. He's upside down and I'm looking up at him and I never noticed how much Moby looks like him. "Your mother's prescription pills?" he asks again. I nod. My father exhales. "It's fine," he says. "It's fine, they can't hurt her." He grabs the phone from Utah and walks into the kitchen to talk to the 911 operator. "Hello? Hey, hey, Marie. Yeah, it's Barnaby. Yeah, it's fine. She's fine."

  It's fine. She's fine.

  I'm fine.

  How does he know if I'm fine? He doesn't even know which pills I took. I guess it doesn't matter at this point since they're sitting in a pile of vomit on the hallway floor.

  "You feeling okay?" Sagan asks. I nod. "I'll get you some water."

  I close my eyes. Everything is calming down now. My heart is calming down. The commotion is calming down. I blow out a steady breath. It's fine. She's fine.

  I'm fine.

  "Is this true?" It's Victoria's voice. I open my eyes and she's holding the pages I stapled together. She's looking down at them. Her expression is anything but fine.

  It's not fine anymore.

  I clench my stomach, feeling like I want to puke again.

  "Merit. Did you write this?"

  I nod. Maybe she'll be so embarrassed about my father cheating on her, she'll gather all the other letters before anyone else reads them. She takes a step toward me. But she doesn't look at all angry, even though I put in the letter that my father was cheating on her. She looks . . . sad.

  She looks at Utah. "You did this to her?"

  Utah looks at me and then back at Victoria. "Did I do what to who?"

  Victoria walks toward Utah and slaps the letter against his chest. She keeps walking past him until she's in the kitchen with my father. I look back at Utah and he's staring down at the first page of the letter. Sagan is back with the water. "Here, drink this." He helps me sit up and tries to get me to take a drink, but I can't take my eyes off Utah. I push the glass away and shake my head.

  That's when I see it.

  A tear.

  Utah looks up from the first page of the letter, just as a tear rolls down his cheek. I can't help but wonder if it's a tear of guilt or a tear of fear over me finally spilling the truth. He drops the pages and runs his hands through his hair. Of course he's not making eye contact with me.

  I hear sirens in the distance. My father says, "Thanks, Marie," into the phone. He ends the call and Victoria is right there, whispering something to him. She points at Utah. She points at me. She points at the pages that are now at Utah's feet. My father looks at Utah. He marches to the living room just as the ambulance pulls onto our road. He grabs the pages from the floor and begins reading. One minute. Two minutes. Utah is frozen in place. There's a knock on the door but my father ignores it.

  "Dad," Utah whispers.

  My father looks up from the letter. His eyes meet Utah's and then mine.

  There's another knock at the door.


  "Dad, please," Utah says. "I can explain."

  Another knock.

  A punch.

  Honor screams.

  Utah is on the floor now. My father is standing over him. He points to the door and says one word to him.

  "Leave."

  Honor is helping Utah up, glaring at our father. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

  Once Utah is standing, he turns and heads toward his bedroom. Honor and Luck follow him. Sagan opens the front door and lets in the paramedics.

  "She's fine," my father says to them, pointing toward me. "Check her out, but they were only placebo pills."

  Placebo pills.

  Why were they placebo pills?

  The next ten minutes go by in a blur as the paramedics bombard me with questions, check my blood pressure, my oxygen, my eyes, my mouth. "It probably wouldn't hurt to let us take her overnight," I hear one of the paramedics whisper to my father. "Otherwise, we'll have to let the social worker know what happened. They'll have to follow up."

  My father nods and walks over to me. He kneels down, but before he even says anything I force out an "I'm fine. I don't want to go to the hospital."

  "Merit," he says. "I think you should . . ."

  "I don't want to go," I say with finality. He nods. I don't hear what he says when he returns to the paramedic, but the guy squeezes my father's shoulder. They must know each other. Of course, they do. It's a small town. And since they know my father, they'll tell their wives and then their wives will tell their friends and then their friends will tell all their daughters and then the entire town will know I tried to kill myself.

  With placebo pills.

  Why is she taking placebo pills?

  As soon as that thought crosses my mind, my mother appears at the top of the basement steps. The door is open and she's looking at me from across the room. "Are you okay?" She starts to take a step toward me, but she looks down at her foot as it meets the wood floor and she quickly returns to the top step of the basement.

  "Everything is fine, Vicky," my father says to my mother. I glance over at Victoria and she's walking toward her bedroom with Moby. She can't even be in the same room with her. I wonder if she's even read the entire letter yet. Does she know they're still sleeping together?

  "What happened?" my mother asks.

  I'd give anything for her to walk over here and hug me. Anything. She knows something bad has happened or she wouldn't have opened the basement door. Yet she's more concerned about not leaving the basement than she is about me. I look down at my hands. I'm shaking, and I feel like I'm about to be sick again.