After Alex Died

by Madison, Dakota

  I wanted to tell him everything he wanted to hear. I wanted to tell him that I wouldn’t leave him, especially not now, but the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. They felt stuck in my dry throat.

  “Please,” he begged.

  I knew Cameron needed me, especially after he’d opened himself up to me and told me everything I had asked him to tell me. But it was too overwhelming. I felt like I was completely drowning in the wreckage and despair of both of our lives.

  “I just need some time,” I managed to say.

  Cameron looked stunned and confused. “What does that mean?”

  “Please don’t read more into it than there is.” That was easy for me to say but not to do. I was the queen of reading too much into everything and I had a suspicion that Cameron was the king.

  I placed my hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes. It was like he was focusing on the warmth of my touch for a moment.

  “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered. “I need you.”

  I placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I’ve been completely alone ever since Alex died. No friends, no boyfriends. I haven’t even had any significant relationship with my mom and dad. I have to admit, I’m a little overwhelmed right now. You charged your way into my life, which threw me off balance, and this has completely put me into a tailspin. I’m not saying I don’t want to be with you. I’m not saying we won’t be together. I just need some time to sort all of this out.”

  His lips became a tight line. “Fine,” he stated as he got up from the bed.

  “Please don’t be mad.” I didn’t like seeing Cameron like this; he had completely shut down. I knew the look. I did it all the time myself.

  “I’m not mad,” he said as he whipped his clothes on. “I’m just giving you what you want. Time.”

  He was dressed within seconds. He didn’t even look back at me as he headed out the door.

  I wanted to say, Cameron wait, don’t go, but the words never made it out of my mouth.

  ***

  That night, I had a horrible nightmare. I saw Alex the way I found him after he killed himself, hanging from a belt in the closet. Then I saw a sliced wrist, bleeding all over a bed. I gasped as I woke up.

  Alex never slit his wrist. I never knew anyone who slit his wrists. Why had I dreamt about a slit wrist? The dream was so graphic and felt so real. I was overcome with a feeling of dread so sudden and so intense, it took my breath away.

  Cameron. Somehow, I knew Cameron was in trouble. I glanced at the clock and it was 4 a.m. I threw on a pair of slippers, grabbed my room key and headed over to Cameron’s room.

  I knocked on the door but there was no response. I knocked harder and still nothing. I didn’t want to pound on the door and risk waking the kids up.

  To my surprise, when I twisted the knob, the door was unlocked.

  “Cameron,” I said as I entered his room. “Are you okay?”

  When I saw him lying on his bed in a pool of blood, I fell to my knees. Even my nightmare hadn’t prepared me for what I saw. I tried to pull myself together as quickly as I could. I grabbed his cell phone that was lying on his desk and called the police.

  When they asked me if he was still breathing, I panicked. I don’t know why I had assumed he was still alive—that he could still be saved. Was it just wishful thinking? I didn’t know if I could handle him being dead.

  But he was still alive, barely breathing, but breathing. I didn’t know much about medical things but I knew enough to try and stop the bleeding, if I could. I rifled through his dresser and found a clean T-shirt that I fashioned into a crude tourniquet.

  “Please don’t die,” I whispered even though I wasn’t sure he could even hear me. “I love you Cameron Connelly. Don’t leave me.”

  Tears were streaming down my face as I phoned Sofia.

  “I’m in Cameron’s room,” I said.

  She didn’t even ask any questions. She could probably hear the fear and dread in my voice. The only thing she said was, “I’ll be right down.”

  Within minutes, Sofia and Antonio, both in pajamas and with serious bedhead, were standing next to me, holding my hands.

  I noticed there was a half empty bottle of whiskey on the floor next to the bed. A knife. Lots of blood. The only thing I didn’t see was a note. That was the thing about suicide. Everyone always assumed there was a note. That the person would want to tell everyone why they did it. Alex didn’t leave a note. Apparently Cameron didn’t write one either. I had a feeling I knew why Cameron did it, though.

  When the police and ambulance arrived, there was a whirlwind of activity as they tried to save Cameron’s life. I asked if I could go in the ambulance to the hospital but they told me no. I would have to find a way myself. Antonio immediately volunteered to drive me.

  “We’d better get dressed first,” Sofia said. “You kind of look like shit.”

  “So do you,” I teased. I knew she was trying to make me feel less—everything but I couldn’t even muster a half smile. The only thing I could think about was Cameron and wanting to be with him.

  “He’s going to be okay,” she assured me. “You got here in time. You saved him.”

  I wanted to believe her. I needed him to be okay. What I didn’t want to tell her was that I was probably the reason he did it.

  ***

  We got to the hospital as quickly as we could. Sofia and Antonio stood by my side as I asked about Cameron and his condition. The nurse said she couldn’t release any information about him without his consent.

  “But I’m the one who found him,” I protested. “I’m the one who stopped him from bleeding to death and called the police. You have to tell me how he is.”

  I felt like I was ready to explode. If one person said the wrong thing to me, I would completely and totally lay into them. I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself.

  “If he gives his permission, I’ll be happy to give you a report.”

  Sofia looked at me, her eyes soft. “If they have to ask his permission, that means he’s alive and able to communicate, right?”

  I nodded. My only thought was, what if he doesn’t want to see me. What if he doesn’t want me to know his condition? What if he tells me to just go away? I could feel myself start to hyperventilate as all of those thoughts swirled around in my head.

  “I need to see him,” I gasped.

  Sofia embraced me in a hug. “It’s going to be alright. Just try to breath. Okay?”

  I inhaled another deep breath and tried not to think about the blood and the knife and how much Cameron must have been hurting.

  Could I have handled it if he had succeeded? If he had died like Alex? Would I even be able to live with myself, or would I have eventually killed myself too? I had to stop thinking about the what ifs. Cameron wasn’t dead. He hadn’t killed himself. And I was going to tell him that not only did I love him, I also forgave him. I just needed the chance…

  After what seemed like an eternity of standing and waiting, Antonio announced that he was going to get some coffee. He volunteered to come back with three cups and off he went in search of sustenance.

  When Antonio came back with our coffees we all took seats in the small waiting area. I watched as the hands on the wall clock crept slowly. Why does time seem to stand still, or even go backwards, when you’re waiting for important news? I felt like we were in some kind of weird hospital Twilight Zone where every minute actually took ten.

  By the time I had finished my coffee a gray-haired man in a white lab coat walked over to us.

  “I’m Dr. Powell. I’ve had a chance to examine Cameron and he’s stable. The only thing he’ll say is I need to see Dee Dee. I assume one of you is Dee Dee?”

  I jumped from my seat. “Me!” I practically screamed.

  “Follow me,” Dr. Powell said.

  I followed him down a narrow hallway and into the area with the emergency examination rooms. Dr. Powell pointed to Room Three. “He’s in there.”

  I slowly
pulled the curtain back and entered the small room. Cameron was hooked up to some machines and IV tubes and he looked drowsy. His eyes widened when he noticed me.

  “You’re here,” he said as if he was surprised I would be.

  I approached his bed and held his hand. The bandage on his wrist made me wince and I could feel a twinge of sadness in my heart.

  “Of course I’m here,” I said. “Where else would I be?”

  He swallowed. “I didn’t think you wanted me.”

  I tried to blink away the tears that were now filling my eyes. “I know. But it’s not the truth. I love you.”

  “I know,” he said. “I thought I was dead. I was going toward the white light. I always thought people who said that were crazy but it was true. I felt at peace. But then I heard your voice. You told me not to die. You said you needed me and that you loved me. That’s the only reason I came back.”

  I placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m glad you came back. I really don’t want to do this without you.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  I sat with Cameron and held his hand while he slept. He needed to rest and I wanted to just watch him. He looked so peaceful. I wondered if what he said was true. Did he really feel at peace when he almost died?

  After Alex died there were people who told me that he went to Hell because he killed himself. I didn’t want to believe that but I honestly didn’t know what to believe. I wasn’t sure I believed in God, or heaven or Hell anyway. Did people just completely cease to exist once their bodies no longer functioned?

  I wondered if Alex had thought about what would happen to him when he died. Or was he in so much pain that he didn’t care? Did he think about the possibility of going to Hell? People had already told him he was going to Hell for being gay, so maybe he figured it didn’t matter. I wanted Alex to have felt that peace, maybe for the first time in his life, and if he did, it made me feel a little better about his death.

  When an orderly delivered a lunch tray, Cameron stirred. He blinked a few times as if he was trying to remember where he was. Then he turned toward me and smiled.

  “You’re still here?” he asked. He voice was hoarse with sleep.

  “Where else would I be?”

  He tried to laugh but started to cough. I put the small cup of water up to his lips and he took a sip. “I can think of a lot of other places you could be other than in a hospital with a loser like me.”

  “I thought we already established that I don’t date losers.”

  “That may be true but that still doesn’t mean you have to sit here with me.”

  I met his gaze. “I want to be here with you. There is no place I would rather be.”

  “Did Sofia and Antonio come by?”

  “They’ve been here several times. They didn’t leave my side until we knew you were going to be okay. They had to take over our group today.”

  Cameron let out a small sigh. “Do the kids know?” he asked as a wave of sadness crossed his face.

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure. Dr. Jones is supposed to come by later.”

  “I guess I’m a pretty shitty role model,” he said.

  “You’re human. We all make mistakes.”

  “Yeah, but this was a pretty big one. I’ve made quite a few really big ones.”

  “And I still love you, so what does that say?”

  “That you’ve got shitty taste in men?”

  I shook my head and leaned in to give him a soft kiss. “It means you’re worth loving.”

  “You know they’re going to probably put me away for a while.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to face that reality at the moment. I just wanted to be right here, in the moment, with a living and breathing Cameron Connelly.

  I could feel a teardrop slide down my face and Cameron looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head and quickly tried to wipe away the tears. I wasn’t sure I was ready to get into any heavy discussions. My emotions still felt so raw.

  Cameron took my hand and squeezed it. For such a big and muscular guy, I was surprised at how weak his squeeze felt. That made me even sadder.

  “Please talk to me,” Cameron urged. “I need to hear everything you have to say. It’s important to me.”

  He still seemed so fragile, I was afraid to bring up anything that could make him upset or even more vulnerable.

  “Look at me,” he implored, and I did as he asked. “You have to tell me what you’re thinking and feeling. It’s important to me and it’s important for our relationship. I don’t want there to be any indirect communication, subtext or misunderstanding. I want everything between us to be straight, flat-out and honest. Deal?”

  For someone who had learned to become very skilled at indirect communication, hiding her feelings and engaging in passive aggressive behavior, this was a big step.

  “Deal,” I said finally.

  “And don’t think I’m not going to hold you to it. Do we need to do a pinky swear or something just to make sure?”

  I laughed. “I don’t think a pinky swear will be necessary but give me some time. The only person I ever communicated that openly with in my entire life was Alex. And since he killed himself, I’m not even sure if it was reciprocal.”

  Cameron turned away and it looked like he was processing what I just said. Then he looked back at me and his expression was somber. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

  “I feel like I let you down,” I admitted.

  He wrinkled his brow. “This isn’t your fault. You have no reason to feel like you let me down. It was my decision to slit my wrist. My choice. Just like it was Alex’s choice to kill himself. I know you want to know why he did it. You want there to be an explanation. Something you can tie up and put into a neat little box. But’s there’s not. There’s no one reason. There’s probably a million reasons but not a single reason. I just didn’t want to feel anymore. There was just too much pain and I wanted it to stop.”

  Was Alex in so much pain that all he could think about was making it stop? I knew Cameron was right. I was never going to have an answer to the question: why? I would never know exactly why Alex killed himself. And there probably wasn’t a single reason anyway.

  The rest of the afternoon felt long and endless until a police officer entered the room. “I’m Officer Dearborn,” he said as he made his way toward the bed. I tried to remove my hand from Cameron’s, to give them some privacy to talk, but Cameron grasped tighter and wouldn’t let me go.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” The police officer removed a small notebook and pencil from his breast pocket.

  “Sure,” Cameron said. He was trying to be cool and collected but I could feel his pulse start to race.

  The police officer eyed me. “And you are?”

  I cleared my throat but it did no good. The words still got stuck. When the words finally came out, my voice sounded raspy and foreign.

  “I’m Dee Dee DeMarco.”

  “And your relationship to Mr. Connelly?” he asked as he wrote down my name.

  I glanced over at Cameron. What was my relationship with him? It was so complex.

  Before I could reply, Cameron spoke up. “She’s my girlfriend and she’s staying here. I don’t want her to leave.”

  “So you’re saying I have your permission to question you in front of Ms. DeMarco?”

  Cameron nodded. “Yes, you have my permission.”

  “How are you feeling?” the police officer asked.

  “I don’t think you came here to ask me how I’m feeling, did you.” Cameron replied.

  “Fine. Then tell me what happened last night.”

  “I was depressed. I felt hopeless. I didn’t think Dee Dee wanted to be with me anymore. I walked down the block to the Quick Stop and gave a guy standing outside fifty bucks to buy me anything with alcohol. He came out with a cheap bottle of whiskey. Probably cost twenty bucks and he pocketed the rest. I came back to my room and started drinking
. As you probably would expect, the booze intensified my feelings of depression and I became suicidal. I took the towels from the bathroom, found my old pocketknife that I carry with my toiletries and used it to slice my wrist. I must have only gotten one wrist cut before I passed out.”

  The police officer took a moment to finish writing everything down. Then he looked back at Cameron. “Is this the first time you’ve tried to harm yourself?”

  He glanced at me then looked up at the police officer. “No,” he admitted. “I tried to overdose about a year ago.”

  Hearing Cameron admit this wasn’t his first suicide attempt took the breath out of me. I was shocked but not surprised. I just wish he had told me before now.

  “And were you hospitalized after that attempt?”

  Cameron nodded. “Thirty-six hours under supervision then I spent several months in intensive daily outpatient treatment.”

  The police officer nodded. Then he looked at me. “And you found Mr. Connelly?”

  “Yes,” I squeaked, my voice still not fully cooperating. I swallowed and tried to continue. “I just had a bad feeling. I know it probably sounds weird but Cameron and I are kind of connected and I felt like our connection was being severed. That’s the only way I can explain it. So, I went over to his room and knocked on the door. There was no answer. I knew something wasn’t right and luckily he hadn’t looked the door. I went into his room and found him.”

  Cameron’s face looked pale, like he was going to be sick. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He looked me in the eye and regret filled his face. “I’m sorry you had to find me like that. I didn’t think you would be the one to find me.”

  I kissed his cheek. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m glad I found you in time.”

  “Me, too,” he replied.

  The police officer cleared his throat. “I have a few more questions.”

  He asked us both to repeat our stories again, which we did.

  “That’s all I need for now.” The police officer flipped two cards from his pocket and handed one to each of us. “Thank you both for your cooperation.”