The withdrawal isn’t fading as quickly as Dr. Google says it should be. One minute I’m on the cusp of feeling fine—almost normal—then I’m dumped back into a dark, depressive mire where I can’t tell up from down.
I beginning to fear that I’ve fucked up something hardcore in my head, beyond what was already broken, by stopping my meds cold turkey.
Finally, the signal I’ve been waiting for comes. I pick my way through the crowd back to the front row seats where I left Amy and Gabbi. My girl—fuck that’s a habit that’s gonna be hard to break when this arrangement ends—is laughing hysterically while Gabbi looks like she undecided whether to punch her or hug her.
Half-heartedly, I join in their banter back and forth as I keep an eye out for our other accomplice in tonight’s ruse.
“We’re in for a special treat tonight folks. He wasn’t supposed to fight until next weekend, but apparently, he has better plans now, so he’s here tonight instead.” The MC yells into the microphone. “And, entering through the red door, we have our undisputed, undefeated, reigning champion. Give it up for Hooligan Harvie.”
The basement fills with cheering. The noise hurts my head. My fingers close into fists and I concentrate on my breathing, so I don’t spin out.
Gabbi tries to pretend she’s unaffected by the announcement about Hooligan. Eventually, she gives in and stands on the seat behind me. Jep appears from out of the crowd and takes his place next to me. We’ve effectively blocked Gabbi in.
When it’s time, she’s not going to have anywhere to run.
My uncle climbs the stairs that lead into the cage. He searches the crowd for us, and I acknowledge him with a tight smile when he makes eye contact with me. Gabbi stiffens behind us and I know she’s seen him too. She jumps off the seat and crouches behind Jep’s legs.
Taking the microphone from the MC, Hooligan points at Gabbi. His voice comes through the speakers and echoes around the basement.
“Nate, grab her.”
I reach behind Jep and pick Gabbi up. Amy screams with delight and gives me a thumb’s up. Slinging Gabbi over my shoulder, I walk through the throng of onlookers and deposit her in the cage. She fights me all the way, but I know her well enough to pre-empt her moves and pin her down before she can pull anything off painful.
Depositing her in the cage, me and Jep padlock the gate.
“Goddamn, asshole,” she hisses at me.
Her cursing is lost in the ruckus of the crowd, but I get the gist. Executing a perfect bow, I leave her and Hooligan to their public reunion.
The crowd cooperates for a while as Gabbi listens to Hooligan explain himself. The scene is like something out of a movie. I can’t imagine the pain he’s feeling right now, castigating himself for love in front of an audience. Amy has managed to pick her way through the people over to where me and Jep are standing.
She slides her arm through mine and leans against me.
I rest my chin on the top of her head and breathe in the smell of her shampoo.
Lilac and vanilla. Subtle but intoxicating. Just like Amy herself.
Eventually the crowd grows bored and a chant fills the basement.
“Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her.”
Grinding my teeth, I wilt under the noise. It’s too much. I’ve got to get out of here soon.
They finally kiss and make up and the MC announces that its time for the fight to start. After guiding Gabbi to her seat in Hooligan’s corner, I pray like fuck that Hooligan will stick to his promise and finish the fight quick.
Nausea is claws at my throat. Bile threatens to spill if I open my mouth. My skin is crawling, and my head is filled with static. Amy sits next to me, her body jerking every time Hooligan lands a punch, and I concentrate on her as hard as I can, so I don’t pass the fuck out in my seat.
Eventually the fight ends, and my uncle carries Gabbi out of the basement. When the crowd descends on the ring, I melt into the throng and push my way to the exit. I just need a breather—some fresh air and a little less noise.
Then I’ll be back.
And it’ll be time to ask Amy what the hell she meant when she nodded.
You know what they say, though.
Even the best laid plans can go wrong.
When I head back into the basement after sucking down a quick smoke out the front of Nitro’s, I feel a lot better. The white noise in my head is manageable and I’m ready to talk to Amy like a fully functioning adult. When she’d left last week, I’d though all was lost.
Her seemingly innocent head nod when Gabbi asked if we were exclusive followed by the look she’d sent me had revived my hope.
I’m gonna bite the bullet and lay it all on the table. My ADHD. My unmedicated status. My deal with Steve. My willingness to let my dream of fighting at the professional level go if she’s ready to upgrade our arrangement to a real relationship and join me in giving it a real shot.
I have it all mapped out in my head.
Every argument I think she’ll make, every issue I think she’ll raise, every tear I think she’ll shed at the thought of moving on from her dead husband.
Turns out none of it is needed. Because when I enter the basement, I find Amy talking to the owner of Nitro’s and I freeze. I didn’t plan for another man.
My blood turns to ice in my veins.
All rational thought leaves my brain.
My body becomes a statue—apart from my eyes that widen with horror at what they see going down.
Grant is a renowned playboy.
His club is his hunting ground.
And it seems that my girl is tonight’s prey.
The momentary buoyancy I’d felt after the break from the noise and chaos in the basement deserts me.
The freeze in my soul turns glacial.
Amy flings her arms around his neck and plants a kiss on his lips.
I defrost in an instant. And as always when I thaw, conflict starts to rage within me.
My feet are heavy as I walk out of Nitro’s. A well-dressed couple attempts to get in the sole taxi parked at the kerb in front of me. I punch the husband in the back of the head and rip the woman out of the vehicle. She falls to the ground with a shriek, but the sound barely registers with me.
“36 Lilac Drive,” I tell the driver in a voice that sounds dead to my ears.
A black cloud of futility descends as the vehicle takes me home. All I can see is Amy with her lips against Grant’s. By the time we arrive, the cloud is dense enough to touch. A cloak. My shroud. The perfect veil to my end.
I jam my key into the door and let myself in. Without bothering to close the door behind myself, I stumble through the living room toward the backdoor. I’ve always teased Jep about his fixation with the ocean. The thick marine ropes he collects. The oversized shells. The anchors. Previously, the shit that filled the shed in the back yard was nothing more than a mess that made my skin crawl.
Tonight it is my salvation.
Sliding open the steel door, the object I’m looking for catches my attention immediately. I drag a heavy bar stool over to the ancient, mottled anchor where it hangs from the thick rope attached to the main beam. Climbing on top of the stool, I unknot the end of the rope and let the anchor fall to the concrete floor with a crash.
The irony is not lost on me.
I just let go of my anchor.
Curling the rope around my wrist, I test the knot I’ve created. It holds when I tug it, and I smile.
Amy’s voice breaks through the black cloud and I pause to let her lilting tone flow over me one last time.
I was a fool to believe I could have someone like her.
Truth is, I’ve been broken since birth.
It’s always been a matter of time before my actual reality was driven home and the veil was ripped from my eyes.
They say the truth will set you free.
Then why am I still scared?
Amy’s screams penetrate the shroud strangling my mind, but it’s not enough.
&nb
sp; I slip the knot over my head and kick the stool out from under my feet.
Turns out the cloud of dread that covered my mind and assaulted my thoughts wasn’t so dark after all...
Because the blackness that surrounds me when the stool drops is the darkest of them all.
THIRTY
Amy
The fear when the car came hurtling toward my family two years ago was the worst thing I’d ever felt.
It was a moment filled with anger at Jon for pushing us out of the way combined with gratitude and a giant serving of helplessness at the knowledge that I couldn’t save him in return no matter how hard I tried.
I never wanted to feel anything like that again.
That’s half the reason I’d held onto his memory for so long.
A dead man can’t die on you twice.
The taxi ride back to Nate’s place with Jep is reminiscent of the way I’d felt when the car mounted the kerb that day. I could feel it in every atom of my body that we were going to be too late. The bleakness in Nate’s eyes when he’d seen me kiss Grant had been akin to an ice bath in the middle of winter.
It had hit me like a steam train.
Nate wasn’t physically sick—he was suffering mentally.
I’d recognised the look on his face.
The absence of hope.
The complete loss of will to live.
The desire to end the unrelenting pain.
I knew how it felt because I’d been there, and I’d barely made it out alive.
One bottle of pills, a phone call to my mother, and a note for my son. That had been my cry for help and my salvation. My mother had arrived in time. She made me vomit, then she’d held me while I purged my soul and railed against the unfairness of life.
I can feel it in my marrow that Nate’s been crying for help for weeks and none of us have heard him.
I don’t think he’s going to ask again.
And, I don’t have faith we’re going to make it in time.
“Drive faster, please,” I plead with the taxi driver. He refuses to meet my eyes in the rear vision mirror and continues doing the speed limit.
“Tell me again what you saw,” Jep demands. “What has you so fucking scared?”
Slumping back in my seat, I stare at him with unseeing eyes. “He’s been sick. Not normal sick though. I didn’t realise until I saw him run out of Nitro’s, but I think Nate’s depressed. He’s been avoiding work. Avoiding me. Avoiding Steve. Probably even avoiding all of you if you think about it. I know the signs. I’ve been there. I saw the light die in his eyes. I’m really worried, Jep. You have to believe me.”
He strokes his forehead, right next to his eyebrow ring. There’s a small scar, small enough for his piercing to distract from it, although the wound that caused it must have been pretty deep to leave the gouge it has.
“I fucking knew he was off his meds,” Jep curses. He punches his thigh. “I was gonna tell Hooligan then I turned everything between us to shit and I started avoiding him because he made me feel guilty.”
Leaning forward, Jep bangs his forehead repeatedly against the back of the seat in front of him. I yank him by the shoulders and force him to sit back before he does himself any real damage. When I unfasten my seatbelt and climb across his lap, I lean my body weight against his shoulders to hold him in place.
“What medication?” I scream in his face.
The taxi swerves over the road then rights itself. I ignore the driver’s scandalised muttering about crazy women and slap at Jep until he answers me.
He seizes my wrists with one of his hands and pins my arms between us. “Nate has ADHD—like real bad. His parents didn’t believe in pumping him full of drugs... their words not mine. They thought it was a lack of discipline, so they belted the shit out of him whenever he got bad grades or acted out. Hooligan was about to move to the US to fight professionally, but when he found out Nate was living on the street, he stayed and him and his wife took Nate in. They got him properly diagnosed and medicated and Hooligan taught him martial arts as a way of controlling his impulses. He’s been fine for so long that none of us noticed when he started to act a bit strange...”
Jep trails off when the taxi comes to a screeching halt. I have the door open and I’m out of the cab and running to the house before the driver’s told us how much the fare is.
“Nate!” I scream his name when I find the front door open.
He’s been here, but there’s no sign that he’s still here. The house is dark. Quiet and empty.
Pushing my way into his bedroom, I yank open his cupboards and look under his bed. It’s stupid, but my mind isn’t working properly right now.
“Nate! Please answer me,” I yell into the black night when I run back out the front.
Jep must have stopped to pay the taxi. He sprints passed me and I hear things crashing around.
Lights are turned on then, doors are flung open, then he mutters four words I’ll never forget.
“He’s in the shed.”
Following Jep out the back door, I trip over the concrete path and land on my knees. The skin stings but I immediately get back to my feet and force my way passed Jep into the shed.
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the sound of the metal stool bouncing off the concrete floor when Nate kicks it out from under his feet. The sight of his body dropping will be embedded on my eyeballs until the day I die.
My legs turn to jelly and I collapse to the floor.
Thankfully, Jep is there. He wraps his arms around Nate’s hips and lifts him in the air.
“Call an ambulance, then climb on the stool and untie the rope.”
Standing on shaky legs I try to get my brain to do as I’ve been ordered. Patting my dress, I don’t find my phone tucked in my bra. I can’t remember what I’ve done with my hand bag. Snatching Jep’s phone from the back pocket of his jeans, I dial emergency and scream at them to get here. They tell me to calm down and I scream at them to go fuck themselves.
“They need an address.” I tell Jep when the shout over my hysterics loud enough for their question to sink into my brain.
“36 Lilac Drive,” Jep grunts.
Sweat is pouring down his face and the strain of holding his best friend in the air is obvious.
I repeat the address then drop the phone on the floor. Standing the stool upright, I climb on top and claw at the rope with my fingernails. They break and splinter, tearing from my skin. I don’t care because when Jep manages to lift Nate a little bit higher, I’m finally able to tug the rope back over his head.
Jep wobbles under Nate’s weight and falls. Nate’s body hits me on the way down and I fall off the stool. My tail bone screams when it connects the concrete, but I’m back on my feet as quickly as I can manage.
Between the pair of us, me and Jep manage to maintain CPR until the ambulance arrives and the paramedics take over. There’s no way to know if it’s working—Nate shows zero signs of life that I can find.
Once I know he’s being looked after, I allow myself to sink to the floor beside him. Hugging my knees to my chest, I rock back in place and keep an eye on him. His colour isn’t returning. I can’t hear him breathing. I don’t even know if he has a pulse.
As I wait for the paramedics to give me an update, I berate myself for my failure.
Why didn’t I ask him what his warning meant?
Why couldn’t I have seen how much he means to me before I treated him like he was disposable to me?
Why didn’t I just tell him my past, so he knew who Grant was?
I should have come clean when Gabbi asked us about our relationship.
I should have done a lot of things differently.
Now, as time drags and the paramedics keep working on him, I’m left with nothing but silence.
Despite it, I pray...
That he can hear my thoughts when I beg him to live.
That he understands my promises to treat him better.
That he will belie
ve me when I tell him he has so many people who care.
“Please,” I plead. Snot and tears run down my face and my voice cracks when I try to speak again. “Come back to me. I can’t lose you, too.”
Jep collapses to his knees next to me. He scoops his phone from the concrete where I dropped it and jabs at the screen. He’s crying as well, but he takes the time to put one arm around me while he makes his call.
“Angelo,” Jep’s weary voice shatters my heart. I can hear his despair. I can feel his heartbreak. He doesn’t believe we’re going to get Nate back. “You need to get to my place right fucking now. Nate’s done something stupid and I don’t think he’s gonna make it. I need you here when I tell Hooligan.”
THIRTY-ONE
Nate
When I wake up, I don’t know where I am for a few seconds, then it comes back to me and I feel like a damn fool.
The drip in the back of my hand hampers me when I reach for Amy, but I persevere. She’s been here every time I’ve woken up over the past two and a half days. Even though she’s asleep right now—and it’s a fucking well-deserved rest—I want to touch her.
Fuck that. I need to touch her.
Running my fingers through her silky hair, I lie back and close my eyes. Her body is pressed against mine as we share the narrow hospital bed. Feeling her is the only reassurance I need right now.
While she’s here, I’m grounded. I almost feel normal. I am unafraid.
It’s when she leaves—which she will—that terrifies me.
Once it was established that I hadn’t injured my trachea more than superficially, and I hadn’t been deprived of oxygen for long enough to cause residual effects, the doctors had reinstated my usual meds. It’ll take time to find the right balance again, especially after I screwed up the chemicals in my brain by stopping cold turkey, however nothing that’s been said to me over the past sixty-odd hours leads me to believe that I’m going to have permanent damage from my failed suicide attempt.
Failed suicide attempt.
Those three words roll around my skull mocking me.
The shame returns and I tighten my grip on Amy’s hair.
Conflict (Black Hearts MMA, #2) Page 15
