The glare from the overhead light in my bedroom exposes Andrew’s birthday presents, discarded in the hallway when I’d found Andrew. My legs go weak at the sight, and I collapse forward on my bed as everything else comes up with it.
“Chris.” Alexander reaches out, but is unable to catch me before I fall.
And then it all comes out.
My state of shock is replaced by howling. The tears I’ve mostly managed to keep inside since Sunday night flow freely. The trauma of what I saw gives way to the painful reality: Andrew’s life is now dancing on a knife’s edge. He’s only kept alive by machines.
Alexander gets down on his knees, putting his arm around me as I shake uncontrollably.
“Let it out,” he whispers, rubbing my back. “Let it out.”
What if Andrew doesn’t survive this?
What if he never returns home?
Panic overwhelms my senses and I shoot upright.
“I need to get out. I need to get out.” My breath shortens as I get off my knees.
“Okay. What do you need and I’ll get it?” Alexander stretches over me to pick up my backpack. All my stuff from the work trip is still inside.
“Laptop, tooth…” My airway constricts, making speaking—let alone breathing—impossible to do.
“Come on, let’s get you out of here.” He slings the backpack over his shoulder and guides me out the apartment and onto the street.
I finally catch my breath in the cool evening air when I rest my hand on the palm tree next to Alexander’s car. A French bulldog pees on the opposite side of the street and barks as Alexander’s car beeps when he unlocks it. He opens the door to his rose-gold Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon.
“Let’s get you back to mine.”
The overhead shower’s been running for ten minutes now, the water mingling with my tears. My bum is numb from sitting on the wooden seat placed up against the window. The large bonsai tree outside casts a shadow in the moonlight.
Why would Andrew do this? Why would he try and take his life? And what was his apology for?I’m sorrywere the only two words on the piece of paper left beside the bottle of wine on his bedside table.
There are so many unanswered questions.
I know he took the breakup with his ex badly. That he was pissed off that I couldn’t make his birthday soiree. But he’d seemed happy in his pictures online the past week. His last post even celebrated his promotion at the London Hotel.
The look on the nurses’ faces, one of sympathy rather than empathy, when I couldn’t answer questions about what had happened and what he’d taken, smothers me with guilt. The same guilt has kept me at his side at the hospital ever since.
This morning, the doctor talked about moving him to the psychiatric ward if his vitals improve, causing my grip to tighten round thechair handle.He’s not crazy, he’s just a little unwell. I couldn’t fight back showing my anger in my voice. The way the doctor’s eyes had narrowed, scrutinizing me with a look of such annoyance, made me flinch—I’d thought for a moment that he might admit the pair of us.
I pull myself up out of the chair with the shower handle and turn the water off, once I’m confident the stale smell of not washing for the last two days has been removed from my body, and reach for white towels with the golden letters AM embroidered into them. I pause while drying off to take in the vastness of Alexander’s guest bathroom. The wooden paneled ceilings. The marble bathroom counter fitted with a double sink. The heated floor. A separate bathtub over by another floor-to-ceiling glass window.
He really does live in a completely different world from me.
When I return to the bedroom, Alexander’s waiting in the chair opposite the bed, a glass of water in his hand.
“I’ve put the fire on, but I can turn it off if you’d prefer.”
The flames from the electric fireplace built into the wall flicker away.
“It’s okay,” I say, looking beyond him and noticing the Jacuzzi outside. The spotlights shine down on it from the overhanging roof, visible through the sliding glass doors.
Alexander brings over the glass of water and places it on the bedside table by an orange oval lamp, along with a pill.
I shake my head in complete disbelief at the grandness of his place. I’ve always had a taste for the finer things in life, but I feel like a fish out of water here.
“I’ve got something for you to sleep in.” Alexander picks up a grey vest and pair of navy shorts from the bench at the bottom of the bed, stretching out his hand to give them to me.
