While I'm dulled by excess and a cynic at best, my art imitates crime.
I groaned, leaning away from the insufferably uncomfortable hospital mattress and into the equally terrible pillow. Shoving at my memories of the past few days, I couldn't help but wonder just how I'd gotten here. How had things spiralled so far from my control? It was as if, grabbing at the bottle of peace, I'd been possessed by someone sure of themselves. That was something within myself I'd simply never known.
Brian returned, kicking at the door with a dissatisfied grunt. He smiled subconsciously over at me as he strolled across the room and extended a styrofoam cup to me. I propped myself up against the bedframe, careful not to pull the IVs from my arm as I struggled.
"I had to go across the street for these," he told me lazily. "I'm fucking sick to death of hospital coffee. They know it's absolute shit, right? There's no way they don't know."
I smirked, sipping at the liquid with a sigh of relief, "We'll only have to drink it for a while longer, then we'll be home with our coffee snob calibre brew."
Brian tilted his head at me in a way I hadn't seen in years, "Yeah, a while longer."
"Yeah…Like a day or two..." I sampled, eying him suspiciously.
"Blair," he stated. "You do realize they're putting you under a ten-day psychiatric hold, right?"
The way the words rolled from his tongue, it was if my prison sentence should have been obvious. At no point in my three-day stint shackled to that blue-sheeted bed had anyone mentioned a psychiatric hold. I suppose after a failed attempt at suicide, they're bound to seek out some sort of precautionary bullshit. And seek did they ever.
"Ten days?" I choked. "That's fucking ridiculous."
"Is it?" he challenged. "I'm not sure ten days is long enough."
My skin singed as his anger spilled over into the pigment.
He'd stayed mostly hushed about the entire fiasco. I wasn't sure what had happened but I'd awoken to tubes in my nose and needles stitched into my arms. And Brian's doe eyes staring helplessly down at my sore and drained body. The desperation bellowing from his soul was familiar, this was a song I'd sung for him once before. Somehow this tune was different. He'd lodged a distance between us that was palpable despite my groggy haze. The last time I'd overdosed, Brian had doted on me hand and foot with a careful need to protect me. That time, though, it hadn't been on purpose...and that, I supposed, was the difference.
"What the fuck is going on, Blair?" he asked me, the contents of his lungs escaping into the sterile air between us.
I suppose I should have seen that question coming. We'd made small talk and had filled the lulls with conversations about Brody and his antics. My toddler had apparently noticed my absence quickly--and loudly. There was nothing to do about it, though, and that realization had Brian clammed up in a hurry.
But there we were, staring at one another like strangers across a crowded bar. His was a soul that I knew and had often sought refuge within, but this time I was sure I was on my own. I'd deserted him in the most permanent way possible and now he was sifting through my wreckage, looking resentfully for signs of my existence.
"I don't know what you mean," I replied softly.
He slammed his coffee down onto my rollaway table, "Don't give me that fucking shit."
"I'm not giving you any shit," I assured him with a revulsion forming along my taste buds.
"You're my fucking wife," he informed me in case I'd forgotten. "You think I don't know when something's going on with you? You think I didn't know that leaving this time around was a bad fucking idea? Do you seriously think that you trying to fucking kill yourself in the middle of the night suggests stability?"
I stared up at him helplessly.
"So, I'll ask you again," he stated firmly. "And I swear to god, if I don't get a real answer from you, I'm fucking leaving."
"Brian," I tried.
He shook his head, begging me for access into the inferno of my mind, "What the fuck is going on?"
I sighed, sinking my spine into the world's flattest pillow as I took a much-needed sip from my coffee.
"Things are," I started, pausing to find the proper word. "...Bleak."
"No shit," he scoffed, sinking into the green chair at my bedside, I assumed in hopes that my statement would lead to something more substantial.
He was annoyed to find it did not.
"Blair," he growled.
I groaned, running a hand through my messy hair, "I don't want to talk about it."
"You don't want to talk," he repeated in disbelief.
Nervously, I shook my head.
"Okay," he shrugged, pursing his lips together. "You don't want to talk. Then how about I fucking talk. I've got a lot of shit I'd love to say to you."
My green eyes pleaded him not to, but Brian had apparently reached his wit's end. I couldn't blame him for a single second. After years of riding my carousel, it would have been naive to assume he'd never grow dizzy. And now, at the highest peak, Brian was ready to get off the ride.
"I understand that Jimmy's death really fucked you up," he snarled. "And I get it. I really fucking do. But, Blair—"
"This isn't about Jimmy," I interjected with a heavy sigh.
Brian shook his head at me, "Everything about you is about fucking Jimmy."
"That's not fair," I whispered.
"That's not fair?" he choked. "You need to fucking listen to me, Blair. I've tried everything with you these past three years. I've tried being patient, I've tried withdrawing from it, I've tried giving you space and enamoring you with affection. So, now, I'm going to try some tough fucking love."
"Brian," I tried again.
"What the fuck are you thinking?" he demanded of me. "You want our son to grow up like you did? Is that what you fucking want?"
My jaw hit the mattress with a thud, "Don't you dare."
"Don't I dare?" he challenged incredulously. "That's fucking bold, Blair. Even for you."
My bottom lip began to quiver as I sternly forced my teeth into it.
"I want you to seriously picture Brody's life," Brian instructed me callously. "I want you to close your beautiful eyes and picture his fucking life. Who would he live with, Blair? Lauren? Marge? Your aunt? Would history fucking repeat itself? You want Brody raised by someone who can't love him like their own? What the fuck were you thinking?"
My face screwed itself up, "What the fuck are you talking about? He'd live with you."
"No, no," Brian laughed darkly. "You don't fucking get it."
"I really do not," I agreed.
Brian grit his teeth together, biding his time before piercing my soul, "If you go, Blair, I'm coming after you."
"No you're not," I told him sternly.
"I wouldn't survive it," he told me, his voice breaking from the strain. "I fucking wouldn't. I couldn't. I'm barely fucking surviving it now and you're still god damn here."
My heart ached inside my bones, "Brian—"
"No," he cut me off. "Maybe I haven't made this clear enough to you. Or, maybe, you just don't get it. And maybe that's my own fault. But you seem to think Jimmy was the only person on this fucking god forsaken planet to really love you."
I shook my head, "I don't think that."
"Yes you fucking do," he insisted. "I'm not going to argue Jimmy's importance with you. I know I'll never win that battle. I fucking lived through it, Blair. I saw it every day. I know that he was a part of you—a big part of you. You were just as big a part of him. Sometimes I think you guys forgot that I knew you both independent from one another. You guys always forgot about the entire fucking world outside your own relationship."
Sensing I was on the verge of another Lauren-oriented attack, I set my cup down onto the table and prepared for war.
"I'm not fucking bringing it up to make you feel like shit," he told me, reading my mind. "What I'm saying is...Fuck. What I'm saying is that I saw the person you became when Jimmy was around. And then I saw the person you became when he wasn't...around..."
I swallowed hard.
"I've been trying to get you through it," he sighed. "I've been trying so god damn hard."
"I know," I managed weakly.
He blinked rapidly, throwing his head back as if some divine intervention might swoop down and save us both.
"But I'm losing," he finally spoke again, his voice robbed of all its anger. "I'm losing you."
I reached for his hand, perhaps out of instinct, but he promptly pulled away.
"The thing you don't understand," he continued feebly, "is how god damn much I love you. I would move planets to make you happy if I could, Blair. When I vowed to love you forever, I fucking meant it. You're everything to me. You're my wife...my best fucking friend. You're the woman I always dreamt I'd meet but never really thought I deserved. And every fucking day that I spend breathing, is a day that I spend worshiping the ground you carelessly dismiss."
My lashes stung with tears.
"Please," he pleaded with whispered desperation. "Please don't fucking leave me. Please don't repeat history."
"I'm not repeating history," I squeaked out.
He nodded, "You are. You're ripping Lauren's best friend away, Tyler. You're ripping a mother away, Anna. You're ripping a fucking soul mate away, Jimmy."
"Stop," I warned him, my emotions threatening to overwhelm.
Brian shrugged wildly, “It’s true.”
“That isn’t fair,” I muttered.
“Why? Because not all of those were on purpose? It’s the same fucking grief, Blair. It’s all the fucking same.”
I rallied my anger into a tight knot, “Don’t you fucking dare lump my mother and Jimmy in with Tyler.”
“You lived through Tyler!” he snarled. “How the fuck do you think it’s fair to do that to me, huh? To Lauren? To Brody? You want him to be a fucking orphan?”
“Brian!” I snapped. “Stop!”
"You're a fucking orphan, Blair," he spit at me. "So how you could seriously rationalize this as a plausible solution fucking astounds me. Tell me. What about Brody, huh? Forget me. What about Brody?"
I forced my vocal chords into shaky action, "Sometimes I think he'd be better without me..."
Brian's head cocked back in disbelief, "Are you serious?"
"Of course I'm serious," I whimpered. "Brian...Shit. I don’t know. I'm fucked. I'm really, really fucked. It's...hard...to exist. I don't want to. I just...I want to slip away. I want to live in obscurity. Do you think I want Brody brought up in a world of my fucking bullshit? He's going to be far too familiar with demons as long as I'm around. He deserves better than that. You could give him better than that."
"You could give him better than that!" Brian barked.
My features fell limp from the guilt.
"You're right, he does deserve better,” Brian informed me sternly. “ So, fucking get it together and give it to him!"
"It isn't that fucking simple," I barked right back. "Do you think I haven't fucking tried to get it together?"
"No, I really don't," he growled. "You've been dreaming away your life. Nothing else."
My husband stared at me with more rage than I'd ever seen caged into one human being. It was familiar in a way--I was sure I'd dawned a similar expression once or twice in my life as I'd pleaded with Tyler to stay with me.
"You're ruining me, Blair," Brian sniffled, wiping angrily at his eye. "I love you...but you're fucking killing me."
"I'm sorry," I choked.
He faltered, his face contorting with emotion, "Are you though? Are you really?"
"Of course I am," I whispered.
"I can't do this," he told me bravely. "I can't...So I'm telling you now, no exaggerations, no embellishments...If you fucking leave, I'm right behind you. I will not live without you, Blair. I fucking won't. I refuse."
"Brian," I sobbed, the pain in his eyes finally breaking me.
He let my fingers wrap around his own this time, squeezing firmly as if to offer some half-hearted reassurance.
"You need help," he managed. "And you're going to get it. I'm not letting you orphan our son. I'm not letting you kill me. I'm not letting you kill your fucking self. It isn't happening."
"I'm sorry," was all I could think to say.
"I'm sorry," he mustered. "...I'm sorry that you're so fucking sad. And I'm sorry that Tyler left and that Jimmy died...I know if he was here, we'd be on a fucking beach somewhere, laughing the day away. I feel his death every day too, Blair. Don't you think you're alone in that…But as long as you're like this, I can't move on from it either. I can't let him go because you won't. At some point, you're going to have to let him go."
As I exploded into a mess of emotion, Brian abandoned his tough love mantra and leaped into action. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as I wailed into his chest. As the tears poured into a sea of regret, I listened to my heart beating loudly against the walls of what I'd done. Despite my best efforts, I was still alive. I had another chance.
I needed help.
"I can't let any of it go," I sobbed. "If I let any of it go...it's gone."
Brian's brows furrowed, giving his head a subtle shake as he pulled me away to wipe at my tears with his thumbs. He stared deep into my damaged soul.
"It is gone, Blair," he said softly. "But...I'm still here. Maybe one day that will be enough."
"You are enough," I tried to reassure him, knowing fully well it was a well-intentioned lie.
He pursed his lips, refusing to spill anything further onto my shoulders. Instead, he let the lie settle and he pulled me back into his strength. We drowned there together in the ocean of trouble I'd flooded for our tired bodies.
The next morning, I met with a psychologist. Partly because Brian had told me I had to, partly because the hospital had forced it on me, but mostly because I was afraid. For the first time in my life, I was genuinely afraid of myself. But I figured it could be taken as a positive...It meant I had a lust for life buried somewhere beneath my distaste for it...Right?
As Brian sank into the stool next to me, our bright kitchen lights dancing along his deep brown eyes, I pulled myself from the past. A smile crept over my lips as I caught myself appreciating the brilliant man before me.
"So, what's up?" he asked me, his voice riddled with light worry.
I sighed, hesitant to dig too far into the closet, "You remember a few years ago...The night I tried to...You know."
Despite the years that had passed, I still found it difficult to speak candidly about.
The blank expression that fell over Brian told me he, too, found difficulty in it.
"What about it?"
"How, um," I muddled, trying to find a coherent question. "How did..."
He raised his brows at me expectantly as I struggled.
"Lauren said she wants to talk about it," I explained, effectively giving up on my other curiosities. "I'm trying to prepare myself."
"Ah," he nodded, taking a long sip from his wine.
I hesitated, "I've always assumed she had something to do with it..."
The night of my almost demise had essentially been a well-guarded secret. The details were kept hidden from me, perhaps out of shame and perhaps out of protection. It wasn't always so easy to tell.
"She did," Brian nodded, setting his glass back down onto our counter. "She's the one that found you."
I pulled my lips to one side, the gnawing guilt already rearing itself.
"I called her," he continued, his eyes focused on a portal to the past. "She, uh...yeah..."
As he trailed off, lost in his own horrendous memories, I knew better than to prod.
"Okay," was all I could think to say.
"Did I ever tell you about my dream?" Brian asked without looking at me.
I scrunched my brows together, "No?"
"I was on a bench," he told me, not that I'd actually asked. "In some park somewhere, I don't know. But Jimmy came running up to me, keeling over with his fucking hands on his knees. I didn't even get up, I just stared at him like an idiot."
My eyes danced around the room searching for ghosts as a chill crept up my spine.
"He told me I had to go home," Brian continued wistfully. "He said he'd come to get me because you needed me. He said he could feel it. He just kept telling me to go home."
If ever there was a time to get into a debate about guardian angels, that was probably it. But I wasn't much of an opportunist and Brian didn't strike me as being in the mood for an existential debate, so I suitably let it slip by.
"And when I woke up," he sighed, daring to look at me then, "I found this terrifying fucking text message on my phone."
The guilt tore through a tendon.
"Which I never really acknowledged, by the way," he growled. "Thank you for the eloquent, well thought out farewell..."
"I'm sorry," I said seriously. "I was kind of, um...dying...when I wrote it."
"Covered all the bases," he replied sarcastically, stealing another sip from his glass. "I'm glad you said something though...If you'd written a note, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation right now."
My shoulders shrugged limply, "Maybe a part of me hoped you'd get the text...I really don't know."
"Do you regret it?" he asked me, expertly averting his gaze.
I paused, "...Regret what exactly? Trying to kill myself?"
He visibly cringed, "Mhm."
"Every day," I breathed.
His lips curved up to the heavens, "Thank fuck for that."
"I've been doing better," I said lightly. "Or I think I have anyway..."
"You have," he concurred, sliding a hand atop my own.
I smiled, leaning my head against his tattooed arm, "I'm not sure what I did to deserve you, but whatever it is, I'm glad. You're too good for me."
He scoffed, "No such thing."
"There is," I laughed. "And you're it."
"You made me into this person," he told me sweetly, planting a quick kiss atop my head. "I was a real piece of shit before you pouted your way into my life."
I groaned, rolling my body back upward as my eyes rolled into my skull, "Oh my god, I wasn't fucking pouting."
Brian grinned, "I should have known I was in for a lifetime of brooding from the second I saw you sulking in the middle of a party."
"I wasn't sulking," I moaned, drowning my irritation in wine.
He laughed, "You fucking were. But that's okay, it only made me like you that much more."
"Masochist," I chuckled.
"Maybe," he shrugged. "But it probably has more to do with how much I've always adored you. It was instant."
I shook my head, "I don't think it was."
"Of course you don't," he snickered. "You were too busy being charmed by that idiot, Rev. But behind the scenes, Babe, it was all me and you. It just took you a minute to catch up."
"You know that isn't true," I laughed. "I distinctly recall professing my love for you long before you ever considered that word. I also recall you throwing a fucking hissy fit about my affections. So..."
Brian cackled, "I didn't throw a fucking hissy fit."
"You did," I informed him, my brows pushed high upon my face. "You absolutely did."
He looked over at me, grinning from ear to ear, "Well, I'm glad you waited out my tantrum."
"I'm glad you've waited out all of mine," I smirked.
"Forever and ever amen," he said coolly. "Or whatever."
I chuckled, "Beautifully worded as ever, Bri."
As he parted his lips to presumably offer some other words of hilarity, a knock at the back door cut our attention in half. Lauren waved sheepishly from the darkened side of the glass door, lit only by the lights strung up through the yard. I waved back, asking for a moment with the swing of one solitary finger. She nodded, disappearing into the darkness from whence she'd come.
"Guess that's my cue," I groaned, pulling my glass from the counter and into my palm.
Brian leaned over, cupping my cheek in his hand as he pulled my lips to his. His brown eyes beat into mine as we parted.
"Don't stay up too late," he smirked. "You have to be a pop star in the morning."
My excitement welled up into a smile, "I'll cling to that while Lauren undoubtedly rips my happiness to shreds."
Brian half-laughed, "I'll be here if you need a pick-me-up."
"I'm counting on it," I winked, stealing another kiss from my man.
As I sauntered to the doorway, lingering with my fingers wrapped around the handle, I glanced back at my husband one more time. Sometimes I just couldn't help myself. He smiled up at me, giving his head a light nod as encouragement to get on with the show.
With a sigh and a pull, I stepped out into the evening to face my past.

Notes

Brian </3

xx