Page 95 of Cross My Heart

He’s fucking dead.

He left me.

He left me.

The severity of the situation crashes over me like waves against rocks, and I don’t know when someone directed me here, but I’m now in a waiting room with a couch and recliners. The room is sterile white, there’s a TV, and I turn the volume down. Burying my face in my hands, I cry in earnest. My hands are bloody when I pull them away from my face, but I don’t care. I can’t care right now.

Taking out my phone, I try to check the time but instead find the last text message from Noah.

Noah: I wish it didn’t have to be this way. That I could find the will to live for you. For us. But I don’t have it in me, Ty. I hope you understand and love me anyway. I hope you know you’re everything to me. That I love you more than anything or anyone in the world. I hope you know this isn’t your fault. I’m just not strong enough.

I sob harder. How the hell did this happen? Why didn’t I force more help on him? Why didn’t I see the signs faster? When the hell did he think he was better off dead? Did he remember everything? What the fuck happened to him to make him think this was the best option?

I can’t do this by myself, that much I do know.

Taking a deep breath, I dial my mom’s phone number.

“Tyler?” My mom sounds tired, and I know it must be her day off. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, mom,” I sob, “I’m at the hospital in the ER. Please come, I can't do this alone.”

“What the fuck happened?” There’s rustling in the background, and I hear keys and a door closing. My body deflates knowing she’s coming. I can hear my dad in the background as well. “Tyler, please talk to me.”

“It’s Noah!” I sob. “He killed himself.”

Mom gasps, and then there’s a long moment of silence from her as I sob in earnest. “I’m coming, Ty. I’m coming!”

“Please don’t leave me,” I beg her. “Please stay on the phone until you get here. I can’t be alone right now.”

I hear the sound of her car starting, the engine loud as I connect to Bluetooth. The sound of her tires peeling out of the driveway is loud, and she’s silent. But I don’t care if she doesn’t talk to me as long as she stays on the line. I need a semblance of support right now, even if it’s not real.

It’s only a few minutes before she’s at the front desk, telling the lady she’s here for Noah, and it sounds like there’s a door opening. I close my eyes and rub my chest with my fist, but it’s useless, it feels like someone took a hammer to it. It fucking physically hurts somehow, and now I understand how people can die from a broken heart. Maybe that will be me. Maybe I’ll die right along with him.

Butno.

He’s going to live.

He has to.

“I’m coming, Tyler,” Mom murmurs. “I’m right here.”

The line goes dead, and I put my phone down on my lap, burying my face in my bloody hands. The tears won’t stop coming, and I don’t want them to. I want to let them out. Maybe I’ll drown in them.

The door opens and in comes my parents. I only know because I smell my mom’s fruity scent right before she kneels in front of me, hugging my waist and sobbing. I rub her back soothingly, and somehow it calms me slightly that she’s this affected by the situation.

“Oh my God, Ty,” Mom sobs. “How did this even happen?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, and she looks up at me with sad eyes filled with tears. They stream down her face in a rush, pooling on her chin as they drip onto her sweatshirt. There’s snot on her face, and I don’t even want to know what I look like right now. “It’s okay. It’s okay. He can’t die. He can’t leave me.”

“He can’t,” Mom whispers. “I know he’s going to be okay. He has to be.”

My dad comes to my side, squeezing my shoulder in what I know is a show of support, and I sob harder.

The door to the waiting room opens, and we all look toward it. A nurse in navy blue scrubs comes in, looking tired, and I tense. She can’t have bad news. She can’t?—

“We were able to get a pulse back, but he’s in critical condition,” she says slowly, softly. As if she’s trying to gauge our reaction to the situation. “He lost a lot of blood, so he’s getting a couple of infusions, but he’s in surgery now.”

“He’s alive?” I question, even though she just said he is. But I need reassurance. I need to hear it again. I need to know it’s real. That he didn’t leave me all alone in this world.

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