Page 94 of Cross My Heart

I don’t deserve to be here while they’re dead.

I don’t.

I don’t.

I don’t.

Putting my phone back on the nightstand, I make a decision in no time. It’s a no brainer for me when I grab the bottle of my anxiety pills and take a handful, swallowing them down with half a bottle of water. Then I take another handful and shove them in my mouth too, finishing up the rest of the water. I just sit there for a little while until I feel it starting to hit me and send a quick text message to Tyler. He’s probably finishing up his shift right now, but by the time he gets here it’ll be too late.

First, my body feels like a wave of calm is rushing over me, making me sink into this blissful existence. I no longer feel pain—I don’t feel anything at all. My racing thoughts slow down, and I contemplate it for all of one second before I grab my pocketknife from the nightstand’s drawer. I flick it open, hearing the sharp snip, and then I shallowly stab my thumb to see how sharp it is. Blood immediately bubbles up, and I smile. There it is. Exactly what I need.

My hands are heavy as I lift one toward my wrist, and my grip falters slightly. I fix it, although it takes work, and take a deep breath before I drag the blade over my wrist vertically. It hurts way more than I thought it would, and I yell out in pain. The blood is rushing quickly down my arm and hand, and when I switch to grip with the other, it slips. But because I’m not a quitter, I grab the handle and do the same to my other wrist. I feel a sense of relief rush over me, knowing that I can finally be at peace. I no longer have to live with the pain, the sadness, the overwhelming despair that I am a failure. That I failed my friends when I was left behind. When someone else saved my life. I didn’t choose that, but I can choose now.

Lying there on the bed, I contemplate what I’ve just done. My body feels cold and I’m starting to get the shakes. There’s a sheen of sweat coating my forehead, and I’m starting to nod in and out. I feel the mattress soaked in my blood. I feel the sticky liquid rushing out of me. Like my life force is leaving me out of the gaping wounds on my wrists.

I close my eyes and smile.

But this time it’s not Tyler I think about.

Instead, I think about all my friends who died when I didn’t, who gave up their lives for their country. I think about Jeremiah getting shot.

Unfortunately, the last thing Idothink about is the love of my life, and I remember his promise. It’s sad that I’m the one who didn’t wait for him now. ThatI’mthe one who broke it. But I can’t dwell on it.

It’s finally over.

Chapter 47

TYLER

The house is eerily quiet as I open the front door, quiet enough I could hear a pin drop. The blast of cool air that hits my face sends a chill down my spine, and I shiver. My footsteps are loud as I cross the living room, my boots making the hardwood floors creak. Everything is heightened right now, and my blood rushes in my ears the closer I get to the bedroom. I’m too scared to go any faster. When I finally make it to the bedroom, I take a deep breath before taking a hold of the doorknob and twisting it.

My eyes are closed as I push the door open slowly, and I breathe in deeply, the tangy, coppery smell of blood invading my senses. It’s so strong I can taste it, and when I open my eyes, I wish I hadn’t.

There’s blood. So much fucking blood.

Noah’s pale and lifeless body lies on the bed, and he looks so fucking blue. I run to his side, smelling the blood and gagging. This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening right now.

I check his pulse, and it’s weak, so fucking weak, but it’s there.Barely. My hands shake as I take my phone out of my back pocket and call 911. I scream at the lady, telling her he’s dying, and she tells me what to do. I wrap the bedsheets around his arms and apply pressure, and he moans.

“Baby, what did you do?” I cry out. “What did you fucking do?! Don’t you dare die on me, Noah Milner, I can’t live without you! You don’t get to leave me, you hear me? I won’t let you!”

I sob, my entire body shaking as I straddle him and put pressure on both arms. I look at his face, and he looks so relaxed. I fucking hate it. He can’t do this to me. Doesn’t he know I love him more than life? Doesn’t he know I’d give up mine for his?

I hear my front door open, hear the paramedics yelling for me, and I yell back, “In the bedroom! Door is open!”

They rush in here, putting him on a stretcher in the blink of an eye, and suddenly I’m in the back of an ambulance. The ride is bumpy, and I feel hot tears rolling down my face as I look at him. The monitor starts beeping, beeping, beeping slowly, then stops. I cry out, sobbing harder, as the paramedic begins chest compressions. It feels like it’smyribs breaking, like my chest is caving in as I watch the love of my life die before my eyes.

I don’t think I will ever recover from this.

We pull up to the ambulance bay and they waste no time, getting him out as the paramedic straddles him and does chest compressions. I run after them, and nurses swarm us like flies as soon as we enter.

“Trauma room one, let’s go!” someone yells.

“We’re ready!” another nurse says.

“Noah Milner, twenty-nine year old male, lacerations to both wrists. Suicide attempt.” One of the paramedics says as he pushes the stretcher, the other one not stopping chest compressions.

But it’s not an attempt if he’s dead.

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